Skin Tight (10 page)

Now she just needed to get through the farewells and get home to someone else’s cat. Mia found the prospect depressing.

“Does that mean it’s over?”

If only he didn’t have a face like a broken plaster saint, rough and chipped but full of heartbreaking beauty. She could imagine him standing watch over a chapel by night, all icy marble and immovable lines. Only the fierce argent of his eyes gave lie to the indifference of his pose, propped against her car.

“Yes.” Though she tried to make her voice sound firm and certain, she noticed a little waver in the middle of the word.

Unfortunately, so did he. “I promised you a ride in my G37.”

“Technically, you didn’t. You teased me with the prospect of one, as I recall.”

He studied her with nerve-wracking intensity. “How ungallant of me. Surely you must let me make it up to you?”

She’d never excelled at mating games. They made her feel stupid—a rare sensation, to be sure. In her professional life, Mia preferred facts and figures. In her personal life, she took her romance in the form of tragic poetry, where she could let someone else’s pain wash over her without risking her own heart. One such disaster had been enough.

“What do you
want
?” she burst out, losing patience with him.

He stilled, a sleek silhouette in the moonlight that turned his eyes to quicksilver. Mia had the feeling he would slip as readily through her hands, should she try to hold him. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes.”

“I want to take you home and strip you naked,” he said deliberately. “I want to tie you down, so you can’t get away and then I want to—”

“Enough,” she whispered, sick. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, forget it.”

His brows arched. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m not the sort of woman who inspires sexual obsession.”

“And I’m not the sort of man who develops it,” he murmured. “But you have me dreaming about the taste of your skin nonetheless.”

She managed a laugh. “God, you’re such a liar. Just stop already. Whatever you want, you’re not seducing it out of me.”

He stepped into her space then. His hands framed her hips, drawing her up against him in a movement more intimate than a kiss. At first she felt only the warmth of him, and then the world flickered. It was as if he skimmed her few romantic entanglements and plucked a thread at random. For a few seconds, he was Mark Rigby, her college sweetheart, and deliciously aroused, eager as he’d been only in the early days of their relationship.

But this was too bittersweet a fantasy to hold her—the reality of Mark’s abandonment was too indelible for her to dive into a dream where he stayed. Once, she’d thought they were meant for each other. She’d scrawled their names in endless loops, believing the alliteration to be a sign. But his words still echoed in her head
: Mia, I’m sorry. You’re just . . . I don’t know. You think too much. You have no spontaneity. When I look at you, I see our future scheduled to the last second, and it scares the shit out of me. I like you, but you take away the magic. I need someone who doesn’t need to be in control all the time.

Someone like Valerie.

It wasn’t Mark’s fault. The lack lay in Mia. He was now happily married with three kids and a mortgage. He could commit; he was perfectly capable of loving someone. Just not her.

The truth could never be changed, no matter what weird ability this man carried. Since she knew what to do now, Mia thought her way past the illusion. She broke it carefully into pieces and cast it away. Within a few heartbeats, she saw his real face again and felt his arousal. That much was true, at least.

She saw the instant he realized. Mia gazed squarely into his eyes, her gaze roving over his features.
I see you.
She didn’t say it aloud, but she might as well have. A shudder worked through him. He skimmed his hands up to the indent of her waist, where his fingers splayed wide. Mia let him tilt her body, pressing her back against the car door.

“When I touch you, I stop caring about anything else. There’s only you, looking up at me. Don’t dismiss that. Don’t take it from me because . . . it’s never happened before. It can go no further, or everything will be lost, but just for this moment, let me pretend it can.”

“I never liked playing make-believe,” she said unsteadily, fighting the urge to rock against him. “It’s better to accept things as they are.”

Mia imagined the picture they presented to anyone glancing out the window: his body pinning her against the car and hers yielding. The idea of anyone witnessing this moment sent a rush of furtive desire cascading through her veins. Tiny pin-pricks of heat gathered at the lee of her legs, urging her to move.

“Who did this to you?” he whispered tenderly. “What made you afraid of dreams?”

Life,
she wanted to say, but the answer sounded too sad to speak aloud. It seemed too close to self-pity; she loathed how easily he found her vulnerabilities. She stared up at him, sad and shaken, more naked than if he
had
stripped her and tied her to his bed.

Somehow he read the truth in her face, and his mouth curved into a melancholy smile. “No wonder my curse cannot keep you. I
should
take you home with me, for who could match a man without a heart better than the woman who cannot dream?”

The gentle gibe ignited her. Instead of shrinking back, she pressed into him. Mia stretched on tiptoes, her mouth a whisper from his. “Do you ever do anything but talk?”

With the groan of a man tempted beyond endurance, he took her mouth. She expected the world to wink elsewhere again, but it didn’t. From the beginning, she tasted his lips, his need, and it kindled her own. Mia sank her hands into his hair. A little voice said this was ridiculous and self-destructive—she didn’t even know his real name—but she ignored it. This time, he didn’t offer the expertise she expected.

Instead he kissed like he meant it.

She parted her lips unasked and touched her tongue to his. In such circumstances she always found it difficult to shut off her mind, stop thinking about each movement, considering whether to arch or moan or suck. How did she know if she was doing it right?

In response, he angled his head, deepening the kiss. He stroked inside her mouth, tasting her even as she tasted the cream and coffee on his palate. He moved his hips against hers, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were completely private. Languor stole through her, carrying fire in its wake.

And with that, her brain clicked off.

Response took over. She writhed against him, shameless. His mouth blazed from her lips to her throat, where he bit down on the tender chord. Her nipples pricked to life, aching against the smooth satin of her bra. She wanted his long fingers on her breasts—and everywhere else.

“God, you’re lovely,” he whispered against her throat. “With your midnight eyes and cinnamon skin. I could eat you up.”

