Seduce Me (12 page)

“Sam—”

“This.” She bit his neck, then soothed it when a kiss. She lifted her face, lightly cupping his with her bandaged hand. “This is what I want.” Fumbling between them, she opened the towels, revealing the tanned, subtle skin and sweet curves he'd been dreaming about for weeks now.

A natural blonde, he thought, and closed his eyes on another groan.

“Oblivion,” she said in a barely there voice, shifting in his lap restlessly.

Yeah, oblivion worked for him, too, but he couldn't take advantage—

“I want it from you.”

“Sam—”

She rubbed that mind-blowing body against his, making him shake with the effort to hold back.

“Wait. Listen.” He struggled for thought, not easy when it wasn't his brain in charge at the moment. He had to close his eyes to block the vision of that glorious body sprawled over his, but even that didn't help because she was imprinted in his mind. “You're in shock. You're sick with it.” He sounded desperate, even to his own ears. “You have stitches in your hand for crissake. We can't—”

“Take me, Jack. “

“Sam—”

“Make me forget. Please?” And to seal the deal, she put her mouth on his.

S
AM CONCENTRATED
on the feel of Jack's arms around her, of the protective, tender way he held her tightly to him.

Nothing mattered right this second except this, and to prove it, she danced her tongue to his, inhaling the low, rough male sound he made, the one that was so sexy in its neediness that she deepened the kiss even more just to hear it again.

He didn't disappoint.

Yeah, she needed this. She needed his strength, his passion, the way she felt when his arms banded even more tightly around her.

She held him close, her lips clinging to his while her good hand smoothed its way down his chest, tugging his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, then gliding beneath to touch that hot flesh and sleek muscle.

Releasing her long enough to whip off his shirt, he wrapped her back in his arms. “Your hand—”

“Doesn't hurt.” She arched into him, pushing
him flat to the bed, sprawling over the top of him. He hissed out an oath, a low, desperation behind it that only egged her on. With her left hand she went for the buttons on his Levi's. “I'm not fragile, I'm not going to break.” Pop went his first button.

Pop. Pop.

Again he swore, then ran his hands down her arms to her wrists. Gently flipping her onto her back, he brought her arms up over her head, holding them pinned to the pillow above her, achingly careful with her bandaged hand. “Sam.” His chest rose and fell with each harsh breath. “Hold still a sec. I can't think when you—”

“I don't want to think.” She tugged at his hold and with a worried grunt, he let her go.

“Be careful,” he said. “You—”

“You're not listening…I'm not going to break, I promise.” She tossed back her head. She knew her eyes were filled with pride and the heart-wrenching sorrow of the night, but she had to have this.
Him.
She knew she should be shocked by her need, disturbed by her lack of modesty, but she wasn't. “If you don't want me, just say so.”

His expression was incredulous. “Are you kidding?” His gaze swept over her, and with the towels discarded, she lay there open and utterly defenseless to him. Slowly he lowered himself over her, covering her with his body, spreading
her legs to accommodate his. He cupped her face. Then he kissed her deeply, his hips grinding slowly, purposely to hers, and she felt him, hard and heavy against her. “Feel that?” he murmured.

Oh, yes. Yes, she did, and because of it, pleasure and need entwined, coiled…bordered on frustration.

“Feel how much I want you,” he breathed, his mouth against hers.

Sheer desire had her arching her back a little to feel even more of him. “Do you have a condom?”

Reaching out, he opened a drawer in the night-stand by the bed. There was a strip of them there, and he tore one off and held it up. Then he tossed the towels to the floor. Feeling shameless, she sprawled out a little, watching him. Needing him.

He stood up, his shirt already gone, his Levi's undone, and stripped himself down to skin and muscle, and oh my, what skin and muscle he had! Quite simply, the long hard lines of limbs, his tight, corrugated belly, his powerful thighs and everything between them took her breath. She couldn't tear her eyes off of him.

He lay down beside her again. Cupping a breast, he kissed the peak, then pulled back and caressed it with his thumb. “You're so beautiful, Sam.”

“Not like you.” His virile nakedness made it
difficult to breathe. She wanted to touch and taste. She wanted everything.

He let out a rough laugh. “A woman's body has got it all over a man's. There's so much to look at…” He stroked the backs of his fingers over her breasts and watched intently while the sensitive tips puckered tight for him. “So much to touch.”

