Rhyannon Byrd - Waiting For It (20 page)

to be thoroughly fucked all over again. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Hah!” she huffed dramatically, enchanted by this teasing side of him. “Don’t blame me. I’ve never  even read about anything like that, much less thought it up on my own. That was all your own sordid,  diabolical fantasy, Mr. Farrell.”

He laughed in her ear, a dark, sexy sound that said he knew she was full of shit. “Don’t try to act like you didn’t like it. I’ve got teeth marks in my lip to prove how much you loved it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, but—” She rolled to her back, staring up into his rugged, outrageously  sexy face as he propped himself up on an elbow beside her, his hair falling over his brow and his jaw  dark with stubble again. “I think you owe me.”

His brow arched, one fingertip teasing a line back and forth from the hollow of her throat to the shadowy indentation of her navel. “Have at me, sweetheart. I’m yours to do with as you please; whatever you have in mind.”

She stretched luxuriously, feeling wonderfully alive. “Well, since I’ve done a first for you, now it’s your turn.”

He laughed darkly. “And that wasn’t a first for you too?” he asked with another arched brow, the corner of his mouth lifting.

She batted her lashes. “Done it thousands of times, with thousands of men, if you must know the truth.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” he growled, leaning back on the pillows, watching her with new fire in his

eyes. New? Hell, it never went away.

“Why?” she asked curiously, threading her fingers through her hair as she sat up, trying to restore it to

some semblance of order but knowing it was hopeless.

His smile was wicked and mean, looking dark and piratical. “Because then I’d have to track them all down and kill their sorry asses.”

“Hmm.” She raised her own brow in imitation of his. “Sounds messy. I guess you’re lucky I haven’t

left a string of lovers all over the country, then, aren’t you?”

“I’m lucky to have you, Taylor,” he replied in a low voice. It was gruff with feelings that he couldn’t  hide. Feelings he wasn’t even trying to disguise. “And don’t ever think for a second that I don’t know  it.”

Chapter 15

His last comment was too much for her shattered emotions to take right now, and Taylor moved fast

before she did something outrageously stupid, like throw her arms around the gorgeous man and tell

him she’d loved him since the moment she’d set eyes on him at sixteen.

Yeah, that would be bad. But when she tried to scramble to her feet too quickly, intent on fleeing temptation, the look that fell over her face was almost comical—a mixture of surprise and embarrassment and stunned discovery. Her limbs were like Jell-O, a dull ache pounding between her legs, and she stumbled awkwardly with the first step she tried to take.

Jake was on his feet in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around her, lifting her easily, as if she weighed no more than a handful of feathers. “Oh hell,” he drawled. “I broke you, didn’t I?”

Taylor laughed softly against his chest as he carried her to the bathroom. “Not broken exactly, but I think I could definitely use some downtime.”

He set her on her feet as he reached into the stall and started the water running hot, the small white room quickly filling with steam. “This’ll help,” he explained with his sexy smile, pulling her beneath the heavy spray of hot water. “Just close your eyes and relax, I’ll take care of you.”

She smiled, her eyes drifting closed, finding it easier to give over to him each time he demanded it.  Between her self-absorbed mother and Mitch, she’d never had anyone who wanted to care for her before. She’d always been the one doing for others, but Jake lavished attention on her as if he not only wanted to do it, but needed to do it. It was as if he enjoyed caring for her, giving her the love and attention she’d never had but had always craved.

And yet, he didn’t treat her like a china doll, something fragile and easily breakable, and she loved that most of all. Jake treated her like a woman. A very sexy, desirable woman that he couldn’t keep his hands off of, that he couldn’t get enough of, who made him continually loose control. What could be better than that?

Well, having him for a lifetime, of course, but she’d already made her decision on that point and she knew it was for the best. It may not be the one she wanted, or even the right one for that matter, but it was the only one she could live with. She couldn’t risk becoming a bitter old hag full of jealousy and mistrust and hate, and she very much feared that was what she’d become if she tried to make a life with the gorgeous man slowly running his big, soap covered hands over her quivering pink body.