Images cascaded: her body bound to his bed as he’d wanted, utterly at his mercy.

Mia moaned. She wanted to touch him, but she trembled too badly to make it happen. His right hand skimmed up to delve beneath her sweater, so hot in contrast with the coolness of the night. When his thumb grazed her taut nipple, she lost her breath. His other hand lingered at her waist, stroking in tender circles.
Lower.
But no, he was already there, rubbing against her until she yielded and widened her stance. Her skirt rucked up in the movement, baring her thighs.

He could have anything he wanted, anything at all.

 

 

Every instinct told
him to pick her up and carry her to his car. She was his. For a long, aching moment, he envisioned her exactly as he wanted her—spread before him like a boundless feast. He imagined her pleasure, endless waves of it. He would taste every delectable inch of her skin, and she would cry out—

Not his name.

Never
his
name.

That would require trust, a quality he no longer possessed, even if he wanted to bring her into the dark world where he lived. In fact, he didn’t. If he were the bastard he needed to be, he would use her sexual interest to further his cause. Part of him wanted to do exactly that, giving no thought to the wreckage he left behind.

But beyond the confident façade, she was vulnerable. In her eyes he saw the belief that no man could truly want her, however incomprehensible that seemed. He must convince her it wasn’t lack of desire on his part causing him to walk away. He’d find another route through the security doors; for the first time, he’d lost his icy detachment, and he couldn’t calculate the odds if he took her home with him tonight.

It took every ounce of his considerable self-control to open his hands and step away.

She blinked up at him, deliciously tousled. Her full mouth was swollen from his kisses, and her dark eyes gleamed with longing. God, he’d never wanted anyone so much, which was a sure sign he had to walk away. He couldn’t afford her, not now, not ever.

“Thank you, Mia. You’ve given me a precious gift.”

He left her standing by her car, staring after him. He could feel her eyes on his back as if willing him to turn. But no. If he could turn from this path, he’d have done it long ago. There was nothing left—only the fires of vengeance guiding his steps in the dark.

“No!” The word came first, sharply bitten. And then he heard her running. The shove took him completely by surprise. He stumbled a few steps before righting himself. Turning to face her, he was surprised by the black fury simmering in her. “You don’t get to pick me up and put me down like that. What makes
you
so special? Why do
you
get to call all the shots?”

“I—”

“I don’t care.” She slashed the air with an open hand. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to let you kiss me like that and then walk away. Now, unlock the damn car and drive.”

To his astonishment, he did. Mouth set, she swung around the car and slid into the passenger’s seat. On automatic, he started the car and backed out of the spot. The road out of town beckoned, a dark line snaking through the trees.

“Where to?” he asked over the purr of the engine.

“You said you wanted to take me home and tie me up.”

The words conjured a mental picture that sent a raw shudder through him. Even if he did, as with the women he paid for sexual relief, it would be different with Mia. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from caressing her, kissing her. He’d lick every inch of her satiny skin, make her come a dozen times with his mouth alone.

There would be no detachment, no distance.

“I did say that,” he agreed huskily.

“Prove it.”

He glanced from the road to make sure she was saying what he thought she was. The look in her eyes set him on fire; it was both a goad and an invitation. Mia arched a brow, waiting for his response.

He sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Take me home with you. I want to scream. I want to forget who I am. Can you give me that?”

“Yes.” It was a bald statement, but his mouth had gone dry and his brain had emptied. He had no more schemes or stratagems, just this woman and this night.

“Then do. We’ll be strangers or enemies—whatever we are—again in the morning, but give me this now. Just this once, I want to know what it’s like to be reckless.”

She was quiet thereafter. He drove like a wild thing, all speed and risk. Darkness encompassed the car, but every now and then he glimpsed the sweet curve of her cheek or the glimmer of her eyes. Her hands were laced in her lap as if she might regret the impulse that had driven her, but it was too late for second thoughts. If she’d wanted to run, she should have done it when he walked away. There was no way he’d muster enough restraint to do it again before he had her.

He’d rented a house this time. The real estate agent called it a cabin, but it had the open layout of a Swiss chalet. Rationalizing that it would befit his status, he’d snapped the place up. Now he couldn’t help but picture Mia spread out on the soft white rug in front of a roaring fire. Like a kid in a candy store, he didn’t know what he wanted more.

“This is yours?” she asked in surprise as they pulled into the drive.

“For now.”

He took in her expression as she admired the graceful lines and the bi-level decks that framed the exterior. Nestled amid the trees, the house was incredibly picturesque. But it was physically impossible for him to linger long. He ached.

After bounding from the car, he ran around to get her door. It was the sort of thing drilled into him in his youth. Born of older parents, who were, as Mia had guessed, recent immigrants to the States, he had a number of instinctive manners uncommon to his generation. She glanced up at him in surprise, and then took his hand, allowing his assistance.

“Do you ever stay in one place?”

I will when they plant me.
She inhaled sharply, and for a dizzy, devastated moment, he was afraid he’d spoken aloud. Mia turned her face up toward the pines. He’d grown used to the clean, crisp scent, but her appreciation was palpable.

“No,” he said. “I can’t. Not until my work’s done.”

Don’t ask,
he willed her.
Don’t make me lie to you.

By some miracle, she didn’t. “Show me the inside.”

Her expression made it clear what she really meant. She wanted to see the bedroom. There was nothing of him in it, but that didn’t matter. Mentally, he made preparations. He’d use the red cords on her, dramatic against her dark skin and the white cotton sheets.

“As my lady desires.”

He laced his fingers through hers and towed her toward the house. The inside smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon. Some prior tenant had purchased air fresheners; he hadn’t bothered to remove them. Glancing around, he tried to see the place as she would.