Overnight Sensation (13 page)

Avoiding his eyes, she bent over him, quickly undid the laces on his boots and slid his boots off, then pulled his socks off. Jeez, even his feet were big. She glanced uncertainly along the length of his body. He’d flung one arm across his eyes, shielding his expression from her view. She’d love to know what was going through his mind at this moment. Did he feel completely foolish trying to reenact the scene? Or, like her, was his heart rate accelerating with anticipation?

“Garrett, I need to get you out of these pants,” she reiterated. Her hands hovered uncertainly over his belt buckle. “Can you help me?”

He raised his arm and gave her a lazy grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Ha-ha.” Feeling slightly better, she worked the buckle on his belt and then undid the button on his jeans. “Lift your butt,” she commanded. “I’m going to slide these off.”

He did as ordered, and pushed his jeans down to his thighs.

Ivy looked, caught her breath and looked swiftly away. She’d already seen him, but the sight of his body robbed her of breath. He’d changed his clothes sometime after she’d left and, to her intense disappointment, was no longer going commando. He wore a pair of black briefs that hugged his flat stomach and slim hips. Ivy crouched by his feet. Deliberately keeping her eyes averted, she drew the pants carefully down his long legs and furtively admired the hard-hewn muscles that corded his thighs. She swallowed hard.

“So what, exactly, is the nature of your injury?” she asked, briefly stepping out of character and striving for a normal tone as she tugged the jeans free and folded them neatly on the floor beside his boots. “I mean, you’re not going to make me go through the pretense of cleaning and stitching a wound that isn’t really there, are you?”

But when she turned her attention back at his leg, the nature of his injury was clear, even after years of healing. Ivy felt the color drain from her face. Garrett’s knee was a mass of raised scars that extended upward into his thigh and downward into the bunched muscle of his calf. Some of the scars were misshapen, ugly splotches; others were obviously the result of a surgeon’s scalpel. Unable to help herself, she traced a finger over a wide, flat disk of scar tissue just above his knee that looked suspiciously like a healed bullet wound.

“What did they do to you?” she breathed.

“They shot me,” he said drily. “The bullet went right through. Helena cleaned it and closed the entry and exit wounds. If you’d like, I can show you the matching scar on the back of my thigh.”

He made a motion as if to raise his leg for her to view that scar. Ivy snapped her head up, and man, oh, man, he was right there. She swallowed. Over the intimate bulge of his briefs, the flat plane of his stomach and the hard thrust of his pecs beneath his T-shirt, she met his gaze. His eyes were all innocence, but she swore she detected a hint of dimple in one lean cheek.

“Um, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said hastily, standing. He lay sprawled against the bedding, arms bent behind his head. The light from the nearby lantern cast intriguing shadows over the contours of his face, and his eyes held a dangerous glint as he watched her. He looked every inch like some flesh-and-bone fantasy there for her personal pleasure. Only with difficulty did she remember they had a script to follow.

“Your shirt is still wet,” she commented, eyeing the fabric that clung damply to his chiseled chest. “You should probably take it off.”

But when he sat up and dragged the T-shirt over his head then dropped it onto the floor, she nearly had to sit down herself. Garrett Stokes was hard everywhere. From his broad shoulders, down over his chest, to the six-pack that rode above the waistband of his briefs, he was heart-stoppingly, supremely male.

He sported several nasty scars that traveled horizontally across his chest, as if somebody had slashed him repeatedly with a sharp blade. There was another long gash along his ribs. Unlike the scar on his knee, these scars had faded to pale silver. Ivy didn’t want to think about how’d he’d gotten them.

He flung himself back onto the mattress and watched her through eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Against the abundance of bedding and pillows, he looked positively hedonistic. Her eyes traveled over the expanse of his chest and shoulders, and she had an overwhelming urge to run her hands over all that smooth, bronzed skin.

“So what now?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded high and uncertain. Clearing her throat, she attempted for a more authoritative tone. “According to the script, you were unconscious for most of that first day.”

Even in the indistinct light, there was no mistaking the lazy smile that curved his lips. “Why don’t we jump ahead a page or two, to where Helena realizes the cartel is surveilling the mission and she has to spend the night in the secret room with her patient.”

Ivy tried unsuccessfully to quell the tremor of anticipation that fluttered low in her abdomen. “By then, her patient has regained consciousness and she realizes there are other reasons she wants to stay, reasons that have nothing to do with avoiding the cartel, right?”

Garrett’s eyes glowed. “Why don’t we take it from the point where Helena undresses.”

Ivy knew exactly which scene Garrett referred to; it was the same scene where she’d felt him observing her from the side of the set that first day of shooting. She’d wondered then what he thought of her. Now, as her hands drifted to the sash of her robe, she realized she wouldn’t have to wonder any longer.

HER ROBE WAS MADE OUT of some shiny, silky material that slid along the contours of her body like liquid, revealing rather than concealing the outline of upturned breast, the inward dip of waist, the curve of hip and thigh. Even the dim lantern in the corner heightened the allure, casting her features in shadow and lending her an aura of exotic mystery.

Garrett was completely enthralled.

He’d decided when he’d walked through the door of the casita that he was into this all the way. There would be no self-recriminations, and no turning back. He’d even gone so far as to clear Ivy’s schedule with the language coach and costume department for the next several days, ensuring none of the crew or other cast members would come looking for her.

Josephina, the hacienda’s cook and Carlos’s mother, had agreed to bring meals to the casita once each day. She hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at the request. Garrett suspected she was so happy not to be sharing her kitchen with Eric Terrell’s personal chef, even for a few days, that she would have agreed to anything.

Ivy had asked for three days; he’d make sure she’d have his undivided attention every minute for the next seventy-two hours. At that moment, as Ivy’s fingers dropped to the sash of her robe, nothing short of a full-scale artillery attack could have diverted his attention from her.

