The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men (16 page)

Or make that very, very bad.

Because a man as dogged as Nash Cargill, a man who couldn't stop himself from wanting to “help,” was only going to be stopped from trying to look inside of her by one thing.

Sex. She was going to have sex with him.

And what was wrong with that? Hadn't she been telling herself to take her pleasures where she could find them?

Rising to her feet, Eve held the old uniform against her body. Nash was watching her with brimstone kindling a fire in his silvery eyes. Still, it was heat, and she felt it lick along her flesh as his gaze dragged over her. Her throat tightened, turning her voice husky. “Would you like to see how it looks on me?”

His nostrils flared. The heat in the room jumped another fifteen degrees. But then his arms crossed over his wide chest. “You're bluffing.”

Shaking her head, Eve smiled at Nash. “My daddy didn't believe in gambling, which means he also taught us never to bluff.” Never, ever, ever.

N
ash watched Eve disappear into her bedroom, hips swaying in a confident, seductive dance. Then he quaffed the remainder of his wine and refilled the glass from the bottle she'd left on the table, trying to ignore the bead of sweat rolling down his spine. She was out to break him.

Damn woman.

Damn sexy, seductive woman. He'd done something or said something that had touched a tender spot, and now she wanted to make him pay.

After more fruitless days of trailing behind his little sister, after more days of catching maddening glimpses of oh-so-erotic Eve around the Kona Kai, days that gave him nothing else to think about but how frustrated he was and how horny she made him, he was going to let her try.

But all the points were not going to Eve in this match, as much as it was obvious she expected them to. She thought he would fall at her feet and give her the balm or the entertainment or whatever it was that she considered sex, but he wasn't going down on his knees that easy.

Then she sashayed back through the bedroom door, and he had to bite his tongue to hold back his groan of surrender. She'd done it. She'd really put on that cursed school uniform. Eve had grown some since last she'd worn the thing. Plain white cotton strained across her breasts, and the plaid skirt's hemline was a scandal all by itself. He wasn't going to think about what was underneath it.

White cotton panties? Black silk thong? Nothing at all?

Oh, my God. His cock got into a shoving match with the zipper of his jeans. The fact was, she was going to kill him.

And the knowledge of it was in the sultry lowering of her lashes. In her confident stroll that was taking her closer to him. In the fact that her toenails were painted cotton candy pink.

It was the same shade as the color she'd painted her heart-shaped mouth. Her tongue sneaked out to touch the deep bow of her upper lip. “So what do you think of my outfit, Nash?”

He remembered the first occasion they'd met, that night in the bar. She'd stepped between him and Jemima then, offering herself as sacrifice to his libido, just as she was doing now. Distracting him from Jemima, that time. This time, distracting him from…what?

Standing before him, just an arm's length away, she drew her big toe along the back calf of her other leg.
The shy, yet still seductive movement only made his palm itch to spank her in an all-woman way.

“Well, Nash?” she purred.

Careful, careful
. He sucked in a breath and pointed to a spot on her blouse with a finger he prayed wasn't trembling. “You have a stain, right there, where the sleeve meets the shoulder.”

Her eyes flared open, lashes flying high. Her gaze darted down to the place he'd indicated, and she frowned.

With that, he'd changed the rhythm of the play, and she narrowed her eyes as she looked back up at him. The party girl was feeling a tinge impatient, but she was trying not to show it. “That doesn't really matter, does it, Nash? The uniform and I, well, we haven't gotten…out…in quite a while.”

He almost laughed aloud at the implication. The idea that Eve Caruso hadn't gotten “out” recently was like trying to believe that he didn't give his truck a good wax job on a regular basis.

“I thought you might want to know,” he replied, straight-faced. “Aren't you planning on wearing it to that masquerade event you told me about? I figured that's why you tried it on.”

She blinked again. “No. Well…maybe…” Her hand reached down for the glass of wine she'd left on the table, and she took a healthy sip. Then she set the glass back and toyed with the top button of her blouse, the one that was barely containing her cleavage. A woman redoubling her seductive efforts. “Do you think that would be a good idea?”

