On Thin Ice (31 page)

“What?” Okay, was it really necessary that her voice squeak like that?

“While I build you a fire in your room,” he clarified.

“There’s no fireplace.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “Get in my bed and warm up while I start one here.”

Grandma, what big eyes you have, she thought. She was doing this, she thought. No more panic. And without another word she walked over and climbed into his rumpled bed.

More trouble. It smelled like his skin, combined with the same soap and water she had used. It was still warm – he must have gotten up when he heard her moving toward the door. Warm with his heat. She curled up, snuggling under the covers, unable to help herself.

“That better?” he said in a pleasant voice, moving toward what she could now see was an old-fashioned fireplace.

“Yes.” He was wearing jeans and nothing else, and as he squatted down to load wood and kindling into the fireplace she could see the strong, beautiful line of his back. Even in the shadows she could see the scars. He wore his choice of work on his skin like a uniform. She wanted to touch him, wanted to kiss each of those scars, the bullet wounds, the knife wounds. She swallowed.

He worked quickly, efficiently. She lay on her side, watching, not wanting to put her wet hair on his pillow, and when the blaze was bright he turned back to her and frowned.

“Your hair’s wet. It’s no wonder you’re cold. You could catch your death,” he said severely.

What a strange phrase, catch your death. She wasn’t going to die with him around. “I couldn’t find a blow dryer.”

He opened his own door to the hallway, then returned a few moment later with a fresh towel. “No hair dryer,” he said. “Mostly men come here, and when they do they don’t care about their hair. Sit up.”

Before she realized what he’d decided to do he sat down on the bed, holding out the towel.

She tried to take it, but he kept hold of it. “Just lean over,” he said, and she was in no mood to argue. He wrapped the towel around her head, and she could feel his long fingers on her scalp, rubbing slowly.

She made a strangled noise. Good god, she’d fuck Attila the Hun for a head massage. This wasn’t going to help her stay cheerfully distant from him.

From beneath the covering of the towel she could see nothing but his flat stomach and his lap. And there was no missing the fact that he was finding the massage equally … stimulating.

“That’s enough,” she said in a hoarse voice, pulling away to slide into the middle of the bed. It felt huge after all the narrow bunks she’d been in. Way too big for one person.

He sat back, dropping the towel on the floor, but he didn’t get up. It was too dark to read his expression, and besides, she was afraid to. He was too close, she was too vulnerable. Tomorrow, when she’d finally managed a full night’s sleep, she’d be able to figure out what she wanted and how she was going to take it without getting hurt too badly. All she needed to do was hold herself together for as long as she was with him. She could fall apart when she was alone.

But he didn’t move, and the warmth of the bed and the room was melting away resistance and self-preservation. “So,” he said finally, and she could hear the distant trace of Ireland in his voice. “We’re doing this.” It wasn’t a question, and yet she thought he wanted an answer.

She gave him the wrong one. “Doing what?”

He laughed. “Don’t play games, Sister Beth. I’m talking about sex. Fucking. You’re in my bed, all drowsy-eyed and ready, and I’ve got a hard-on that’s going to kill me from those soft sounds you were making. What do you think I’m talking about?”

She felt a moment’s flash of irritation. “Your condition isn’t my fault, so don’t blame any noises I make for it. And I got in your bed to get warm.”

“Sure you did.” He put a hand on either side of her, imprisoning her there as he looked down at her. “Would you have climbed into Dylan’s bed just as easily?”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.” She expected a triumphant smile, but he still looked cool, intent. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Are we doing this?”

Fuck. She wanted to be seduced, overwhelmed, have all choice swept away. But that wasn’t MacGowan’s style. He wanted full cooperation.

Well, this time he was going to get it. “Yes.”

He simply nodded, thoughtful. He cupped her face with one hand, his fingers gentle against her tender flesh. “How much does this hurt you?”

“It looks like hell, doesn’t it?” she said. “It’s not too bad. Wait a few days until it turns yellow.” Wrong thing to say, she thought. He probably wasn’t going to be around in a few days.

