The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones (25 page)

He broke away and swore. “You're trying to make me lose control.”

“Is that possible?”

“Oh, yeah. If you don't stop moving like that, you'll make me prove it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. She didn't believe he was all that close to being swept over the edge, but it was wonderful to hear the words. She liked knowing she brought this strong man to the point of breaking. She wanted him to shatter, then together they would put the pieces back in place.

She kissed his jaw, tasting the faintly bitter flavor of his after-shave, then moved to his ear. She nibbled on the lobe and suckled the sensitive skin underneath. His breathing grew more rapid.

His fingers found the fastener of her bra. With practiced ease, he slipped the hooks free. She straightened slightly so the garment slid down her arms. She grabbed it and tossed it aside.

Mike stared at her breasts as if he'd never seen a naked woman before. Slowly, reverently, he cupped her. She was pale against his tanned skin. His fingers moved back and forth creating exquisite electrical sensations that arced down to her most feminine place. He lowered his head between her breasts, as if to bury himself within her. He was warm, with only the faintest hint of stubble to create delicious friction.

Her own breathing increased to match the rapid cadence of his. When his mouth closed on her nipple, she caught her breath, wondering if she'd ever felt anything so incredible in her life. His warm, damp tongue circled her, teasing her tightness until her hips began to rock against him. She gasped his name, clutching at him, begging him to never stop.

Back and forth he moved, caressing first one then the other breast. His fingers supported her, stroking her pale flesh, pushing her toward the edge of sanity.

When she thought she might slip over into madness, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gently lowered her to the bed. He rolled until he knelt between her thighs. She was stretched across the width of the mattress, her feet dangling off the side. The sheets were smooth and cool against her heated skin.

He shifted so he was lying next to her, then reached behind him for something on the nightstand. When she was able to bring her gaze into focus, she saw he was holding the rose.

“Lovely,” he said, first staring at, then sniffing the pale flower. He held it close to her nose. She inhaled the sweet fragrance. Roses would forever remind her of him.

It was probably close to seven o'clock, but the sun was still bright in the sky. The pulled drapes couldn't keep out all the light. She could see him clearly, and the furniture in the room. Her nearly naked body was his to view, yet he seemed preoccupied by the rose.

“They've taken off the thorns,” he said, turning the stem and studying it. “Just as well, I wouldn't want to hurt you.”

With that, he brushed the flower against her throat. The petals were soft. She could smell the sweet scent and feel the faint caress against her heated skin. She arched her neck. He traced the line of her jaw, her ears, then moved down her chest to her breastbone.

The delicate petals tickled and aroused. Goose bumps dotted her skin. Mike stretched out beside her, supporting his head on one hand. With the other, he held the rose and circled her breasts. First one, around and around, moving higher to her nipple, but not touching it, then the other. Back and forth, he taunted her.

Her breathing came in gasps, then she forgot to breathe at all. At last he brushed the tip with the head of the flower. At the same moment, he brought his mouth down on her other breast. Her hips tilted, her fingers clawed at the sheet. She didn't know she could feel so much pleasure and still live.

He continued to stroke her body, dragging the rose across her belly. Every muscle quivered in anticipation. He paused to remove her panties, then trailed the flower down her legs. He tickled the soles of her feet, then moved higher, sweeping the petals across the insides of her knees and up her thighs.

She parted for him. She was damp and swollen, her woman's place aching for his touch. If she'd been able to speak, she would have begged. As it was, she could only try to survive this sensual assault, waiting for the culmination that would surely shatter her being.

He touched the rose to the damp curls. He rose and knelt between her legs. Again and again he touched her with the flower. The petals merely teased her, without bringing her the promise of release. She moved her hips up and down, silently urging him to touch her, take her. Anything.

He laughed softly. “Impatient little thing, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

He leaned forward and placed the rose on her belly. With one graceful movement, he drew his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His torso was smooth and tanned, gleaming in the diffused light. She reached for him.