She felt the tug of his caress now, of his fingers, his mouth, all the way to her womb. She was melting, dissolving away in pleasure.

He swirled his tongue around a nipple, then lifted his head to watch it contract even more. He did it again and again, before finally sucking her into his mouth.

She couldn't help it; she cried out and thrust against him. And he merely started over with her other breast while his hand slid down her belly. His fingers slipped toward her moist curls. Her body responded to the sharp, burning electrical current, her every nerve leaped with anticipation, driving need…

His hand dipped a fraction lower, but not nearly low enough.

“Jack.” She wrapped her fingers around his erection, and got even more excited when he swore roughly. Then his mouth had claimed hers again, hungrily, greedily.

But still he didn't take her, still he held back.

“I'm not hurting,” she promised, panting from his kisses, his touches. “Don't hold back.”

“I don't intend to.” He set a big hand on her knee, urged her legs even further apart, then lowered himself between her thighs. With his shoulders wedging her legs open, she was fully exposed to him. He ducked his head.

For a moment, she was too shocked at the unexpected move to do more than let out a squeak, and then in the next moment she was a slave to his tongue. The fingers of her good hand slid into his hair, fisted. The sounds that tore from her throat might have shocked her in their neediness if she could think, but she couldn't. She could only react.

And when her climax came, it dazed her, pummeled her. She was gasping for breath, her skin shining with perspiration, hair clinging to her neck and face. A wreck. A total wreck.

And loving it.

His skin was damp, too, and he levered himself up, face tight, eyes on hers, arm quaking faintly where he held himself rigid over her as he slipped on the condom. She watched, unable to tear her eyes off his hands as they glided the sheath down the most impressive erection she'd ever seen. She'd thought the whole event was pretty much over for her after her own orgasm, but then Jack guided himself home and sank into her to the hilt.

It was a tight fit. Eyes closed, face contorted in a mask of immense pleasure, he gripped her hips and rolled his, making them both gasp at the way her wet flesh gripped him.

With his name on her lips, she held on to him, digging her fingers into his biceps, having never before experienced anything as intense, as overwhelmingly earth-shattering in her life.

Jack kept up with the unerring, slow grinding of his hips, forward and back, forward and back, each thrust bringing her to a new height. Giving herself completely over to it, to him, Sam fought to keep her glazed eyes open and on his, but it was an effort.

Tilting up her hips, Jack sank more fully into her, each subsequent slow withdrawal followed by a desperately craved thrust. Whether it was her panting his name, or his own driving need, he gradually increased the tempo, until unbelievably, she could feel herself spiraling again, shuddering with her second orgasm. As she fell, he rasped out her name and followed her over the edge.

 

J
ACK CAME TO HIS
senses with great effort. Lifting his weight off of Sam, he was surprised when she murmured a soft
no
and pulled him back down on top of her.

“I'm too heavy.” But he stayed an extra minute anyway, brushing a kiss at her temple, and then, when he managed to hoist up his body again, dropped another gently, just between her lovely breasts.

When he came back from the bathroom, she was exactly where he'd left her, eyes closed, a small smile playing around her lips. That it widened when he approached the bed told him what he wanted to know, what he'd hoped to know.

She still wanted him.

She lifted her arms and, not realizing he'd been standing there holding his breath, he let it out and climbed back on the bed.

Pulling the blankets up over them, he lay on his side facing her and hauled her close. She tipped up her head and sought his mouth. With a groan, he sank into the kiss that was every bit as hot and sweet and deep as what they'd just shared. “Sam,” he gasped when her hand wandered down his chest, past his belly to wrap around the part of him that was ready for her again. “You need—”

“This,” she said simply, and pressed against him, fitting there so perfectly that his response was far more than physical.

That shocked him for a moment, the realization at how right this felt, how much he liked having her in his bed.

It shouldn't have made sense. He hadn't wanted a woman in his life, had thought he didn't have room for one, but this all seemed right.

Since that was as terrifying as dragging her out of the fire, he shoved it aside and dived into what she was offering. He kissed her until she was panting softly, writhing against him again, until he didn't know where she ended and he began. The little sounds in the back of her throat were an unbearable turn-on; so was the way she tore free and demanded, “Another condom,” then climbed over him to get it out of the drawer herself.