He thought a good idea would be locking them both in a room without any clothes on at all, but that was the thought she wanted him to have. With a jerk, he
lifted his gaze off the teeny-tiny button that looked close to popping. “Me, I never tell a lady what she should wear.”

A smile played around the corners of her mouth. “But Nash, we both know I'm no lady.”

Good God, how much was a man supposed to take? As much as her lines sounded like canned seduction, they were overpowering when coupled with her classy, superbeauty self. It was like Miss America starring in a raunchy porn movie.

The stuff of every man's fantasies.

But he steeled his spine and started thinking about ice cream, ice sculptures, ice machines, ice hockey. Yeah. Red-faced men with big long sticks.

Which made him think of himself and the damn pole that was jutting up between his legs. “Darlin',” he managed to grind out. “To a man like me, all women are ladies from the day they're born until the day they die.”

A mulish expression crossed her face, and she looked more like the little girl she was pretending to be. “Don't you want to touch me, Nash?”

With every muscle, tendon, and cell of his being. But that was what she expected from him, from any man, from every man. It was obvious to him that somewhere along the way she'd learned to consider her beauty a value, she'd learned to use it as a weapon, she'd learned to make it a buffer between herself and other people. Men.

Who would look inside her head and her heart if they could get inside her stupendous body instead?

She asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question again, with just a tad more edge. “Really, Nash, don't you want to touch me?”

His palms gripped his thighs as he gave her his
best Bubba grin. He knew a surefire way to shake her off, and he drawled it all out for her, in his best Southern-speak. “Well sure I want to touch you, darlin', but why don't you come over here and touch me first?”

She stepped back, looked taken aback. Looked almost shocked by the idea of it.

Exactly what I wanted,
thought that mature, sensible, rational part of him that didn't like a woman just because she had a cotton-candy mouth, big breasts, long legs, and blonde hair. Of course, somewhere inside there was a randy teenager jumping up and down, a teenager who was yelling that he would come from just touching his tongue to Eve's kneecap and it would be the best come of his life, but Nash figured that was just big talk. In reality, it would take his tongue to her upper thigh, at least.

Then he made the biggest mistake of the evening yet. As he watched her back away, he heard himself murmur out loud, “After all, one good dare deserves another.”

Instantly, her gaze turned crafty. How could he have been so stupid? Guessing he was playing his own game with her would only egg on her competitive spirit. No doubt Eve was accustomed to coming out on top when it came to sensual sports. And not that he didn't think he could hold his own with her in a purely sexual sense, but he worried that—

The thought was lost as she landed in his lap. That clean, bare-flesh-and-bubbles scent of her rose around his head, and he was just inches from that cotton-candy pink mouth. “Eve…”

His good sense was stumbling around in his brain, waving its arms like Robot on reruns of the TV classic
Lost in Space.
Danger Will Robinson! Danger Will Robinson!

His hands gripped his thighs tighter, and he willed them not to lift and touch her silky thighs, her round ass, the curves of those womanly breasts that were bursting out of that damn bad-girl blouse. But he couldn't avert his gaze as she brought one forefinger to her tongue and licked the pad. He nearly went cross-eyed as he watched her inch that glistening tip to his mouth.

She painted his upper lip with wet heat.

His fingernails bit through his jeans as she repeated the process on his bottom lip.

Then her gaze met his, pondering, assessing, deciding, and he held firm. Oh, God, all of him held so rock-hard firm. She took no pity on his erection as she ground her cute little butt against it and went for the buttons on his shirt. Her breaths came easy, softly, and he knew she was still toying with him, those easy breaths signaling this was not for herself but to make him lose control and give her what she wanted.

Worship, not sex.

Sex, not intimacy.

