Strip You Bare (6 page)

“Is this the part where I confess that I’m a vampire?”

“It’s New Orleans. Stranger things have happened.”

“Just a petty criminal turned businessman. If you wanted to spread your legs, I’d take you up on the offer. Because I’m simple like that. But I wouldn’t give you anything more than a good time. I’m going to do what I have to to meet my need. I don’t really care if it’s nice. I don’t really care if it’s legal. You’re right. I’m here to serve
me
. To do what I have to and get back to my life. That’s what I am. I’m a selfish prick. I worked too hard for what I have to be anything different.”

Sarah could only stare at Micah. No man had ever talked to her like this before.

And the really shameful thing was she didn’t hate it. Far from it, there was a reason she kept baiting him. To see how far he would go. To see if he would force her to touch him again.

She should have slapped him for that. She should have been angry. But, while she was shocked,
anger
wasn’t really the right word for it. She had been intrigued. Fascinated. She’d touched a man there, more than once. She was a virgin, but she wasn’t completely celibate. Her innocent status was merely a formality. She knew her way around the male body.

Still, she’d never experienced anything quite like that. Being grabbed roughly, forced to touch someone in the broad light of day in a way that usually only happened under cover of darkness. She’d found it fascinating. Illicit.

It had forced a response from her. Broken through that façade she felt more and more constricted by. And in that moment, as she’d stood there touching him,
liking
it, she questioned everything she’d ever known about herself.

And then she just kept on. Giving in to his banter at every turn while they’d shopped. And now. Telling him about Charlie. Talking to him at all. She should just ignore him. Treat him like the stone statue she’d accused him of being back at the restaurant.

Though, there was no way she could pretend he was stone now. He was hard. But he was definitely all man.

“That must be nice,” she said, her mouth continuing to make words even though she had just acknowledged it was a bad idea to keep down this road with him.

“What?”

“Not caring what anyone thinks. Not caring if you sound like a sex-crazed beast every time you open your mouth.”

A feral smile curved his lips. He was impossible to shame. And that fascinated and frightened her. The social structure she operated in functioned almost entirely by the fear of public embarrassment. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with someone who simply didn’t care. “Do I sound like a sex-crazed beast?”

Her face heated, that same heat spreading all through her limbs, through her blood, pooling around her stomach. “I think you
know
you do. I think you like it. Shocking people. Shocking me.”

He took a step toward her and her breath froze in her throat. “You might be right. But then, I think you like being shocked. You like playing with a loaded gun, don’t you, baby?”

She shivered, a sharp pang hitting her square in the chest, sending her heartbeat into overdrive. “I’m not . . .”

“You are. We both know it. But you better be careful. Because if that shit goes off, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.” He took another step toward her and extended his hand, running his thumb along the edge of her lower lip. “You want to fuck a bad boy? Go down to the bar and pick up one of those fraternity rejects pretending that buying endless booze on his dad’s credit card makes him a badass. But don’t mess around with me.”

“You aren’t a bad boy?”

He chuckled, the sound wicked. Dangerous. “No. I’m not. I’m the meanest motherfucker you’ve ever met. And if you had any sense, you’d run the other way.”

He lowered his hand and she simply stood there, dizzy, aching. Good Lord. She was turned on. By him. By the idea that he alone could make her do something crazy. Something bad. Something that a very good Delacroix girl would never, ever do.

And why not?

The devil appeared on her shoulder, whispered in her ear. Up until this moment she hadn’t been aware she possessed both sides of a conscience. She’d never been tempted to do the wrong thing in her life. Suddenly, she was.

Because she had to wonder where being good had gotten her. What it had left her with.

She’d become a doormat in the name of keeping the peace. Being the kind of fiancée that Charlie wanted had meant being a good girl. Guarding her reputation. In truth, it had been all about him controlling her. It was just another game, another societal snare to try and trap her, make her into some sort of acceptable creature, worthy of her last name. Worthy of her position within the community she inhabited.

As she stood there, staring at this man who made her feel things that were almost foreign, this man who didn’t seem to care what anyone thought at all, who was so deliciously, frighteningly free from all of the things that held her bound, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

She couldn’t help but long for a taste. A taste of that freedom. Of that wildness. That roughness.

Sarah took a breath, her head swimming, her heart pounding, and leaned in.

The moment her lips touched his, she realized she’d made a terrible mistake.