“Not yet,” he said, lowering himself to the mattress and dropping a quick kiss on her right thigh.

His hands slipped under her legs as he grasped her buttocks, then bent closer. She screamed when he stroked his tongue against her. From the place that would bring them both release, to the tiny but engorged center of her pleasure, he tasted her. His breath was hot, his tongue sure.

She'd heard of such things, her ex-husband had even tried it once or twice, but she'd felt so awkward and exposed, she'd asked him to stop. Now the thought of Mike stopping was enough to make her sob. She could feel her body collecting itself, already prepared to explode. Her scalp tingled, the soles of her feet burned. Every point in between was alive and taut with need. Her muscles contracted and tightened, making her legs jerk and her hands clutch and release the sheet.

His tongue continued its magical ministrations, circling around, moving up and down, dipping inside, as if her flavor was a treat to be savored. He moved closer, shifting her legs over his shoulders, as if
he
needed more. She was off-balance and falling, exposed and out of control and she didn't want it to end.

But the pleasure could not be denied. Like the glory of a sunrise, it began with only a hint of light. Her muscles started to clench in a secret rhythm. Her hips rose against his mouth, her fingers clawed for support as she moaned her need.

She spoke his name, at least she tried to form the words. She tossed her head from side to side. The insistent stroking of his tongue forced her to his pace, not hers, so she hung suspended, until the last rapid flick sent her exploding into the light. She soared in a storm of ultimate pleasure as her muscles trembled in a cascade of satisfaction.

When the world had stopped spinning, she found herself cradled in Mike's arms. He stared at her intensely.

She touched his face, his cheeks, then traced his mouth.

“That was wonderful,” she murmured.

“I'm glad.”

“How did you do that?”

“I had great material to work with. You're very responsive.”

She could feel the blush climbing, but she didn't bother to look away. After what they'd just shared, how could there be any secrets?

“I've never been that responsive before,” she admitted.

“Then you
have
been doing it wrong.”

She giggled. “I guess so. Thanks for showing me the right way.”

“My pleasure. Anytime. And I mean that.”

His eyes were dark and smoky, his expression caring. But she could feel the tension in his body. His erection pressed against her bare hip.

As she raised her head toward him, she ran her hands down his back. Even as their mouths met and tongues tangled, she stroked his coiled muscles. His skin was sleek and smooth, his strength overwhelming. Except for the scar on his leg, he was back to normal.

Even so, a slight pressure on his shoulder was all she needed to roll him onto his back. She knelt next to him and studied the breadth of him. His belly was flat, his hips narrow. The male part of him thrust up against the fabric of his shorts.

She bent over his chest and touched her tongue to his nipple. At the same moment, she placed her palm over his hardness. His response was an instant guttural cry. He cupped her face.

“You're killing me,” he murmured.

“What a way to go.”

His smile was slightly pained.

He sat up and kissed her. While his mouth kept hers busy, he drew off his shorts and briefs. He reached for her hand and brought it back to him. This time, instead of strained fabric, she touched bare skin. Her fingers closed around him. He drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked, matching the speed of her strokes between his thighs.

Soft skin encased the hard ridge of his desire. She explored his impressive length, then moved lower. He spread his legs, allowing her to touch him there. Flesh yielded. She cupped him gently, rubbing her fingers until he writhed against her caress and hoarsely called her name.

She lowered her mouth to his shoulder, nibbling his hot skin. He tasted salty.

“Where are they?” he asked, his breath ticking her ear.

“What?”

“The condoms.”

“Oh.” She raised her head and glanced at him, suddenly embarrassed. “Under the pillow.”

He slid his right hand along the sheet, searched for a moment, then pulled out the small, square box.

“Did I get the right kind?” she asked, suddenly anxious. “There were so many and I didn't really know what you would want and—”

He touched his finger to her mouth. “You did great. They're fine.”

She gave him one final, parting stroke, then sat back and watched him draw on the protection. She'd been afraid that moment might be awkward, but it was a caring gesture. He didn't try to persuade her otherwise, or make her feel foolish. He simply did what he had to in order to take care of her.