She tried to open the packet, but couldn't seem to manage with her bandaged hand, so he took it from her. As he ripped the package, she shot him a smile that sent his thoughts reeling. God, he wanted to please her, make her forget, make her his.

But then with her good hand, she pushed him onto his back on the bed.

“Sam—”

“I'll be careful,” she promised, then straddled his hips, looking down at him with darkly slumberous eyes. “Very careful.”

He groaned, his hands coming up to her hips, then skimming to her breasts, which he plumped up, loving the way her nipples reacted to his touch as she slowly sank down on him.

She bent low, kissing him, her hair brushing his
face, his chest, her body soft and wet for him. Bowled over, he could only hold on. “My God, Sam…”

“I know. It's beautiful. You're beautiful,” she said, and then she began to move, slowly, entwining the fingers of her good hand in his, up by his head.

Helplessly, he rocked his hips, and she gasped at the depth he reached inside her.

There was no holding back—he was hers.

Just as, for this moment at least, she was his. Lust might have powered this act, but lust couldn't sustain it alone. His growing, unnamed feelings for her did that.

Flushed, skin damp and glowing, she tossed her head back in pure abandonment.

Pleasured as he'd never been before, he pushed up high inside her. Stroke for stroke his hips met hers, the friction and tension building to unbearable heights, and then she cried out again, lost. And he was lost, too, just from watching her. Hell, he'd been lost in her since that very first night, so much so that he couldn't have held back if he tried. So he didn't, and pulling her down on him, held her tight as he followed her into that oblivion she'd wanted, knowing it was only there, in his deepest thoughts, that he could really make her his for keeps.

S
AM LAY IN
the dark. She was cushioned by Jack's bed and his body, which was wrapped around her. The clock glowing by the bed said twelve-fifteen.

She felt as if she'd lived five years since the fire, but it had only been a few hours. She knew Jack had waited, awake in the dark, stroking her softly, until she'd drifted off, before finally allowing himself to fall asleep.

She'd faked it. Sleep, that is. There'd been no reason to fake anything else with the man, certainly not anything in the sexual department. She'd already known he could be crazily enthusiastic when it came to basketball, or learning new things, or Heather's charity—and now she knew he was as wildly passionate in bed as well.

Jack Knight had treated her body like a temple, worshipping her into a limp noodle. Even with the crushing sadness and despondence of losing Wild Cherries, she knew that she'd shared something different with Jack. Something deeper.

Soul deeper.

That would probably terrify her later. But for now, she could only see the flames, feel the smoke choking her lungs and remember what her home had looked like as they'd driven away.

Throat tight, she slipped out of bed. She grabbed whatever piece of clothing she could find on the floor, which turned out to be Jack's shirt, and slipped into it, then found her way to the massive kitchen and the phone on the wall. Sitting on a bar stool, she lifted the receiver and dialed Red's number.

He didn't answer, so she left a message. “I messed up really good this time. Nothing as simple as a call to the principal or a trip to the police station is going to get me out of this one.” Her voice thickened. “I burned your place down, Red. I know you won't be surprised, I was bound to screw up sooner or later.” Her voice cracked and she bit down on her lower lip. “I'm so sorry. I'll meet you there in the morning.”

She hung up and stared at the phone, her vision blurry. Damn it, she wasn't going to cry now. She dialed again. “Lorissa.”

“'Lo,” came her friend's sleepy voice.

“I'm sorry to wake you…”

“Sam? Hey, hon, what's up?” Muffling the receiver, Lorissa murmured something out of range,
and Sam heard Cole's low reply. Lorissa came back on the phone with an apologetic laugh. “I'm sorry. You caught me in the middle of—”

“Wild Cherries is gone.”

Lorissa stopped laughing and the sleepiness disappeared from her voice. After all they'd each been through in their lives, separately and together, neither of them ever joked about things like this, ever. Sam heard her say, “Cole, baby, I need a moment.” Then she was back. “What do you mean gone?”

“Burned. To the ground. Or at least I think it is. It was looking pretty shaky when I saw it last.”

“Oh my God. Where are you, are you okay, what happened—?”

“I'm at Jack's now, and I'm fine. More or less.”