For a crazy, wild moment she’d been caught up in the idea of escaping her prison. The one filled with pantyhose, pencil skirts, and expectations she wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet. From a life of trying to honor memories of people who’d already finished breathing, rather than doing a damn thing for herself.

Marrying the right man to appease her grandfather, a man who would have made her father proud. Throwing herself into planning this party to try to remind herself what was important. To try to repair the damage she’d caused to her relationship with her grandfather by canceling her wedding.

But when she made contact with Micah’s firm, hot mouth, everything was stripped away. That debutante cool melting against the inferno that exploded between them. And she knew for a fact that Micah didn’t care if she was a good girl. He wouldn’t even want her to be one.

That thought sent a shockwave through her body, one that rocked her, shook apart imaginary chains that had been holding her hands down at her sides.

She lifted them, placing them tentatively on his shoulders. Hard, muscular, and as hot as the rest of him.

She angled her head, parting her lips slightly, deepening the extremely ill-advised kiss.

It was bad. It was wrong. It would lead to the kind of place good girls didn’t go. Lead to things she had never done before. And that only made her want to kiss him harder, more desperately, to push him there. To push them both there.

He flicked his tongue out, tracing the line of her lip before delving in deep, his hand going to the back of her head, pressing her firmly against him. This was so far from the soft, wet, insipid kisses she’d received in the past. This was all slick heat and confidence, bruising, painful. Like touching the flame on a candle and going back for more.

And she was going back for more. Wasn’t going to pull away, even though she was being burned.

Because she didn’t just want to burn, she wanted to be consumed.

She found herself being propelled backward, hitting hard against the wall, the wallpapered surface smooth and cool behind her, his body pressing against hers, muscular, strong.

He was beyond her control. A predator in every sense of the word. And if he wanted to consume her, he would. If she told him no and he didn’t want to stop, there would be nothing she could do about it.

Pinpricks of fear mingled with the arousal that was blooming in her stomach, the sensations joining together to create something that made her tremble, made her feel weak, made her curl her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and cling to him as she submitted to the sensual assault.

He could overpower her easily, had,
was
. He was taking this decision from her, pushing her hard and fast into desires and actions she’d never experienced.

She loved this. Loved the idea that whatever happened, whatever sin was committed here would be led by him. The realization of his strength, his total control, should make her turn away, should make her fight against him, push him back, but they only made her lean more deeply into his touch.

She was complicit in being devoured. Willingly offering her throat to a deadly beast.

And it didn’t really matter that she was in the antechamber of her family’s hallowed home. It didn’t really matter that Micah owned it now. That everything was wrong. That nothing made sense.

Right and wrong didn’t have a place in this moment. Because she didn’t need or want any of this to make sense.

For just one moment she wanted to not be Sarah Delacroix. She didn’t want to be a woman owned by her family name, protecting an image owned by the people in the city. She wanted to be a woman who owned herself, who chose to give herself to a man because she wanted to.

She arched against him, pressing her breasts firmly against his chest. The contact soothed the ache that was spreading through her entire body a little bit, but not enough. She felt hollow inside, bereft of something she’d never even had before. But even without experience, she knew. Knew exactly what it was she wanted.

He flexed his hips at that exact moment, the hard ridge of his arousal making contact with the apex of her thighs. As though he could read her mind. His every touch, his every movement was infused with black magic.

This was New Orleans, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone deep into the bayou and drunk down a potion bottle filled with her darkest desires. Because now he was pouring them out onto her, showing her things that she’d never imagined she might want or need.

She felt like she’d had a straight shot of whiskey that had gone to her head, spread down to her toes and her fingertips.

Micah pushed his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, rough palms sliding upward, cupping her breasts.

His touch wasn’t gentle, far from it. He slid his thumbs over the tightened buds. He was a man who was confident in what he wanted, how to take it, and how to make his partner enjoy it. How to make his partner beg.

He promised he would make her beg. And now she was on the verge.

That thought was a bucket of cold water over her head.

She pushed at his chest, and contrary to what she thought earlier, he responded to that rejection quickly. He took a step away from her, his dark eyes assessing her.

Strange what had finally made her stop. Not the thought of him taking whatever he wanted from her body, but the thought of him being right about her.

“I think that’s enough,” she said, her voice shaking, thin.

She felt completely unprotected. A creature without its shell, left soft and exposed in the sunlight. So easily destroyed, so quickly crushed.

He didn’t say anything, he just reached for her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her against him, kissing her again. He parted her lips with his tongue, gripping her hair with his other hand, tangling his fingers in the strands and tugging hard, wrenching her mouth away from his.