That was one lesson Mitch had taught her well, and she wasn’t about to forget it. That did not, however, mean she couldn’t wring as much pleasure as possible from the short time she still had with  Jake, and there were only a handful of hours left. Her heart twisted with savage despair, and she threw her arms around him, holding tight, as if she could keep him forever by clinging to him now. A strangled sob worked its way up through her tight throat as his own strong arms wrapped around her, engulfing her in his warm embrace, holding her tightly like he never meant to let her go. His lips pressed against the sensitive part in her hair, brushing her scalp, and they held tighter, rocking slowly on their feet, lost in the moment.

Taylor lost all concept of how long they clung to one another beneath the hot spray of water, but when it began to run cold, Jake turned it off and quickly had her wrapped up tight in a large fluffy towel, carrying her back to the tumbled wreck of the bed. She luxuriated in the feeling of being held in his arms as he lay down beside her, feeling somehow cherished. Feeling—feeling loved, and her heart

clenched harder from the ache of loss and insecurity.

She thought of his wonderful, heartbreaking words earlier in his truck, the amazing depth of emotion he’d claimed to have held for her when a young man, and the need to believe became a nearly unbearable pain. Then she hardened her jaw, swallowed down the ridiculous self-pity, and resolved to get her ass up and take advantage of the magnificent subject laid out beside her while she still had the chance.

“Enough stalling,” she said sleepily, pulling out of the strong arms that were obviously reluctant to let  her go. She stood beside the bed, staring down into his dark, questioning green eyes, for the first time  in her life unashamed of her body. Though she still had plenty of doubts and insecurities, her  desirability as a woman was no longer one of them. Not with the constant heat in those sexy green eyes  as they watched her, the fire of lust always burning brightly for her to see. She smiled a sultry, siren  smile as his eyes went darker, all green flaming light, fired with need. “Now it’s my turn. No, don’t  move. Well, just shift to your side a bit. There—like that,” she instructed while he positioned his big,  beautiful body atop the sheets, clearly intrigued by what she had planned.

His eyes narrowed as she began digging through her art satchel, pulling out a thick tablet of expensive drawing paper and a stubby stick of dark gray charcoal. “What in the hell are you doing?” he grunted.

She smiled over her shoulder at him as she put her bag away. “I’m going to sketch you.”

The brow went up again, not to mention more prominent parts. His gaze swept over his sprawled, thoroughly naked body. “Like this?”

“Yeah. I figure I ought to get it on paper, seeing as how I’ve got you all laid out and sexy and to  myself. I need to preserve the memory for posterity.” She flashed him a teasing smile. “My duty as an  artist to womankind and all that.”

The sudden look of panic on his face was almost comical. “No way in hell are you drawing pictures of my naked ass and then—” he ground his jaw, knowing he had to be careful about what he said here,  “and then showing them to anyone, Taylor.”

“Of course not,” she laughed softly, positioning herself on the end of the bed near his feet, her eyes

turning serious as they studied his mouthwatering form. “They’re just for me.”

He leaned back, slightly mollified. “You know, you don’t need drawings of me for posterity, sweetheart, because I’m going to be glued to your side for the rest of your life.” He hadn’t used the “L” word again, so he wasn’t really breaking her fucked up little condition on that score, but her answering smile was still brittle, and he could see the obstinate unwillingness to discuss their future in her eyes.

He wanted to yell and rage and shout at her until she got it through that thick little skull of hers that this was about forever, but maybe it still wasn’t the right time. Or maybe he was just too chicken shit, afraid of what the outcome was going to be.

