Ride the Thunder (14 page)

His gaze slid to her lips and he knew he had to taste them. His mouth covered them. They were cool
to his touch, not warmed by the kisses that had come before his. But they were soft, so very soft. Brig let go of the gold chain and cupped his hand against her throat to hold her head motionless.

The jade cross slid back to its nesting ground in the shadowy cleavage as the chain was released. Jordanna felt its coolness once more against her warm flesh. She didn’t resist the grip that firmly encircled her throat. She was passive under his kiss, but the gentle persuasions of his mouth were gradually dissolving that passivity. The soft bristles of his mustache teased her skin while his warm, male lips courted hers, exploring every curve and hollow with ease and sureness. The pulsepoint in her neck was pounding against his finger, betraying the rapid beat of her heart. Of their own free will, her lips began to cling to his.

Slowly he lifted his head. Her eyes were wide and faintly puzzled. In their look was a veiled question Jordanna was too proud to ask. His face held no expression. Without saying a word, he took the glasses from her hands and set them on the desk.

When he faced her again, he made no attempt to take her into his arms, nor did he put any distance between them. That was her option. She was being given the opportunity to leave before she was seduced by him. But Jordanna was all the more firmly intrigued by this stranger, who was like no man she’d ever met.

His hand reached out to stroke the mahogany sheen of her hair where it was pulled back from her face by a comb. “You have beautiful hair.” It was a simple observation, not a compliment meant to flatter.

A response wasn’t necessary and Jordanna made none. She continued to regard him with a steady look, although her heart was racing madly. His hands settled on either side of her neck to pull her closer, then moved to slide the straps of her gown from her shoulders and lightly caress her arms. Her lashes fluttered down. His touch reminded her of the pleasing roughness of a cat’s tongue.

His breath was warm against her lips an instant before his mouth covered them in a long, drugging kiss. Slipping free of the gown’s shoulder straps, her hands explored the flexible steel bands rippling along his upper arms. She was aware of her breasts swelling to fill the large hands that cupped them in their palms. She tasted the Scotch on his tongue and the nicotine on his lips, and savored the male flavor of him.

A thumb drew lazy circles around the rosy peak of her breast, hardening it into an erotic button. The weakness that had attacked her legs earlier returned with triple farce. Jordanna swayed against him and he obligingly molded her to the supporting frame of his body. The heat emanating from his hard flesh spread quickly through hers, its warmth ennervating.

Leaving a trail of golden fire, his mouth followed the slanting curve of her jaw to the hollow below her ear, down the smooth column of her neck all the way to the base of her throat. Her head was tipped back to allow him greater access to whatever area pleased him while Jordanna trembled with quaking desire.

This hot, languorous passion was something she had never experienced before. It produced an everchanging array of sensations, like the slowly turning magic of a kaleidoscope. Each time her skin tingled under his caress she wanted to stop the moment and hold it forever, but the heady male smell of him would crowd the sensation out with its intoxicating force, or she would taste the lazy fire of his kiss, forgetting all else until another sensation overwhelmed her.

Shaping her hips to the thrust of his, she tried to ease the throbbing ache that was slowly consuming her. His hands were at the back of her waist. Jordanna felt the slackening of the material around her middle as the zipper was pulled silently down. Then the strength that she had previously only suspected he possessed was revealed to her as he lifted her out of the gown and its slip, exerting no more effort than he would picking up a child. Just as easily, he shifted her into
the cradle of his arms. Jordanna heard her shoes hit the floor, but she wasn’t conscious of kicking them off. Locking her arms around the tanned column of his neck, she met the frankly desirous light in his eyes. She neither shied from it, nor brazenly returned it. It was all much simpler than that. There was no need for role-playing, not the virgin nor the temptress.

Carrying her to the fireplace, be stood her on the bearskin rug. As his arms withdrew their support from her, Jordanna sank to her knees before stretching to lie on her side, partially elevated by an arm. The shaggy fur of the bear hide brushed her naked skin, heightening already sensitive nerve ends. The animal skin made a primitive mattress, but one that met their needs.

