Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (15 page)

Sammie felt herself sliding, sliding, deep into danger, deep into unwanted love.
 

They finally broke apart, breathless. Nick noticed Zorro had finished her snack and escaped to the balcony to avoid retribution.

“Go,” Sammie said, pushing him in the direction of the door. “Hurry.”
 

She thought he needed encouraging? No way in hell—he’d jumped into this thing with her wholeheartedly. She’d become the ideal distraction after the disappointment of Brian’s explanation for his missing mother.
 

A foreign student from thirty years ago? Impossible to track...impossible to find.

And if he was totally honest with himself, Sammie had grabbed a bigger chunk of his attention than he’d expected. Right when he hadn’t been looking for a woman, someone refreshing and undemanding had materialized. Someone he’d love to spend more time with. Hell, he’d already shared his house project with her. And she hadn’t laughed—well, not too much.
 

She had a brain as well as a body. Was dynamite in bed. And determined to leave him.

He’d see about that.

Nick relished a challenge. How else had he gone from a boy with nothing to owner of a successful and ever-expanding fitness empire if not with ambition and determination? Sammie didn’t stand a chance. Slapping his pocket to check her keys were still there, he strode off to the elevator, whistling.
 

By the time he returned, she’d stacked the other boxes in a space beside the sofa, started the bath running, and cleared and cleaned the table top. Steam billowed from the open bathroom door. Bubbles threatened to spill over onto the floor.

He set the last box down beside the others. “You’re giving me a
bubble
bath?”
 

Sammie trotted out of the bedroom clutching two squat white candles.
 

He didn’t know whether to be offended or thrilled. “And you’re shaving me by candlelight?” This was getting better by the moment. “I’ll end up a scraped and bleeding mess. We need a mirror and some shaving foam or we’re not doing it.”

“I know that,” she said calmly. “I used to help Grandpa shave when he was shaky. It’s not rocket science.”

Nick’s anticipation returned double-strong. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get naked with her and feel her hands on him.

And not just on his face.

“Shall I turn the bath off?”
 

“Got it,” she said, smiling and beating him to it. She set the unlit candles on the vanity top and touched a can of shaving foam on the glass shelf above it. “This must be Kelly’s boyfriend’s. I’m sure he’ll never miss one shave’s worth.”
 

She moved around the apartment pulling down blinds, twitching curtains closed and dimming the lights. Everything took on a private and sensuous air. Even the shiny white bathroom looked warm and inviting with the overhead lights off and soft radiance flooding in from the bedroom. “Thanks for bringing my boxes up.”

He reached out and laid a finger on her lips. Soft and full, and with her lip gloss all kissed away. “Thanks for coming to my bloody awful parents’ with me.”

She nipped his hand. “Try not to feel bitter. You turned out well.”

“Are you winding me up, Ms Sherbourne?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”
 

He loved the mock-innocent expression on her cheeky face. “What’s it feel like to you?” He nudged against her, letting her know how aroused he was, longing to grab her and pull her in close, but perversely enjoying that she wanted to control the pace of the evening and call the shots herself.

She tipped her head on one side. “Like you turned out well
and
got wound up.” She cupped a hand around him.
 

Nick gave silent thanks.

It was a very small distance to his zipper. And this time she slid it down so slowly he soon felt ready to beg.

He reached for his jersey.

“Uh-uh. That’s my job.”

His hands fell to his sides again, and he hoped she’d hurry it along a little.

She deserted his jeans and switched to his jersey hem. Not good. Now he wished she’d kept going on the jeans.

He flinched as she pushed the soft knit fabric up his ticklish belly and followed it with a line of kisses. The drift of her lips over his skin soon had every inch of him alight with anticipation. He closed his eyes and enjoyed, raising his arms as the fabric hit chest level.

“You’ll never reach,” he said, dragging the jersey up past his head and off his arms. He tossed it out into the bedroom.

Sammie took half a step back and surveyed him. He knew he was in good shape—hell, given his business he had to be—but he really hoped she liked what she saw.