He tried to relax as he watched her work, wondering how she saw him, what she saw beyond the surface of his skin. That was the thing about Taylor’s talent as an artist. She not only created works of beauty, but she captured a subject’s soul, transferring life into a two dimensional medium. When you

studied her art, even those drawings she’d done as a girl, you saw emotions, raging and passionate, and  he’d often thought about them. Wondered if that was how she expressed her hidden feelings, how she  gave them release.

Was her art her outlet for love? For pain? Regret?

And she was beautiful to watch as she worked. He loved her delicate breasts, the way they gently swayed as she began sketching, finding this whole setup more erotic than he could’ve ever imagined. It was a heady feeling, watching her watch him, the absorbed look in her big brown eyes, knowing she was studying every intimate detail of his body, transferring it into art with her awesome talent. His skin was burning, itching, aching to feel her against him again, as if only her touch could soothe the need burning beneath the surface. Though he really didn’t mean to distract her, his eyes became glued to her puffy pink nipples, his tongue stroking the roof of his mouth, desperate for their taste and silky soft texture.

Taylor saw where he was looking and felt the traitorous buds go rock hard, spiking into the air, hungry for his touch.

Jake gave an answering smile that was soft and lazy, the knowing look in his hot, heavy-lidded eyes telling her without words he knew exactly how he affected her. Trying not to squirm, she picked up his blue twill shirt from where he’d thrown it on the floor earlier and slipped her arms into the soft fabric, its huge size engulfing her so that she didn’t even need to button the front to be modestly covered.  “Maybe you should, um, just close your eyes and try to relax for me.”

He snuggled deeper into the pillows, lounging like a decadent pasha, obviously confident in his power and the irresistible appeal he held for her. Damn, Taylor figured she was lucky her tongue wasn’t hanging out of her mouth. There was a sweet, tender ache between her legs, and she knew Jake felt it too because his cock was once again hard and throbbing, more than ready to fuck, as if they hadn’t spent the day in a sexual orgy, feasting off one another, gorging on orgasms.

He eyed her now shirt-covered form as she picked up her pad and charcoal stick to begin sketching again, and drawled, “Spoilsport.”

He knew she was trying to hide from him, but he didn’t need to see her tender, naked body to hunger for it. Of course, if he had the option, he’d keep her bare-assed naked and ready to fuck twenty-four hours a day, but hey, he could be realistic. There were times when clothes would be necessary, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell her with his eyes how much he wanted what was underneath them. Taylor was too perfect to be so shy and uncomfortable in her own, beautiful skin, and he looked forward with hungry greed to a lifetime spent ridding her of those ridiculous insecurities.

He lay there on the sticky sheets that smelled sweetly of oil and sweat and cum, and let the love that he felt for this woman flow through him, filling his skin, pounding through his blood. His heart swelled with it as the volatile emotion washed through him. He felt his cock grow harder, his eyes burning, the surfeit of emotion all but glowing from his skin. And she watched him from beneath her lashes, head lowered in concentration while her small hand flew over the paper with awe-inspiring ease and speed.

Jake thought of all the times over the years when she’d stood before her easel and pictured him in her mind, creating him from oils and imagination, and his heart twisted for all the years they’d lost, aching

for the need to fill her future with himself. He’d be happy to let her draw him or paint him or do  whatever the hell she wanted to do to his sorry ass for the rest of his life, so long as she would promise  to stay with him forever. Hell, he’d stand on his fucking head and bark like a dog if that’s what it took  to make her happy.

All she had to do was name it and it was hers—his body, his heart, his soul. They already belonged to her; he just had to find the way to convince her to claim them.

He pulled one arm behind his head, muscles bulging, arm pit dark and wonderfully decorated with hair as black as that on his head, the other stroking his hard stomach while he mulled it over, thinking it through.

She watched as his big hand moved over his bare skin in a hypnotic rhythm that made her want to drool.

Bad sign, Taylor. A woman getting ready to drool is not a woman with the willpower to say no.

“Do you know how many times I’ve woken in the middle of a wet dream—dreaming about fucking