Paradise Found (15 page)

He cursed and sat up, wadding the nightgown into a ball. Witch! He heaved it across the room and vowed to show her she had no control over him or his feelings. None. He couldn't even smell her citrus scent in the room anymore. And he wasn't going to spend one more second analyzing his recent, semi-irrational behavior. He didn't want to try to figure out why he was really sitting in Sara's bedroom waiting for her to come home. Nor did he want to delve into the intricacies of his agitation over her being out with his brother. Or why the mere whiff of her scent tripled his pulse rate.

And there was no way he'd even think about the gnawing twist in the pit of his stomach. So what if it had manifested itself after his blowup with Sara? It didn't mean he cared about her. Or that he was sorry for blasting her. It didn't mean anything. Did it?

He must be losing his mind. He couldn't formulate a single thought without doubt casting a finger on him. Sara Hamilton was doing this. She was making him crazy and he was going to put an end to it. Just as soon as she walked through that door…

At ten minutes after two, the low hum of Adam's Mercedes pulled into the driveway. A year ago he wouldn't have noticed it, but the loss of his sight had kicked his other senses into overdrive, enabling him to experience everything with much greater clarity.

That's why he heard the back door open and the subsequent murmur of hushed voices moving down the hall. Two pair of footsteps…stopping in front of Sara's room. Matt strained to hear the whispered words but they were too faint. The click of the doorknob pricked his nerves, sent his pulse racing. He heard the flick of a light switch and a second click. She was in the room. Any second now she'd turn around and…

She gasped.

Matt forced his lips into a wide smile and said, “Miss me, sweetheart?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“You know what I mean. What are you doing here, in my bedroom?”

He gave a short hard laugh and muttered something under his breath. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Sara moved a few steps closer, sensing the anger in his words. “Well, here I am. You can leave now.”

“I could,” he agreed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Or I could wait and tuck you in”—he paused—“or get in with you.”

“Get out.”

“Would you say that to Adam?”

“That's sick.” What was wrong with him? Why was he playing the jealous lover when he'd made it very clear he wasn't capable of such an emotion?

“Where were you?” Sara clamped her mouth shut. She'd had about enough of his high-handed manner. “I said where were you?” he repeated, loud enough to be heard down the hall.

“Shh. Everyone will hear you.”

He dropped his voice several octaves to a menacing growl. “You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me what you were doing tonight.”

She took two small steps backward, and then two more. Just to make certain he couldn't reach her if he decided to lunge. He looked half crazy with his dark hair sticking out on all sides, his silver eyes staring at her as though he could see her.

“Adam and I went to dinner.” One more step back.

“And?” A tiny muscle on the side of his jaw twitched.

“We talked.”

“You talked. For seven hours?”

“We had a lot to say.”

“I'll bet.” Pause. “Do you realize you could have traveled to Pittsburgh in less time than that?”

“I hadn't thought of that, but yes, I guess I could have done that.”

“Yes, you could have.”

She waited for him to elaborate, to draw a parallel or two, but he didn't. “Why are you here, Matt? What are you after?” She was bone-weary from lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. Matt Brandon could do that to a person.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped before him, and blew out a long breath. “Hell if I know.”

“Exactly. You don't know.” Her heart ached for a man who couldn't even tell her why he was in the same room with her. “Please. Just go.”

“I can't,” he said, his voice hoarse, unnatural. He unfolded himself from the overstuffed chair and stood. “I've been sitting in this chair for two and a half hours asking myself why, at least two hundred times. Why I was in that ridiculous chair, counting the seconds until you walked through that door.” He raked both hands through his rumpled hair and shook his head. “I cursed you, swore I was going to lay into you the minute you walked through that door.” He let out a harsh little laugh. “And I tried. But now all I can think about is touching you.”

“What are you saying?”

He moved toward her. Slow. Cautious. As though he feared she might bolt. He ventured another two steps, and then one more. “I'm saying I didn't like how I felt when you were out with Adam.” He reached out, found her shoulder, ran his fingers down her bare arm. “I'm saying I was jealous, knee-deep in the green stuff and hating every minute of it.”

She swallowed. “You? Jealous?”

His lopsided grin made her stomach flip-flop. “I guess there's a first for everything.”

“I guess there is,” she said, watching his fingers stroke her skin.

“Sara?”

“Yes?” She dragged her gaze from his fingers.

“I'm sorry for the things I said earlier today. I was trying to punish you instead of dealing with the situation.”

That got her attention. “What situation?”

His fingers trailed up her arm, brushed her cheek, settled on her shoulder.

