Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (17 page)

The solution? You chose one at random and pushed.

Luca checked the nametags again. James Andrews, apartment 3C.

C. McKenna, apartment 2C.

He hoped James Andrews wasn’t in the middle of something important.

Bzzzz.

“Yeah?”

“Pizza,” Luca said pleasantly.

“I didn’t order pizza.”

“Your name Andrews? James Andrews?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that’s what it says right here on the box. One large pizza, that’s a deluxe pizza, for James Andrews.”

The buzzer sounded. Luca grabbed the doorknob and stepped into a narrow entryway. James Andrews would be annoyed and disappointed this evening, but he’d smile tomorrow when the local pizzeria delivered a large deluxe pizza as well as a bottle of their best Chianti.

Luca took the stairs two at a time.

There were three apartments on each floor. Apartment 2C was at the end of a short hall.

He hadn’t considered what he’d say when she opened the door. How could he, when he was still hot with rage? Everything would depend on her because she’d be angry to see him…

Hell.

His eyes narrowed.

Nothing, not one goddamn thing would depend on her. There wasn’t a way in hell he’d let her anger stop him tonight, not when he was angry enough for the both of them.

He lifted his hand. Reached for the buzzer and, instead, found himself hitting the door with his fist.

“Cheyenne!”

Nothing. Maybe she was out. Maybe she was with another man.

Maybe he’d lost his mind.

If he had, it was her fault.

Her fault. All her fault.

His anger went up a notch.

“Cheyenne!” Another bang of his fist against the door. “Open the goddamn door!”

He heard the faint creak of a door opening at the other end of the hall and he swung toward it.

“This is a private matter,” he growled. “Mind your own business.”

Anywhere else, the threat would bring the cops, but this was New York. The door closed, and he turned back to Cheyenne’s apartment.

“You’re a coward, McKenna,” he said. “Each time things get tough, you run.”

He heard the slide of a deadbolt. The door opened only as far the chain would permit.

“Are you insane?” she hissed.

“Open the door!”

“I’ll call the police.”

“You do that and I’m sure Alene Beresford will enjoy hearing how we spent the last twenty four hours.”

What felt like an eternity crept by. Then the door closed. He heard the rattle of the chain and the door swung open.

Cheyenne stood centered in the doorway.

She wore a white tunic, a kimono, whatever in hell women called those things that hid their bodies while hinting at the lush curves of breast and hip. Her hair was an untamed river of wet midnight silk cascading over her shoulders. She smelled of soap and water and he knew she must have just stepped out of the shower.

His throat constricted.

She was the epitome of everything wild and beautiful, and if he didn’t have her soon, he was surely going to die.

“Did I tell you that you could leave me?” he said. “Did I give you permission to walk away?”

He heard his voice, heard his words and he thought, maybe he really was crazy. He had never spoken to a woman this way in his life, but he’d never let a woman turn his world upside down before, either.

“Answer me, dammit! Did I give you permission to leave me?”

“You truly are out of your mind! I don’t need your permission for anything.”

She was trembling. Her face was flushed. She was afraid of him and that was fine. It was what he wanted, what he’d come for.

“Yes. You do. You have to beg me when you want me to make love to you and beg me when you want me to stop, and you are never, ever to walk out on me unless I tell you to do so. Do you understand?”

“What I understand is that I never want to see you again.”

She began closing the door. He jammed his foot in the opening and shouldered the door open. When she stumbled back, he caught her by the shoulders and kicked the door shut behind him.

He was out of control and he knew it, but only the explosion of the sun could have stopped him now.

“You’re right,” he said. “I
am
out of my mind, and it’s your doing.”

“Get out of here, Luca. Right now. Before—”

“Before what?” His fingers bit into her flesh. “Before what?” he demanded.

“Before I call the police!”

He laughed. Laughed! At her. At her threat. At the entire world she’d so painstakingly created.

“That’s it,” she said. “I’m calling the cops and to hell with both you
and
Alene Beresford! You really think you can come here and force your way into my apartment and—”

He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her palm while his eyes bored into hers. All his anger had suddenly drained away.

“I want you,” he said. “I need you. If I don’t have you, I’m going to die.”

She made a choked sound.

“Damn you, Luca!” Her voice shook. “Damn you, damn you, damn—”

Then she was in his arms.

CHAPTER TEN

H
e’d imagined this.

It was what had kept him going through the taxi ride.

Cheyenne, defiant. Refusing to surrender until he demanded it and then the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth, the softness of her body against the hardness of his.

Imagining had been exciting, but reality was electrifying.

He was a man on fire; she was the sizzle of lightning that had lit the flame. He was burning with the need to take her and from the way she was returning his kisses, her submission, her desire for him was complete.