He watched as her gaze ran down from his face to his chest. Flicked sideways to check out his shoulders. Carried on down his torso as far as his jeans. It was just as well she’d unzipped him because by now he’d be damned uncomfortable if she hadn’t.

No praise or compliment. Just a quiet nod. Or had he caught a wicked gleam in her green eyes?

She wrestled his jeans undone and inched them slowly down to his knees, collecting his briefs with her thumbs on the way down. Still no comment.
 

“Shoes,” she finally said. So at last he was allowed to help? He finished undressing at a much faster pace. Sammie held out her hands for the rest of his clothing and took it through to the bedroom.

He reached toward her the instant she returned.

She pointed like a bossy schoolmarm. “In the bath.”

“I didn’t think this was a one-way deal.”

“It won’t be. Get in the bath.”

It was hard not to grin at her. She thought she could order him around when he was half again her size? He lowered a foot down through the fragrant bubbles to test the water, found it fine, and climbed in. Then he lounged back, linked his hands behind his head, and waited.

Sammie left.

But not for long.

Ten seconds later, she returned with one of her heavy boxes. She plunked it down on the floor beside the bath, laid a towel over it, and fetched a basin from the kitchen and the small mirror he’d seen propped up on the bedroom chest. She turned aside to fill the basin with warm water and put both in easy reach on top of the box.

Then she ran some steamy water into the sink and wrung out a washcloth.

“Sit up,” she urged. She dropped to her knees and began to wash his face as though he was six years old.

“Hey,” he objected, trying to lean away from the hot cloth.

“No, it’s good for your skin. It opens the pores and lets the hairs relax. Hold still.” She re-soaked the cloth and arranged it over his face. “Lie back again for a minute and let it work.”

So she really did know what she was doing? He hadn’t expected that. He felt absurd—like a terrorist with everything but his eyes concealed—but he was willing to play along in case she was right.
 

Once the cloth had cooled a little, she drew it aside and reached for the can of shaving foam. She hissed out a handful and spread it down his jaw, over his chin, and more carefully across his top lip.
 

Nick’s pulse kicked up several notches, imagining Sammie as his own personal slave girl. He’d had hundreds of haircuts and dozens of massages, but no-one had ever shaved him. He held his breath as she crouched closer, concentrating on getting the foam every place she needed it.

“Chin up higher.”

Her fingers smoothed down his neck, making him feel like he was a big tomcat being petted. Danger hung lightly in the air. The thought of her wielding a sharp little blade against his throat had his balls tightening, his cock lurching.
 

He’d always thought risk intensified the thrill of sex. Did that go right back to the orchard and the illicit games he’d played with her when he was sixteen?
 

Discovery and exposure had been a constant threat then, adding to his arousal level, whipping the itch to almost intolerable heights. Tonight he felt doubly turned on, stimulated by the magic atmosphere and Sammie’s teasing domination. Whatever followed, he was up for it. Way up.

Finally she drew away, rinsed her hands and smiled. She bent and unzipped her boots.

And just when it seemed she at last intended undressing she said, “Oh, the candles,” and disappeared.

Nick sighed gustily, leaned back against the end of the bath, and linked his hands behind his head again. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of warm scented air. The sharp sound of a match striking made him jerk them open a few seconds later.
 

Sammie concentrated on the candles on the vanity top until their flames burned steadily. Then she pushed them nearer the bath so their warm flicker and vanilla fragrance added to the sensual atmosphere.

Finally, finally, she answered Nick’s dreams and began to strip.

First, the long-sleeved cream top that had driven him mad all day. Yesterday’s zipper had tempted him beyond reason, but today, in this floaty swirly cream thing, she’d been somehow even more desirable.
 

She gathered up the hem, lifted it so her curvy waist showed, slid it up past her bra. His eyes traveled in time with her hands, noting every swell and hollow. His arms came down from behind his head, ready to welcome her into the water.