A part of him couldn’t quite believe this was really happening. Here he was, alone with Ivy James in a hut in the Mexican mountains, and she was getting ready to remove her clothing for him. For him. It was a moment he’d never forget.

She glanced at him and caught her lower lip between her teeth in an unconscious gesture that spoke volumes; she wasn’t nearly as confident as she’d have him believe.

“Go on,” he encouraged gently. “Remember what Finn said. You’re hugely attracted to me. You want me.”

He saw her lips curve in a quick smile at the mild teasing in his tone, but he didn’t miss how heat flared in her eyes. She did want him. The knowledge was like having gasoline tossed onto the banked flames of his desire.

He watched, mesmerized, as she unfastened the robe and let it fall open, and holy mother of God, she was wearing only a pair of panties and a little camisole that did nothing to hide her body from his greedy gaze. Her skin glowed softly in the dim light, and through the silky fabric of her top, her nipples were erect. He ached to touch them.

When he gazed into her face, he could tell she was self-conscious, and he tried to let her see how utterly gorgeous and desirable he found her.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he said, his voice husky.

Emboldened, she shrugged and the robe drifted to the floor in a whisper, to pool around her feet.

Garrett nearly stopped breathing. He’d seen her disrobe on the set, but only now, when she was turned fully toward him, could he truly appreciate the vision she made. She was the embodiment of everything he found feminine. Her skin was luminous, her body slim and supple. Her legs were long and slender, while her hips curved gently into a narrow waist.

She looked at him now and smiled. It was a smile that held both promise and expectation, and Garrett felt his body grow taut in response. He reminded himself that this might be the only time he’d have her like this, and something in his chest tightened. He would make this good for her; make it an experience she’d never forget.

“I want you here,” he rasped, and patted the mattress beside him.

She didn’t hesitate, but came over to him on all fours, like a sleek cat, her hair tumbling forward around her face in a dark cloud. “Are you sure?” Her voice was low and sexy. “After all, you’re still recovering. I wouldn’t want you to relapse.”

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, sliding his hands up the length of her arms, “if you don’t touch me, I think I might die.”

She laughed, a huff of breath that whispered across his skin and caused goose bumps to rise on his sensitized flesh. She was straddling him, her hands braced on either side of his head, and her lush breasts were right there, practically in his face.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” she said breathlessly. “Not after all the trouble I’ve been through to save you.”

Sweetheart, he thought, you’ve no idea.

Without responding, he buried his hands in the fragrant mass of her hair and drew her down, covering her mouth in a heated kiss. She moaned and leaned against him, until he could feel her luscious breasts pressed against his chest. Heat lanced through him, and he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. This time, she didn’t need any encouragement, and she met him with a sweet fierceness that took his breath away, first tangling her tongue with his and then sucking on it, drawing it deeper. Her mouth was hot and potent.

As he angled her face for better access, she lowered her body and then, sweet Mary, he could feel her, rubbing back and forth over his throbbing erection. The sensation was so exquisite, so pleasurable, he wasn’t certain he could stand it. While he wasn’t exactly a monk, he hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. His self-control was tenuous at best.

Without giving her a chance to protest, he turned her beneath him in one swift, smooth movement. She let out a small cry of surprise against his mouth, but then settled back against the pillows with a sigh of pleasure and wound her arms around his neck, feasting on his mouth.

Oh, yeah, this was perfect, except that now she was arching against him, rotating her hips against his in an invitation that was unmistakable.

Garrett dragged his mouth free and bent his forehead to hers, sucking in deep breaths. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said in a strangled voice. “I don’t want to go too fast, but if you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

Pleased, she gave a gurgle of laughter. “Really? But I thought you special-ops guys were all about patience and control.”

Garrett raised his head and looked down into her flushed face. Her eyes were like warm chocolate and shimmered with arousal and need. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, reminding him of a ripe strawberry. He wanted to bite her.

“Babe,” he said, deliberately rotating his pelvis against hers so that she gasped and her eyes went hazy, “you’ve got it wrong. We’re all about performing under pressure.”

Propping himself on one elbow, he slid the strap of her camisole down over one shoulder, until the soft swell of a breast was revealed. He traced his fingertips over the creamy flesh, noting how her nipple tightened beneath the satin fabric. “As a senior operator, I play a vital role in elevating the…proficiency…of newly assigned personnel.”

Ivy gave a tiny gasp as he drew the camisole down farther, and the rosy tip of her breast sprang free. “I see,” she managed to say. She was breathless. “What else do you do?”

Garrett paused to devour the sight and then dipped his head to brush his lips over the hardened nub, before flicking it with his tongue. “On a daily basis, I prove myself to be highly skilled in all aspects of…sensitive…operations.” He drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling it gently. He heard Ivy moan again, and laved the distended tip with his tongue. “I’m always ready to deploy—” he pressed his length against her core in a meaningful way “—either independently or as a team member, at a moment’s notice.” He filled his palm with her breast and gently rolled her nipple between his teeth, gratified when she bit her lip and shifted restlessly beneath him. “Beyond that, I constantly strive to improve my…skills…during off-duty time.”

“Please…please.” Her voice was ragged, and she cupped his face, dragging it upward so she could fasten her mouth against his and draw his very soul from between his lips.

That broken plea, combined with her molten kiss, was enough to push the last of his restraint over the edge. He’d intended to go slowly, to let her set the pace, but he hadn’t counted on the intensity of his need for her. Heat spiraled downward through his midsection, and he felt his control stretch thin.

“You drive me crazy, you know,” he muttered against her lips. “From the moment I first saw you, I wanted to know how you would feel in my hands. How you would taste…”