He lifted her off her feet.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

“Where?” he said against her lips.

“Down the hall. To the right.”

Her four-poster bed stood near a window. It was high but not very wide, covered in what looked like a waterfall of white linen.

The long gown she was wearing had bunched up and she was pressed against him. He slid one hand the length of her spine and realized there was nothing under her gown. No bra. No panties. Nothing.

He groaned. He could feel himself throbbing against her.

“Cheyenne,” he whispered, “
dolcezza
…”

“Yes,” she said. “Now. Please, Luca. Do it. Take me. Take me…”

He fell back against the wall. Reached between them. Unzipped his fly. His erection sprang free, swollen and hot, and he drove into her.

She cried out and convulsed around him at the first stroke of his possession and he felt the tightening in his scrotum that meant he could have come right then, but he wasn’t done with her.

Not yet.

Claiming her. Her surrender was what this was all about.

Luca gritted his teeth, fought back the urge to come and drove into her again. And again. She was sobbing; her breath was hot on his throat and when he drove into her a final time, she screamed, sank her teeth into his shoulder and he shuddered and let go, let his own climax drain him of anger, of need, of everything but the feel of the woman in his arms.

They stood locked together, him still inside her, both of them gasping for air. His muscles were trembling; he could feel his heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through him.

Finally, his breathing slowed. The world righted itself.

Slowly, he let Cheyenne slide down the length of his body until she was standing.

Her arms were still around his neck.

She stirred and he thought she might try to pull away. No way would he have let that happen, but she didn’t make the attempt. Instead, she leaned into him and as he stroked his hand over her hair, he knew that whatever was happening between them could change his life, forever.

* * *

He smoothed down her kimono. Adjusted his jeans. Then he pressed a kiss to her hair.

She lifted her face to his and he kissed her mouth. She curved her hand around his jaw, loving the sexy roughness of his end-of-day stubble.

How long had they known each other? Two days? Two years?

A lifetime.

She smiled.

“What?” he said softly.

She shook her head, slid her hand to the nape of his neck, rose on her toes and kissed him.

“What a lovely way to end an evening,” she murmured.

He smiled. It was a wicked smile, filled with promises, and it made her pulse quicken.

“It’s not the end of anything,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her to the bed.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and held her hand out to him. He laced his fingers through hers, but didn’t sit down beside her.

She looked up at him. The moonlight was reflected in her eyes. How could she be lovelier each time he looked at her?

A smile curved her lips.

“What are you thinking,
cara
”

Her smile widened. Then, to his amusement, she giggled.

“You’re laughing?” he said, trying to sound stern. “Just what a man wants after he makes love to a woman.”

“It isn’t that. Well, not exactly. I’m thinking of Mrs. DeCenzo.”

“Who?”

“My neighbor.”

“Even better. We make love and you think of Mrs. DeCenzo.” Luca grinned as he sat next to her and curved his arm around her shoulders. “Would you mind explaining that?”

“She’s elderly. And she’s a widow.”

“And?”

“And, what happened is a woman’s fantasy. A man wanting her so much that he’ll storm castle walls, slay dragons, do anything to have her.” She blushed and buried her face against his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Luca cupped her chin and raised her face to his.

“I am looking at you exactly as such a man would look at such a woman,” he said in a low voice, “because I am that man,
cara
, and you are that woman.”

He bent his head and kissed her mouth.

“Do you know how delicious you taste?” He kissed her again. “Coffee. With cream and sugar.”

“My dinner,” she said softly.

“Only that?”

“I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

He sighed and drew her against his side.

“Neither did I,” he said, remembering the plate of exceedingly expensive something-or-other he’d hardly touched. “Why no appetite?”

She gave him a smile that went straight to his groin.

“I kept thinking about you. About last night.”

“Yes.” His tone roughened. “As did I. It was an amazing night,
dolcezza
. I should have forced you to admit that instead of letting you leave me.”

“How would you have done that?” she asked, very softly, and he could feel the atmosphere in the room change.

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

“I could have tied you up again. Not just by your wrists, but by your ankles, too.”

“I’d have fought you.”

“I am bigger than you,
cara
. Which of us do you think would win such a struggle?”

“But—but you wouldn’t force me to do something I didn’t want.”

“No.” He tilted her chin up. “We are learning. Both of us. For instance, I would not have thought this thing you are wearing is sexy.”

Cheyenne slicked the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip.

“But?”

“But it is. It covers so much of you…” She caught her breath as he traced his index finger along the fabric that covered her nipples. “And yet, beneath it, you are naked. That makes it very sexy indeed.”

His touch was light. Still, she could feel her breasts lifting, her nipples budding. Her breathing quickened and she closed her eyes and let herself glide with the sensation.