“Me. You. Us. The fact that I was half out of my mind thinking I'd driven you right into my brother's arms.”

She reached up to stroke his stubbled cheek. “You didn't.”

He crushed her against him, his large hands wrapping around her, pulling her into his warmth. “I care about you, Sara,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. “Very much.”

“And I care about you. So much it hurts,” she whispered, blinking the tears from her eyes.

He pulled back and found her lips, claiming her mouth in a kiss that promised what words could not. His tongue stroked and mated with hers, pleading, asking, demanding that she respond in kind.

Sara wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her body against his. Matt’s low growl made her bolder, made her want to please him. Drawing in his tongue, she sucked with long even strokes. He groaned and lifted her against his arousal.

It was her turn to groan.

They worked their way toward the bed, touching, teasing, tasting each other, anxious to have more, frustrated over not having enough. When her leg bumped the foot of the bed, Matt guided her, his hard body covering hers as he pressed her into the mattress.

His hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her shoulders, covering her breasts, stroking her legs. He found the top button of her sundress and flipped it open. Then he attacked the next button, and the next, until the fabric fell aside, exposing scraps of lace and bare skin.

“You feel wonderful,” he murmured, planting a kiss along the hollow of her throat. Sara smiled and eased the bottom of his shirt from his jeans. “And you smell wonderful,” he said, nuzzling his face in her hair. Her fingers inched the shirt up, found bare skin and muscle beneath. She ran her nails down his back and around to the front, circling the flat planes of his stomach. “Keep those hands moving like that and this will be a very short night.”

“I want to touch you.” The need in her voice surprised her.

“And I want you to touch me,” he assured her. “But not that well.”

She laughed as her hands roamed his thighs, anxious to feel the flesh beneath the heavy material. He seemed to know what she wanted, even if she wasn't quite certain herself. He leaned up and tore his shirt off, then went for his belt buckle. Sara's hand shot out to stop him. “Let me.”

His hand fell away and she leaned up, working the buckle with jerky fingers. She should have been nervous. She should have been filled with doubts, reservations, and every other imaginable concern possible. She should have been petrified to enter into a relationship with this man. But she wasn't. Nothing had ever felt so right. She slipped the leather through the buckle and the belt fell open.

Emotion took over then, coupled with raw physical desire, propelling her forward, making her bold. Sara traced his arousal with one finger, learning the shape and feel of him.

“Stop,” Matt said, grabbing her hand. “Just... stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Absolutely nothing. Hold on a sec.” He eased off the bed, and reached out to locate the nightstand. He pulled the drawer open, fished around a few seconds before pulling out a handful of small colored packets and dropping them onto the bed.

Condoms.

So many of them.

“Personal inventory?” How many other women had been privy to Matt's private stock of brightly colored latex?

He shook his head. “No. I stuck these in here after that morning in the kitchen.” He flushed a dull red. “I…just in case.”

“Oh.”

“Rex got them for me.”

“Rex? You sent Rex out for these things?” She glanced at the labeling. “ 'Good fit, great feel?' 'Extra ribbed for heightened pleasure?' 'Just like the real thing?’”

She'd never be able to face Rex again.

“It's okay,” he assured her. “Rex's been betting we'd get together from the minute you walked through my door.”

“But does he have to know about 'great feel and heightened pleasure?” She picked up a purple packet and read, “Passion's Plum—exotic, erotic, endless.” Tossing it aside, she chose a yellow one. “Love's Lemon—tart, tasty, titillating.” She threw it across the room and hung her head. “How humiliating.”

“I'm sorry. I wasn't sure…there were so many…” He stumbled, started again, “I wasn't sure what you might ...” His voice trailed off into awkward silence.

She lifted her head, spotted the dull flush on his cheeks. Matt Brandon, embarrassed?

“It's okay,” she said, touched that he would go to such lengths to consider her preferences. Not that she had any in her limited, one-dimensional, ‘I hate latex,’ experience with her ex-husband.

“How about Paradise in Pink?” she asked, picking up a light scarlet-rimmed foil packet.

“Sure,” he said in a sensual drawl that made her tingle. “Sounds good. For starters.”

He smiled down at her then, that broad white-toothed smile that made her forget her next word and every one after that for a solid thirty seconds. She smiled back, even though she knew he couldn't see her. He'd be able to feel it, sense it in the gentleness of her touch, hear it in the softness of her voice.

“I'm tired of talking,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “I've got another form of communication in mind.”

“Oh?” The little breathy voice didn't sound like her own.