She watched as he undressed. He shed his clothes with unhurried ease, making the moment feel natural and untainted. When he came to join her, Jordanna felt the quickening rush of blood surge through her veins. As the heat of his body seared her length, her hands came in contact with the solid flesh of his muscled shoulders and back. While his hard kiss plundered the yielding softness of her mouth, his skillful hands manipulated response from every area he touched.

A tightening low in her stomach twisted her into a coiled knot of need. Whimpering sounds were coming from her throat, but he ignored her silent pleas to release the unbearable tension within. No one had ever made love to her like this before—taking it slow as if they had all the time in the world.

In a gradual dawning of discovery, Jordanna realized he expected more from her than just to be a receptacle for his satisfaction. He wanted her to give in return—to give of herself. No man had ever asked this of her before. This casual demand for a commitment was frightening, but not nearly as terrifying as the black emptiness that threatened to swallow her if she refused.

Her responses were tentative at first, gaining confidence
from his expertly sensual encouragement. She was drawn into a whirlpool of raging desire. When his weight settled on her, she thought she would drown in the eddying rapture. Instead she was lifted higher and higher until the world seemed to explode in a dazzling display of lights that illuminated every corner of her being.

When the fiery lovestorm passed, tiny beads of perspiration dampened her skin. Jordanna waited for the shadows to crowd in, but they couldn’t darken the moment. The edges of her mouth deepened slightly to reflect an inner smile. A roughened hand smoothed her cheek and pushed away the tendrils of hair clinging to her damp skin. Her eyes were soft and wondrous as she opened them to gaze at the man silently studying her. The strong, lean features wore a bemused look. Bending his head, he let his mouth linger on her lips for a warm instant.

“How long has it been since you made love for the sheer pleasure of it?” His voice was low, faintly drawling in its curiosity.

“I . . .” How could she say “never” “I . . . I don’t know.”

Something grim flickered across his expression. Jordanna wondered why her answer had displeased him. She had admitted how very special she had felt in his arms. Most men would have been puffing up with conceit if a woman told them that.

Laughter and loud voices from the party suddenly intruded into the moment. He gave her a crooked smile of regret, an expression with no emotion behind it, and rolled away from her. Her body felt cool without the warmth of him beside her.

“It’s time we were rejoining the party.” His clipped explanation hung in the air as he began to dress.

“Yes,” Jordanna agreed, but couldn’t shake the confusion his strange attitude had caused.

It haunted her as she stepped into the black gown and pulled the straps over her shoulders. Drawing the material snugly around her waist, she raised the
zipper, but the hook at the top defied her fingers. She walked over to him. His shirt was tucked into his pants and he was buttoning the front. She turned her back to him.

“Would you fasten this for me, please?” When her request was met with silence, Jordanna glanced questioningly over her shoulder. His hands were on his shirt front, halted in the act of buttoning the shirt. At her glance, he moved to fasten the hook, his gaze cynical and hard.

“You’re having your share of trouble with it tonight, aren’t you?” There was something taunting in his remark as his fingers brushed against her spine.

A frown drew her brows together until Jordanna remembered she had needed her father’s assistance earlier when he must have been outside on the rooftop patio. She had forgotten that.

Someone tried the door to the den. The attempt was immediately followed by a knock. “Jordanna? Are you in there?”

She recognized her brother’s voice. “Yes, Kit.” The hook was fastened and his touch was withdrawn from the sensitive skin of her backbone. “Thank you,” she murmured but he had already turned away. Before her brother could knock again, Jordanna hurried to the door, nervously running a hand over the sides of her hair.

When she finally opened the door, Christopher’s face wore a frowning smile of bemused concern. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” be began and stopped as he looked beyond her.

“Excuse me.” A low voice said and Jordanna turned to find the tall, dark-haired stranger behind her. His suit jacket was suspended from the hook of his finger, and swung over his shoulder. His bronzed features were devoid of expression as he met her look. “Thanks for sharing the peace and quiet . . . and the Scotch.” He lifted the glass in his hand before inclining his head in a mocking gesture and brushing his way past them into the hall.