Sammie pulled the top off and turned so she could drop it onto the bedroom floor. The candle-glow shadowed the line of her spine, the flare of her hips. Nick swallowed, so ready to get his hands on her lovely body he feared his cock would soon rear out through the bubbles.

She unfastened her jeans and started to glide them down her silky legs. He groaned with frustration and she sent him a dimpled grin. Seconds later she wore only a sheer bra and tiny panties, both trimmed with criss-crossing lines of shiny ribbon in lemon and apricot and white.

“Oh, the razor,” she murmured, opening the doors of the vanity and searching inside. Nick leaned out and settled a hand onto the curve of her butt, stroked over the flimsy fabric and then down her thigh, hungry to touch her and draw her closer. “You’re killing me,” he growled. “Get in the bath.”

Did that sound like desperation? He feared it did. He didn’t do desperate with women.

She set the razor down on the box beside the bowl and he shook his head at her optimism. Yes, it was a girlie pink toy—how did she think that would cope with his male bristle? But his attention switched instantly back to Sammie as she unhooked her bra. The gossamer weave parted from her creamy skin. She stroked the straps down her arms. Nick’s pulse pounded as her half-hidden nipples peeked out to greet him. God, she was wonderful.

Beautiful, provoking, playful. And his again very soon.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

She held the bra between two fingers, gave it a sexy little swish, and tossed it through onto the bedroom carpet.

“Get in the bath,” he repeated, hoarse entreaty in his voice.

“But I’ve still got my panties on,” she teased, stepping close enough for him to peel them down. If he hadn’t been coated in shaving foam he’d have buried his face between her thighs the moment he uncovered her. Instead, he consoled himself by grabbing her hand so she couldn’t escape again.
 

“Get in here with me right now,” he ground out.

She stepped out of her pretty panties and kicked them towards the doorway, then lifted a small foot and set it down between his thighs. Only then did he believe it would happen.

“I wonder how we’re both going to fit?” She sent him a wide eyed mock-innocent grin.

“We’ll manage.” He tugged on her hand to encourage her to take the last step.
 

She sank down through the bubbles. The water rose higher up his chest. At last she was where he wanted her, but just to make sure he looped his legs around her waist and pulled her closer until they were face to face. “Are you really going to do this?” he asked.

Sammie nodded and reached out for the razor. After a few seconds’ intense concentration she cradled the side of his head in her hand and tilted it back.

“Stay just like that.” Her fingers moved to his neck, held the skin taut. The razor slid around his chin and bit gently into his beard.
 

“Ha,” she murmured. “No worries. You didn’t think I could, did you?”

She reached sideways and swished it in the bowl to clean it. Another firm grip. Another expert glide downward. The steam swirled around them, and in the silent apartment Nick heard the faint scrape of his stubble capitulating. The blade dragged slightly against his skin. He wondered how long the edge would hold. He was totally in her hands—and the feeling was amazing.

She rinsed the razor again, and leaned closer to select the site for her next pass. Nick closed his eyes to intensify the feeling. Again she pulled his skin taut, again she guided the blade with the grain.

“I don’t think this shaving foam is as good as Grandpa’s English shaving soap,” she said. “Not as slippery. You’d enjoy it more if we had some of that.”

Nick couldn’t imagine enjoying anything more than this. The feel of her hands on him, the glide of the blade, the soft swishing as she rinsed it, all combined into a sensuous ritual that excited as much as it soothed.

After several more long slow strokes and a couple of short scary ones under his nose, she picked up the washcloth and wiped half his face clean. “No blood,” she teased, running her fingers over his skin. She reached out for the mirror and held it so he could check her work. “Okay?”

He turned his head from side to side. He had to admit she’d done well. So well he’d forgotten about Brian and Gaynor and his twisted adoption for a while. She was certainly some distraction, but now his past had crept back into his mind again to niggle and abrade at him. “How long since your grandmother died?” he asked.

Her face showed surprise at his sudden change of subject. “Eleven years or so. Why?”

“Just wondering what sort of power she had over the old bastard to make him return me during the holidays so she could check my progress. What the hell was her connection? There’s got to be one.”