And Nash was determined not to let her get away with it, because sometime in the last few years he'd gotten tired of tab-A-into-slot-B sex. He wasn't interested in being the manner in which Eve released her tensions or covered up her emotions, even if he had to ultimately push her off his lap and stalk out of her place with the longest flagpole of a hard-on he'd ever had in his life.

Shifting to straddle his knees, she pushed the edges of his unfastened shirt apart. As the cotton rasped across his pecs, the muscles twitched, and his nipples contracted to stiff nubs.

Eve froze.

She was staring down at his chest as if she'd never seen one before. And maybe she hadn't, considering the weasely little runner types she seemed to prefer in her bed. Then one of her fingers finally moved, making a slow trail from his throat, over his slamming heart, and then around the lower curve of his right pectoral. Her other hand mirrored the movement, and hot chills rushed down his spine with the good news.

Oh, but there were more hallelujahs to follow. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and pulled it down to his elbows. He had to leave it there unless he wanted to risk lifting his hands—which he didn't. He didn't want to risk any kind of move at all, because what Eve was doing to him was so damn arousing that he didn't trust himself to touch her flesh and then not take over.

This time, with this woman, giving her the lead was the only chance he had to make it equal. So he held fast as she explored his chest with the lightest of fingertips, circling, circling, but never touching the small points at the center. He would have thought it was more practiced seduction on her part, but he could hear her breath coming faster now, he could feel the new warmth of her skin and the avidness of her gaze as she explored his body.

Then she bent her head and sucked his nipple.

His hips bucked. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth, the pleasure rippling, rippling down his back then shooting through his bloodstream.

A feminine sound of appreciation buzzed against his breastbone and his lashes lifted. The ends of her silky blonde hair brushed against his chest as she lifted her lips. He stared down at the brand of cotton-candy
pink ringing his nipple and fought another surge of his hips.

And then lost the fight when her mouth latched onto his other nipple. His right hand jerked free of his thigh, in one move yanking the tails of her blouse from her skirt. His palm found the sleek small of her back and she flinched, goose bumps rising against his callouses.

Now
he believed she was turned on too.

His other hand found the hem of her skirt and snaked underneath. As her teeth nipped down on him, he curled his fingers around her ass. Her bare, naked ass.

Oh, bad girl.

Naughty, no-panties woman.

The Preacher was going to have to punish her with pleasure.

S
he'd won. Triumph flooded her as Nash's long fingers caressed the bare skin of her back and her behind. He was going to give her what she wanted.

Then his big palm lifted off her butt and landed again, giving her naked flesh a mild slap. Her head popped up and her gaze jerked to his as glittery heat fanned across her skin. Desire sizzled in her blood.

“Don't think this is the end of the game, darlin',” he said, his eyes molten silver. “It's not over until the beautiful lady sings.”

But before she could snicker or tease or take back control, he shifted his hand from her butt to the back of her head. His other emerged to get a firm grip on her chin.

He tilted it just so, then moved in for the kiss.

As his tongue sank into her mouth, she sank onto
his lap, indulging herself in a greedy wiggle against his erection. His hand fell back to her hip. He flipped up her skirt and squeezed her right cheek in warning. “No cheating,” he said against her mouth.

But she called the rules here. This was her game. To make sure he understood that, she thrust her tongue in his mouth and wiggled again.

The second spank was just as playful but delicious as the first, igniting sparklers across her skin, tightening her nipples, contracting her womb.

It was hard to kiss and swallow her little cat smile at the same time.

Nash must have discerned her struggle, because he lifted his head and sighed. “You like that too much, don't you?” He sighed again. “Have it your way, then. I'll take mine the next time around.”

But there wouldn't be a next time around, so Eve wasn't worried. In fact, she was elated. The small pop that was her usual sexual release might be just enough to snap her out of her present funk. By Jon Stewart time, she'd be alone in bed with the TV and Comedy Central, and perhaps relaxed enough for sleep.