“It’ll look very pretty on you.” He leaned forward, and his lips feathered her cheekbone, his long hair brushing her skin, and she wanted to cry.

She’d have more than enough time to cry later. He moved back just a bit, his hair still around them, and she put her own hands up to cup his face. “Come to bed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He rose, and Beth watched him, wondering for a brief moment whether this was some new game he was playing, whether he was going to walk away. He went to one door and locked it, then closed the adjoining door and locked that one as well. Then he turned and leaned against it, watching her.

Suddenly she was nervous. “I’m really surprised you still want me, considering how bad I was the other night.”

“You thought you were bad the other night?” His voice was mild. “You didn’t enjoy yourself? I didn’t realize you were that good an actress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was … a revelation. It just couldn’t have been much fun for you. I’m not really used to sex.”

“I know.” His slight smile took the sting out of the words. “It’s not performance art, Beth. It’s just bodies. Touching.” He reached for the snap on his jeans, and she forced herself not to look away.

She needed to say this, to get it out in the open. “Yes, but some people are better at touching than others. Like you. And some people aren’t comfortable …” she swallowed as he shoved his jeans down his legs and kicked them away. “… aren’t comfortable with other people’s bodies.”

“Come on, Beth. The worst is over. You’ve already had me and you liked it. Stop worrying.”

He lifted the covers and she scooted over quickly as he climbed into the bed. It was no longer nearly as wide as she’d thought it was, and he lay on his side, watching her out of eyes that would haunt her until she was an old, old woman. “I want to give you pleasure,” she said in a whisper. “I know I can’t give you as much pleasure as you gave me, but I want to …” He stopped her mouth with his, a slow, leisurely kiss, his lips soft, warm, touching hers lightly, and then harder, so that her mouth opened, and she took his tongue inside her. She could feel the last of her fears and doubt slip away beneath the slide of his tongue, and he was seducing her, teasing her with his kiss. She felt as if she were melting into the bed, and she kissed him back, letting him taste her, losing track of where and who she was, all that existed was their mouths.

When he lifted his head she was on her back in the bed, and he was over her. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” he whispered.

“You have. Many times.”

He smiled at her, and she felt something inside her lurch. There was no darkness in his smile, no hidden thoughts, no danger. He was looking at her the way he would look at someone he cared about, someone he loved, and she wanted to cry.

“You can talk all you want when I’m inside you,” he said against her ear, only a breath of sound. “In the meantime, stop trying to talk me out of this. You couldn’t.”

He moved off her then, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She felt his eyes run over her. “Are you going to take off all those clothes, or am I going to have to?”

She hadn’t even thought about it. She stripped the sundress over her head, threw it on the floor, and then her bra and panties followed. She needed to be naked, in every way.

Except then she didn’t know what to do. He lay on the pillow, all delicious skin and muscle, the firelight illuminating each scar, each wound, flickering in his eyes. She realized with shock that she’d barely seen him, barely touched him the other night.

She forgot he had the inconvenient habit of reading her mind. “You can do anything you want, darlin’,” he whispered. “It’s up to you.”

For a moment she didn’t move, uncertain. And then she put out her hand to touch his arm, getting used to the warmth of him, the feel of his skin, the muscle and bone beneath it. She could see the healing wound of the knife cut, and on instinct she leaned over and let her lips touch it.

He lifted his arm to let her move closer, and she let go of the last of her fears. She moved over him, kissing each scar, each terrible wound, her lips soft and gentle, as if she were bestowing some kind of healing touch. His heart was sure and steady beneath her mouth, and she pressed her forehead against its reassuring beat as she let her hand move across his stomach.

He made a soft sound of approval, and she smiled against him. She lifted her head, and brushed her tongue across his nipple.

He jerked, and for a moment she thought she’d made a mistake. “Jesus, Beth,” he whispered. “Do that again.”

She did, watching with fascination as his nipple hardened just as hers did. She touched the other one, lightly, liking the way his body moved when she did, and then she fastened her mouth on him and sucked, the way he had sucked at her.