“Look at me,” Luca said.

Cheyenne’s eyes flew open.

“That’s it,
bellissima
. Look at me as I pleasure you.”

A little sound whispered from her throat. He bent to her, caught the sound with his mouth.

“You were naked beneath your gown at the ball the other night.”

Both his hands were on her breasts now, his thumbs teasing the nipples. Hot wetness bloomed between her thighs. They’d just made love. How could she want him again?

“It—it suited the—it suited the…” She swallowed dryly. “Luca. I can’t think when—”

“And naked again, tonight.”

“Because I’d just come out of the—Oh God. Luca. Please…”

“What do you call this thing you are wearing,
bellissima
? A caftan?”

“Yes. I bought it in Morocco last year. We were doing a shoot and I went—I went shopping at a
souk
…” He bent forward and touched the tip of his tongue to first one nipple and then the other through the silk of the caftan. Cheyenne began to tremble. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said calmly. “I am simply imagining you in that s
ouk
, trying on caftans.”

He sat back and traced a line from the valley between her breasts to her navel. Where would his hand stop? Where the caftan stopped? Where its long skirt was rucked up above her knees?

“Did you?” he said.

Her gaze flew to his. He wasn’t as calm as he sounded. There were crimson stripes along his high cheekbones and his eyes were almost black.

“Did I what?” she whispered.

“Did you try on this caftan before you bought it?”

There was an edge to his voice. A warning. Soft, but real.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“It is a simple question
bellissima
. Did you try on the caftan?”

Her heart was pounding. His hand was at the hem of the caftan. What would he do next? Where would he touch her?

“No. I didn’t.”

“Because?”

“Because…” She bit back a moan. His hand was under the hem, stroking her thigh.

“
Cara?
You were explaining why you didn’t try on this caftan.”

“Because—because a
souk
isn’t that kind of place. There are rules…”

“Rules?” he whispered, as the back of his hand brushed lightly over the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. “What rules?”

“Not rules, exactly. Traditions. About modesty.”

His fingers stroked over her. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks as heat flooded her veins. She gave a little moan of frustration when he withdrew his hand and leaned back, but he wasn’t done with her yet.

“Stand up.”

His voice was hoarse and hard. A tiny shiver of fear went through her.

“Cheyenne. Stand up.”

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

“Look at me. I told you that before. I want you watching me, do you understand?”

She nodded. She was weightless. Boneless. She was a cluster of nerve endings, a creature made of fire and need.

And what she needed was him.

“You’re wet,” he said in a smoky whisper. “Only from me touching you.”

“Yes.”

He put his hand over his fly. She could see the bulge of his erection under the straining denim.

“And I am hard, only from touching you.”

Sweet Jesus. Surely, her knees were going to buckle.

“Do you want to see how hard I am,
dolcezza
?”

She whispered his name. It was all she could manage.

“Take off the caftan, Cheyenne, and I will show you.”

She stared at him. If she took off the caftan, he would still be fully dressed and she would be naked. Years of modeling had taught her to see the human body as little more than a structure on which to hang clothing, but there was something about the thought of being bared to his eyes while he was not bared to hers…

“I told you to undress.”

Slowly, she pulled up the skirt of the caftan. Crossed her arms. Drew it over her head—and held it in front of her.

“I want to see you,” he whispered.

Her mouth was dry. Her skin was hot. And she wasn’t wet, she was soaked.

“Let go of the caftan.”

How could she possibly obey him? And yet, how could she disobey him? The gown fell from her hands. His eyes swept over her and she began to tremble.

He cupped her hips with his hands and drew her forward.

“Tell me what you want,
cara
.”

He knew exactly what she wanted. It was cruel to make her tell him that she wanted his mouth on her nipples. Her belly. Her thighs. That she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her, lay her back against the pillows and slowly, slowly take her on that ride that ended in paradise.

Why make her say it?

There would be such weakness in her asking. In her needing. In admitting that what had happened to her years ago had nothing to do with what was happening to her now, what had been happening since the minute she’d first laid eyes on him at El Sueño.

“Shall I help you,
bellissima
?”

He lifted his hands. Cupped her breasts. Took her nipples between his index fingers and his thumbs and teased them.

She moaned.

Had her breasts always been this sensitive? She’d never really let herself find out.

“Do you like it when I touch you?”

She nodded.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes. Yes. I like when you…”

“Watch,” he said.

She looked down as he ran his hands down her body, over her hips, her belly, then parted her labia with his hands. Gently. So gently. He lifted his head and sought her eyes with his.

“I want your taste on me,” he said. “On my hands. My body. My tongue.”

Then he closed his mouth over her, and she would have collapsed if he hadn’t caught her, gathered her in his arms and drawn her onto his lap.