When he was done, she lay down next to him. He moved over her, settling between her legs. At the first touch of him against her sensitive center, her body began to clench in anticipation. She hadn't thought to experience release again, but suddenly she wanted to. Desperately.

She drew back her knees and arched her hips toward him. He pressed against her. She was so damp, he slid in easily, parting her tight flesh, sending shivers of pleasure radiating outward, like a pebble dropped in a pond. She wiggled closer. Her breasts bounced with the motion and his breath caught. She smiled slowly. She liked knowing he found her exciting.

She moved her hand and touched the trimmed stem of the rose. A few of the petals had fallen off, but most of the flower was still whole. His dark eyes met hers. She saw the need raging there, matched only by the throbbing between her legs.

She brought the flower up to his chest and stroked his skin. His muscles tensed. She did it again, this time searching out his flat nipples.

“Cindy, don't,” he said tightly.

“Why not?”

“Because I won't be able to hold back.”

“Maybe I don't want you to.”

She brought the rose lower, dipping it into his dark curls, stroking it against the base of his organ as he withdrew, only to plunge in again.

“Two can play at this,” he said, then grabbed the rose from her. He touched the head of the flower to her breasts, teasing her with a quick back and forth motion.

Now it was her turn to moan. She couldn't focus on anything but what he was doing on her chest and between her legs. Her vision blurred. She felt his muscles tense for one final assault. He groaned his denial.

“Yes,” she said loudly, drawing her knees all the way to her chest and thrusting her hips toward him.

He drove deeply into her, triggering massive contractions of ecstasy. His body shook as he, too, fell into the bliss. They clung to each other until the shaking stopped and their breathing returned to normal.

* * *

Cindy lay curled next to Mike. She couldn't see the clock, but she guessed it was around ten Sunday morning. On the floor was the wooden tray she'd used to feed him while he was sick. Instead of the remains of weak soup and toast, there was an empty bottle of wine, bowls used for the beef Burgundy, and an empty pint of gourmet strawberry ice cream. She smiled when she remembered what Mike had done with that. It had been very sticky and they'd both needed a shower afterward.

He'd been right about the condoms. They used the last one just a couple of hours before. Which meant, as much as she wanted to, she really shouldn't wake him up. Although there were other ways of bringing pleasure. He had certainly proved that to her.

She turned her head so she could study his profile. His nose was straight, his mouth well formed. There was a tiny scar by his left eyebrow, probably from a childhood accident. She'd never noticed before. Probably because she'd never been this close to him before.

A lock of hair fell onto his forehead. She wanted to brush it away, but she didn't want to wake him. Instead, she scooted closer, tangling her bare legs with his.

He breathed rhythmically, sleeping without dreaming. She was too aware of herself to sleep. She could hear her heart beating, feel her skin, the tingling between her legs.

She'd expected to enjoy making love with Mike. They liked each other, they had fun together, they shared a mutual attraction. Why wouldn't it have been wonderful? So the fact that he left her breathless and trembling wasn't a surprise.

She hadn't expected to fall in love.

Cindy closed her eyes for a moment. The rush of emotions had caught her off guard. She tried to tell herself it was just a chemical reaction to the moment. Once the glow wore off, so would her feelings. But she knew the truth. Somehow in the tangle of sheets and bodies, she'd exposed her heart. She suspected she'd fallen in love with him a long time ago. Their intimacy had only forced her to acknowledge it.

She'd thought she might want to rage against the truth. But she felt calm. Knowing what she knew now, even knowing Mike was leaving, she wouldn't change anything. With him, she was alive. He reminded her she was a woman, he'd shown her she could love again. If the price of that was a broken heart, she would pay it and survive. For in time her heart would heal. The crack would always be visible, and she would never love anyone exactly as she loved Mike, but it was far better to feel the pain of loss and be among the living, than exist the way she had for the last couple of years—protecting herself from the world, merely surviving in a cocoon of fear.