Winding her arms around Nash's neck, she kissed him, hard. The world tilted. It took a moment to realize he'd lifted her and was carrying her away from the couch. “Hey,” she said, spearing her fingers in the too-long hair at the back of his neck and pulling his lips from hers. “Did I give you permission to head to the bedroom?”

His footsteps halted and he looked down at her, his eyes and his smile lazy. Confident. “Didn't your daddy teach you that might makes right?”

Oh, but Nash would never use his strength against her, and the certainty of that thought sent a strange
frisson of—security? pleasure?—down her back. Something of that little quiver must have shown on her face, because his smile died.

“Oh, darlin'. That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I was just mouthing off.”

She didn't want his apologies. Though she trusted him in how he used his strength, she didn't want him to be so considerate of her moods. He was supposed to scratch an itch, not
care
. So she leaned in to kiss his bottom lip. “That's what happens when you should have been mouthing
on,
” she teased.

He laughed and hitched her higher to bring them once again lip-to-lip, tongue-to-tongue, breath-to-breath. His strides ate up the last of the distance to the bed as the heat between them evaporated any further thoughts.

Or doubts. She'd never been one for self-sacrifice, anyway, and Nash was here, hot, and making her hot too.

The mattress met her back. She'd left one low-wattage lamp on by the bed, and its light turned Nash's shoulder to gold as he sat down beside her. His gaze ran over her body, from disheveled hair to hiked-up skirt. “You're ahead of me in the bare-naked department,” he said, reaching down to pull off his boots. “I'd better hurry up.”

Yes
. Still, as he went about undressing, she tortured him by rubbing her thumb over his nipples, massaging her lipstick prints into the tanned skin of his chest. And what a chest. It had taken her breath away at first, all that rippling muscle and smooth flesh. She'd never considered herself a chest woman; she'd never considered, really, what body parts of a man she liked, until now. She definitely liked Nash's chest.

Then he stood, half-turning to shuck his jeans and boxers.

Oh, she liked his butt too.

Then he turned back to face her.

And she wasn't sure what she thought about
that
.

He glanced down at himself, then rubbed a casual palm along his length and grinned. “You're inspiring me to great heights.”

“And breadth.” She liked seeing him touch himself, she realized. It proved how comfortable he was with his own sexuality. How comfortable he was within his own skin. What a turn-on.

Another flush of heat washed across her body. As if he could read her mind, he palmed himself again. “All for you, darlin'.”

All for me
. Oh, now she liked the idea of that too. Reaching out a hand, she stroked her nails along his thigh. “Then I must have been a
very
good girl.”

He laughed. “Not exactly what I've been thinking, but we can compromise on that point.” The mattress dipped as he stretched out beside her and reached for the buttons of her blouse. “This, however, has got to go.”

He bared her in seconds. Her nipples puckered as he tossed away her bra, too, and then he bent his head to take one in his mouth. Suction. Heat. The rasp of his tongue. Her back arched and she went wet between her thighs. Nash moved to her other breast, and desire burned inside of her.

She cradled his head in her hands, caressing his silky hair. “Oh, yeah,” she whispered as he swirled his tongue around the point and then tugged gently with his teeth. “Oh, this is really good.”

Better than good when he lifted his head and looked
down on her, his gaze intense. He watched his hand slowly unfasten the button and zipper on her skirt, then push it down her thighs.

As she kicked it away, he froze. “Pretty.” His voice was thick. “Pretty. Naked.”

“I get a deep discount on bikini waxes.” He was still staring, and she had to resist the urge to reach down and do a Venus de Milo. “Haven't you ever seen a Brazilian?”

When he still didn't say anything, she felt a trill of nerves edge along her spine. “Nash?” Despite herself, her hand crept down.

Catching it, he lifted his gaze to hers. “I thought I'd seen it all. Initials, lightning bolts, you-are-here arrows, Xs to mark the spot.”

Not sure whether he was serious or not, she fought the urge to laugh.

Until he squeezed her fingers. Until he said, “But you, Eve, I've never seen
you
.”