She’d been letting her hand brush his stomach, but his body arched at that, and she felt his cock push against her hand, insistent. She lifted her head to look into his eyes for a moment, and then moved down, kissing his stomach as her hand wrapped around him.

He swore again, and she wanted to laugh. She never would have thought touching him would give her such pleasure. Not just in the obvious pleasure of giving. But a deep, sexual response in concert with his, that was making her wet, making her tremble, making her want the darkness.

She slid her hand down to cup his balls, watching his cock jerk in response. It really was beautiful, the soft, silken skin over such astonishing hardness, the blue veins that danced across it, the head of it, suddenly looking like something she had to taste.

She leaned forward and licked him, just a taste, to see if she liked it. She did. She looked up at his face. He almost looked as if he were being tortured. His hands were fisted beside him, and his eyes were glowing.

“How do I do this?” she whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. I want to. So tell me.”

He lifted a hand to sift through her still damp hair. “Do anything you like,” he said. “Just don’t bite.”

She laughed. “You’re no fun.” And she moved back, letting her tongue run up the side of it, like licking an ice cream cone, tracing the heavy vein. She moved around it, licking, touching, until he finally broke.

“And you can’t kill me by teasing me to death,” he said in a rough voice. “I need you to suck me.”

Another shiver of response, and she didn’t wait any longer, closing her mouth over him, drawing him in deep.

It was .. astonishing. Wonderful. Like taking him inside her body, and yet she could focus on his reactions, how she was making him feel, what she was doing to him, and it was electrifying. She wanted more, sinking her mouth down, taking as much as she could, but there was too much of him, and she wanted that too. She wanted it, she wanted him to fill her mouth, to give her everything. She was lost in the taste, the scent of him, and she wanted nothing more than to take it all, have him lose control and give himself to her. She felt him shudder, felt his control start to give as his hands came up to hold her head, to guide her, up and down, and then, just as she felt him about to come he pulled her away.

“No,” she cried, fighting against him, but he pulled her under him, stilling her. “You were ready … I wanted it …”

“The trick, sweetheart, is to get to that place over and over again, pulling back just in time, so that when you get there it knocks you to your knees. I want to be inside you when I come. I want you coming around me, squeezing me, holding me while I fill you. Your mouth is just the beginning. So is mine.”

Before she knew what he planned he’d moved down, between her legs, kissing her, open-mouth, sucking at her, and she climaxed immediately, a fierce response that racked her body. She felt his mouth against her belly, his laugh. “You’re too easy.”

She tried to fight the wave of sensual lassitude that was sweeping over her. “Did I ruin it? You said we should wait …”

He laughed again. “You didn’t ruin it. I’ll show you.”

He moved away from her, and she reached for him, needing the anchor of his body, but his hard, strong hands were on her, and a moment later he’d turned her over on her stomach, pulling her up on her hands and knees He positioned himself behind her, his hands between her legs, touching the wetness, opening her, so that she pushed back against him, and then it wasn’t his fingers, it was the head of his cock, the head that she’d sucked on, and it was sliding into her, spreading the wetness around, pushing, deeper and deeper, and this time she knew she could have all of it, deep inside her.

She sank her head down on the bed with a pleasured moan as his hands caught her hips, and he began to move, sliding deep, moving back out, and each time he pushed he went deeper still, and each time she took him, when she thought she could take no more.

She was shaking, clutching the sheets, letting the sensations wash over her. She could do nothing but let him have her, thrusting again and again, each push making her go deeper into the dark, wonderful place, and she couldn’t get enough.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered against the back of her neck.

“More,” she said dreamily.

He bit her then, gently, and her response rippled through her body. “More,” she said again. “Bite me harder.”

He did, his hips moving, thrusting into her, holding her, and she could feel something open up, something beyond sex and pleasure, a dark, wicked place that frightened her, but she wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t stop him, pushing her face into the sheets as he took her. His hand slid down her stomach, between her curls, touching her clitoris, pushing her over the edge, and it was too much. She shattered, and she screamed her response, shuddering, as he exploded inside her, holding her against him as he climaxed.