His fingers settled on the fly of his jeans. “Yeah. It's especially useful when the words…just won't come.” His lips turned up in a little half smile. “No pun intended.” He inched the zipper down.

She tried to think of some witty response, but the words caught in her throat. Her gaze shot to the spot of black cotton beneath his fingers and the trail of dark hair tapering to a vee into his briefs. With casual grace and not a hint of self-consciousness, Matt pulled his jeans over his narrow hips and kicked them aside.

His smile was gone, replaced with desire, need, and determination.

For her.

Before her brain could register his actions, he slipped his thumbs in his briefs and pulled them off.

Matt Brandon in clothing was an appealing sight. But a naked Matt Brandon was simply overwhelming. The muscles of his arms and thighs, the flat plane of his stomach, the dark whorl of hair narrowing from his abdomen to his groin, all made him a woman's secret fantasy. And then there was that other part of him, the one Sara's eyes kept flitting around and pretending she didn't notice. That part could keep a woman's imagination well fed for a long time.

Matt sat on the bed and reached for her. “I love your skin. Like brushed velvet, all soft and warm.” He eased the dress from her shoulders. “I want to feel you beneath me.” He slid her bra straps down. His hands found her breasts, rubbed her nipples against his palms. She let out a low sigh. “And I want to hear you moan with pleasure when I suck you.” He released the front clasp of her bra. “When I lick you and take you into my mouth,” he whispered.

His tongue found her nipple.

She moaned.

“Yes,” he murmured, sucking on the swollen peak.

His hands were all over her then, stroking her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, stripping her of the silk underwear that provided the last barrier between them.

And then he touched her. There.

He caught her moan with his mouth, branding her with a fierce kiss. Her hips arched to meet his touch, slow and even at first, then faster in quick jerky thrusts. Every nerve in her body centered on his fingers as a slow pulse built deep inside. Sara rose to meet it, desperate for the next stroke that would send her spiraling into a free fall of sensation.

One more flick, two more strokes, and she was airborne, convulsing beneath his touch. She tried to cry out, but Matt stifled the sound with his mouth. Her hips flew off the bed, twisting against his hand, her body throbbing, pulsing with the swell of her climax.

When he released her mouth, she gasped for breath, panting and sucking in air. She pushed a damp strand of hair from her face and turned to look at the man who'd just given her such extreme pleasure.

Matt.

He was resting on his elbow, a smile sliding across his lips.

He'd touched her heart.

Touched her soul.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her cheek.

She turned her face into his hand, planted a small kiss there. “Hi.”

“That was pretty fantastic.”

“Yes, it was. But it's far from over.” She reached for the pink-foiled packet and stuck it in his hand.

“Would you do the honors?”

“Of course.” She took the packet and ripped it open. She studied the shiny pink ring of latex in her palm. Hmm. It had been a long time since she’d used one of these. She grasped his erection at the base with her left hand while her right positioned the condom over the tip of his penis. She tried to unroll it, her fingers slick with lubricant. The condom didn't budge, but her fingers did. All the way down Matt's hard penis.

He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry. Let me try again.”

She did. Three more times, with no success and a lot of manipulation.

“Sara.”

“Yes?” She'd get this blasted thing on if it killed her. One inch at a time. She attempted to roll it back up and start again.

“Stop.” He gripped her wrist, stilling her movement.

“But I think I figured out what I was doing wrong.” Just one more time…

“I can't make it through another attempt,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I'm a man, not a machine.”

She looked at him then, saw the deep frown etched on his tanned face, the clenched jaw, the flaring nostrils. He pulled the condom through her fingers and tossed it aside. “Get me another one.”

They were scattered all over the bed. Sara grabbed Remember Me Raspberry, and handed it to him. He tore it open, fitted it, and smoothed the crimson latex into position in less than five seconds, making her wonder how many times he'd done this before. Actually, she didn’t want to know.

“Now,” he murmured, stroking a finger over her nipple, “can we continue? Intermission's been much too long.”

Sara leaned over, placed a soft kiss on his mouth, and said, “Make love to me.”

That was all the invitation he needed. He moved over her, positioned himself between her open thighs and entered with one deep thrust.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, moving slowly inside her. “You…feel…wonderful.”

His fullness invaded every inch of her body, coaxing with small strokes first, then demanding and possessing with deeper ones. She met each thrust, her hands gliding down his back, settling on his butt. Closer, she needed him closer. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him to her, giving what he commanded. Giving him her love. The feel of him moving inside her, so deep, so consuming, so powerful, split her world apart in a flash of fire and feeling.