“More or less? What does that mean?” Panic and fear filled her voice. “I'll be right there—”

“No, really. I'm okay.” Sam looked down at her bandaged hand, which was beginning to throb like a son of a bitch. “Just a few stitches in my hand, that's all. Lorissa, we're both out of a steady job.”

“Hey, we've been poor before.”

Sam leant on the countertop and closed her eyes. The adrenaline was finished. The sexual excitement was gone. And she was left with nothing but a bone-deep weariness. “But this time, it's bad. I have nothing. Nothing left.”

“Honey, being jobless, that we can manage. Homeless, too. You know you'll stay with me. But being without you…nope. No can do. So I figure everything is damn good. Now tell me where Jack lives, I'll be right over—”

“I'll be okay but can I meet you at the café in the morning?”

Lorissa was quiet a moment. “Is he taking good care of you then?”

Sam felt a hand settle on her shoulder, a big, warm, comforting hand, and her eyes filled. Was he taking good care of her? He'd held her hand in the ER, even after turning an entertaining shade of green when they'd brought out the needles. He'd carried her into his house, given her his bed and then had caved when she'd thrown herself at him, loving her body and soul into the oblivion she'd asked for. “Yeah. He is.” Her voice trembled. She still didn't look at Jack, standing behind her, using two hands now to massage the tightness out of her neck and shoulders, moving his fingers in a soothing, circular motion, up and down her spine. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“You promise you're okay?”

“I promise I will be.”

“Oh, Sam.” Lorissa started to cry. “I love you.”

She bit back her sob. “Love you, too.” Reaching out, she hung up the phone, but kept her head
down. “Sorry,” she managed to Jack. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't.” With his long fingers, he scooped her hair out of his way, baring her neck to him. “I knew you weren't sleeping. I was just trying to give you your space.”

That was so unexpectedly sweet, she felt a tear break loose. She kept her head down until she thought she could control her emotions. “Thanks.”

Again he stroked his hand over her back. “I think you've had enough space, Sam.”

Lifting her head, she turned on the bar stool so that she could face him. He'd pulled on a pair of sweat bottoms and nothing else. In the harsh glare of the kitchen light, his hair stuck straight up—probably from her own fingers. He had a five o'clock shadow on his jaw, and his shoulder sported a red mark that looked suspiciously teeth-shaped—her teeth.

He looked sexy as hell, and she wanted him again. Standing, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against him. “You're right. I don't want any more space. Not for the rest of the night. Take me back to bed, Jack.”

“Your hand—”

“Will be fine, as long as you've got yours on me.” She sighed when he scooped her up against
his warm, hard chest. “I guess I need to reconsider this he-man thing. I think I like it.” Her arms slipped around his neck. “I like it a lot.”

Back in his bedroom, he set her on the rumpled bed. The only light came from the hallway, slanting shadows across the room as he lowered himself over her, bridging her body with his arms. He stroked the lone tear from her cheek. “I don't suppose you'd take a pain pill and get some rest.”

She ran her hands up his bare, sleek back, then down again, slipping them beneath his low slung sweats to hold on to the sweetest, hardest male buns she'd ever seen.

A low laugh escaped him as he cupped her face and moved his hips against hers. “Okay, so you're not ready to sleep, yet.”

“Don't tell me you are.” A little moan escaped her when he rolled his hips again, his body unmistakably responding to their play. “Oh, goodie.”

“And this time when we're done,” he murmured softly, dropping a sweet, clinging kiss on her lips, “if you still can't sleep, you'll tell me.”

“I don't want to keep you up all night.”

“You'll tell me,” he said firmly, kissing her again, then lifting his head and looking into her eyes. “And I'll keep you company until you can.”

“What will we do?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Jack—”

Again he lowered his mouth to hers, and she met him halfway. It was what she wanted, the mindlessness of it, the easy release. Hot, fast, sweaty sex—just what the doctor should have ordered.

Only it was as if he already knew her too well because he changed tactics on her, giving her the one thing she couldn't resist, or hide behind. Gentleness. Tenderness. An unfathomable soul-wrenching connection, lingering over her mind and spirit, until she was practically sobbing with it.

He took her where she'd never been before, something that would have terrified her, if she hadn't sensed he was right there with her, just as lost, just as terrified. And by the time it was over, and they lay gasping and panting in each other's arms, she knew she was also fulfilled, another thing she'd never experienced before.