“Who was that?” her brother asked.

She was jolted by the realization that she didn’t know his name. A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. What would her brother say if she told him she had just made love to a total stranger with glorious abandon? What was more absurd, not five hours ago she had declared she was swearing off men! Had she taken leave of her senses? If she had, Jordanna hoped it wouldn’t be the only such experience. The way she felt had to be what Kit had been talking about. All this warm, wonderful confusion lingering inside had to be a sensation that would be repeated. She wished she could tell her brother how right he bad been, but their relationship wasn’t close enough.

“A guest,” Jordanna finally answered his question. “We never got around to introductions.” They had met on an elemental level where names had been superfluous . . . until this moment.

“Dad said you were in here.”

“I’ve been . . . relaxing,” she said, in case her appearance needed explaining.

His dark gaze skimmed her face. “You look rested . . . and refreshed, considerably less tense than you did earlier,” he admitted, but his eyes seemed to probe.

Jordanna didn’t want to be examined that closely. It was all too new. “I guess I’d better be rejoining the party before I’m accused of being rude,” she declared with a mock grimace, but her brother didn’t move out of her way.

A teasing light danced in his eyes. “You’d better put your shoes on first.”

At his remark, her bare toes curled into the carpet. A self-conscious warmth flooded her skin as she laughed and turned away. “I wish I didn’t have to wear them.”

Brig abandoned his drink on the first table he came to. A grim kind of anger was simmering in his veins. What had started out as a tasting kiss had become a hunger he couldn’t control. Not only had his appetite
been satiated, but he’d also had the satisfaction of knowing she had enjoyed her experience. He could still feel the smooth softness of her body against him, the sensation lingering. Damn, but she had been a helluva woman when her wall of inhibitions had finally crumbled. He had been surprised by the invisible barrier and determined to have all of her or none.

Someone jostled his shoulder, snapping the thread of his reverie. Brig glanced around the crowded room. On the far side, he saw Fletcher Smith and turned in the opposite direction, hating himself for doing it. Max was standing twenty feet away, part of a clustered group.

A growing self-disgust welled inside Brig. Earlier he had viewed his cousin’s flirtation with Olivia Smith with searing contempt. He had been derisive of a man who would take another man’s money and his woman. But he had done just that.

Long, impatient strides carried him back to Max. “I’m leaving,” Brig announced curtly.

“So soon?” his cousin frowned.

“Tell Smith I’ll be in touch.” Brig started toward the foyer.

“You can tell him yourself. He’s standing right over there,” Max declared.

But Brig didn’t respond. He was already halfway to the door. He didn’t like himself very much at the moment—nor what he’d done, nor the fact that he had derived so much pleasure from doing it.

When Jordanna returned to the party with her brother, she looked for the stranger, but there was no sign of him. After nearly an hour of discreet searching, she finally admitted he had left. His identity was a mystery to her, one she wanted to solve. She wanted to see him again, to discover if the wild wonder of him had been only an illusion.

The next day, a janitorial company came to the apartment to clean up after the party. The living room was being vacuumed and Jordanna wandered into the
dining room where her mother was supervising the storing of personal silver bowls and flatware.

“Livvie,” Jordanna began her question hesitantly, wanting to sound only mildly interested, “last night at the party, who was that man I saw you talking with?”

Her mother stiffened, her swift glance sharp and wary. “I spoke to everyone who attended. You’ll have to be more specific than that, Jordanna.”

The curt response was concealing something else. Guilt? A shock wave rocked Jordanna. What if that man had been one of her mother’s lovers. The possibility twisted her stomach into a churning mass of revulsion.

“Never mind.” She didn’t want to find out who he was anymore. It was better if she didn’t know. She hurriedly retreated from the room, leaving her mother staring after her in confusion.

Alone, Jordanna kept trying to convince herself that he hadn’t been her mother’s type. But what did she know of the kind of man her mother found attractive? It wasn’t possible, she kept insisting. But the question remained no matter how much she tried to ignore it.