She was held fast, one arm keeping her trapped against his body while he used the firm grip he had on her hair to hold her steady.

He lowered his head, buried his face in the curve of her neck, biting her before soothing the sting with his tongue, before sucking her tender skin. It would leave a mark. And she knew he was doing it for that reason.

Marking her. Staking a claim.

Arousal hit, hard and low, and she felt her internal muscles clench tight, felt slickness building there, right where she was hot and aching for him.

She should be outraged that he’d grabbed her like this. After she’d pushed him away. After she’d told him no.

But instead she was so turned on she could barely breathe, could barely think. His hold on her hair was so tight it was almost agony, his arm around her waist so firm it bordered on pain. But nothing hurt as badly as the places where his hands weren’t.

Her breasts. That throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs.

Her lips.

Because
his
were still on her neck. Her throat.

His teeth scraped her skin there, and she was reminded of her earlier assessment. Reminded of the fact that he was a predator.

This time, he was the one who broke contact. He released his hold of her suddenly, leaving her feeling cold. Bereft.

Her scalp tingled, her neck burned, and so did she.

“I’ll say when it’s enough,” he said, his voice rough. “Now I’ve had enough.” He reached out, brushing his thumb across her breast, the unexpected touch a shock to her sensitized system. “For now.”

“It’ll have to be enough from here on out,” she said, teeth gritted.

What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been. She’d been feeling. And desperate to keep on feeling regardless of whether or not it was smart.

She wasn’t even sure if she was smart anymore. Or if all her brain cells had just evaporated from the heat of his touch.

That was possible. Probable.

Kissing Charlie had certainly never been like that. If it had been, her virginity would be long gone, edicts of good-girl behavior be damned.

But Charlie hadn’t kissed like that. Never. Not once. So she’d kept her clothes on easily and, frankly, now that she’d kissed Micah, she judged the women who’d gotten naked with her ex a lot more harshly than she had before.

Obviously Charlie was even less impressive than she’d originally realized.

Or maybe Micah was just that much more.

She didn’t like that thought. Didn’t like it at all.

One taste of Micah was all she would ever allow herself. And when she did have a taste of another man in the future, she would like it to be closer to the experience of kissing this man than to the experience of kissing the boy who’d put that big diamond ring on her finger.

She would prefer it if Charlie were the anomaly. Not Micah.

“We’ll see about that, baby.”

“Don’t
baby
me,” she said, forgetting to hide her annoyance. Forgetting to be cool and unbreakable.

Forgetting.
Ha
. As if she had a choice.

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t kiss me if you can’t handle it.”

Her heart was thundering, her whole body shaking. But she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Please. You don’t think I can handle a kiss and a grope? It was a nice kiss, but honestly, you men could mix it up more. You always go straight for a woman’s breasts. It’s so predictable.” Ah, salvation in the form of a cutting remark. She was grateful for that.

A slow smile curved his lips. “You did seem pretty bored. If I’d continued to bore you for much longer, you would have come without me ever touching you under your clothes.”

“I have a little more self-control than that,” she bit out.

“Except,
baby,
you weren’t in control just now. I was. Don’t forget. I think we’re done here for the day. If you can’t sleep tonight, you know where to find me.”

He turned away from her and walked out of the room. She heard the front door of the mansion slam shut and her whole body sagged.

She felt hollow. Anxiety slowly replacing the arousal that had built up inside her. She could pretend to him, act like she was unaffected, but she knew.

She
wanted
him.

She’d never wanted a stranger. Never wanted a man she didn’t even like. Had never experienced a kiss that stole her ability to think.

She had to get her shit together. There were no two ways about it. Because it wasn’t like she was giving her virginity to some biker asshole who wouldn’t get the hell out of her house.

No way.

Some guy who would only be good for hard, sweaty sex. She didn’t even know if she wanted anything like that.

Typically, she was anti-sweating, so she doubted she’d feel differently simply because there was a naked man involved.

She shrugged off the deepening ache that intensified at the thought.

Sarah had to get her head on straight before she encountered Micah again. He was unpredictable, and he’d implied that he’d be back here tonight.

Which meant she better leave now while she could. And by the time she saw him tomorrow, the kiss would be forgotten.

The simple fact was, whether or not she wanted to forget it for a few moments or not, she was a good girl. And good girls didn’t do biker boys.

No way in hell.