 

S
AM WOKE UP
in the arms of a big, warm, naked man, which was a great way to start the day.

Unless you'd burned your home and place of work to the ground the night before. Just as quickly, her euphoria died, replaced by a gut-crushing despondence.
My God, it had really happened—

Jack's eyes opened, and in their sleepy depths was sorrow for her as he stroked her hair from her
face. It was a gesture that tugged even further on a heart that felt as if it had cracked open last night.

God, this man. He had a way of making her melt. He was so wonderful, so hot, so sexy…and so not her future.

They'd already agreed on that.

Only problem, she no longer even knew what her future
did
hold. All she knew was that she had to go see Wild Cherries by daylight. Had to go take an assessment and make some decisions.

Her heart squeezed, but she slipped out of his arms and got out of bed. “I've got to go.”

He bent an elbow and propped his head up with his hand, lying in that great big bed looking like one great sexy temptation. “Why don't you let me make you breakfast first?”

She walked toward the bathroom. She picked up her panties and pulled them on. “You really know how to cook in that fancy kitchen?”

“Why don't you stay and find out?”

There was her bra, beneath her discarded robe. Straightening, she began to put in on. “I can't. I want to get to the café.”

With a sigh, Jack roused himself out of bed. His two feet hit the floor and then he rose, quite impressive in all his morning glory. “I'll drive you.”

“I can call a cab—”

“I'm driving you.” He came close, cupped his
hands to her face and tilted it up to his. “Did you really think I'd let you do this alone? Face it in the light of day all by yourself?”

Damn it, her eyes stung again, and she tried to turn away but he held her in a gentle grip of steel. “I'm sticking,” he said in a voice that had as much strength as his hold. “We do this together.”

“Lorissa is going to meet me there. Red, too. I'll be fine.”

“Sam—”

“I don't need a baby-sitter, Jack.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” He looked her over for a long moment, then dropped his hands.

She turned away from him because she couldn't handle the emotion he stirred within her. She also couldn't handle putting on her dirty bathrobe, and picked up his sweats and T-shirt. “Can I—”

“Anything.”

Nodding, she pulled on his clothes, rolling the waist of the sweats to her hips so they'd fit better, and tying his shirt at her waist. Then she turned and faced his hurt silence. “It's not like we are each other's futures, Jack. We talked about that, on day one. We're not, we know we're not.”

Again he just looked at her for a long moment, then went to his dresser for clothes for himself. “Sometimes, Sam, things change, even when you don't want them to.”

She went utterly still. Could he possibly believe that? Or was that just a certain body part talking? Because in her experience, thinking ahead never mattered, things happened. And they never happened as planned. The word
future
, and all it entailed, was just a slippery, untenable dream. “My future is a charred black pit. And I need to get to it.”

He fastened his Levi's. Grabbed a clean shirt and pulled it over his head. Looked at her.

And the message in his eyes nearly brought her to her knees.

He had feelings for her, she didn't doubt that. Hell, she had feelings for him, too—big, scary, gargantuan feelings that would probably overwhelm her if she didn't already have the fire to deal with.

“It doesn't have to be so cut-and-dried,” he said very quietly.

Oh, yes, it did. Otherwise, she could get quite accustomed to his beautiful face and those eyes looking inside her, deep inside, to the real Samantha O'Ryan. With no effort at all, she could fall hard, she thought, and rubbed the physical ache spreading beneath her ribs. For the first time in her life, she could really tumble, and the joke would be on her.

Because he wouldn't fall, not for her.

Are you sure?
asked a hopeful little voice deep inside.
Are you sure he wouldn't?

Of course he wouldn't. They weren't even in the same league. He was wonderful, and for now thoroughly engaged with her, but that wouldn't last. No, for both of them, this was nothing more than a quick fling, beautiful and hot, but coming to an end.

Better not to take the plunge at all, than to land on her face in the mud.

Lorissa had taught her that years and years ago after her own disastrous attempt at love had failed so badly, and Sam had taken that mantra to heart. She managed a smile, even though she knew it was a sad one.

“Sam—”

“Please,” she said, her smile faltering at the expression in his eyes. “Let's just go.”

Looking extremely conflicted and unhappy, he nodded. “Fine. But after, we talk.”

No, after, she'd go off and lick her wounds, all of them, alone. That's how she did things, and that's how it worked best.