There was now nothing to laugh about, not when her chest tightened, not when goose bumps broke out across her skin, not when his free hand moved to cup her mons.

His eyes closed. “Ah, Eve. I thought it might be like this.”

Like what? Like what?

The question flew away, though, as he stroked his long middle finger along the seam between her swollen folds. Her legs parted, her folds parted, and then Nash was there, circling her clitoris and then sliding lower to play at the wet entrance to her body.

Her thigh muscles clenched, her womb contracted, she closed her eyes against the delicious, sweet intrusion. He was gentle, soft, insistent. His tongue was
back on her hard nipple as a second finger sank inside of her.

Eve gasped. Her hands found his body, and she ran them over the thick muscles of his shoulders, arms, chest. Her desire was rising higher, flying now, the promise of that pop of release hovering over her like those butterflies he'd once made her imagine. Her palm slid lower and she felt his hard belly twitch as her fingers found him, circled him, gave him the message that it was time. Now. Right now.

His hand withdrew from her body. Okay, good, he'd replace it with that other part of him any second. As soon as he took care of that condom he'd taken from his wallet and placed on the bedside table.

But instead, instead, he trailed his mouth down her torso. Heading she-knew-where.

“No.” Her body jackknifed up. She was breathing hard, the noise loud in the room. “Not that.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I don't want that.”

“You'll like it. I'm good, because
I
like it.” He gave her a silly-girl pat on her hip.

She pushed his hand away. “I don't want that and I don't do that.”

“Darlin'—”

“If intercourse isn't enough…”

Now he was frowning at her. “Intercourse?”

She huffed, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms over her breasts. “It's not the wrong word.”

“It's precise, I'll grant you that. But prissy. I think
you're
prissy.”

There was still heat between them, desire was still bubbling through her blood, but she was also considering shoving him off the bed so that he would land
on his judgmental ass. She could always finish this with the convenient little appliance in her bedside table.

“Do you want sex or not?” she demanded.

He shrugged. How could one man be naked and beautiful and so maddeningly confident all at once? “I wanted it all, but…”

“But?”

He rubbed his chin. “But I guess I can compromise once again—”

She tugged him down on top of her before he could change his mind.

“—as long as you beg.” He reached for the condom.

“Right,” she scoffed, closing her eyes to hide her delight in his surrender and the sensation of his hard, hot skin rubbing against hers. Her knees widened to make room for him.

And then had to widen some more.

Nash was a big man, she knew that, but she hadn't taken into account how much room his hips and thighs required. With his knees and gentle hands, he nudged her lower limbs outward, spreading her, opening her to him.

When he came down on his elbows, his big hands cradling her face, she felt like a butterfly, wings pinned to the mattress. But it was her heart that fluttered against her chest as the head of his erection briefly grazed the knot of nerves made so vulnerable by her wide-open position. His mouth came down on hers and he soul-kissed Eve, his tongue and lips taking…giving…taking.

He caressed her clitoris with the silky head of his penis again, and she tilted her hips to lure him lower. It was a shallow thrust he returned. Not enough. She
wrapped her legs around his hips, barely managing to lock her ankles so she could bring him where she wanted him. So she could demand the sensation she wanted.

Nash thrusting. Hard. Nash inside her. Hard.

He slid into her wet heat, stretching her. They both groaned.

“Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “Nice,” she said as he bent his head to lick the side of her neck.

But then he pulled out and went back to that gentle outside, upward stroke.

“Nash.”

Deep slide.

“Yes.”

Back out.

“Nash.”

Gentle stroke.

Deep slide. Gentle stroke. Deep slide.

It was maddening. Frustrating. Not quite enough and he knew it.

She was going to kill him. She was definitely going to kill him, toss his body to the floor, then finish this off herself, with her non-demanding, non-frustrating, no-ego appliance.

But though it didn't have Nash's ego, it didn't have his muscles or heated skin or arousing, masculine scent either. She lifted her head and bit the edge of his whiskered jaw in retaliation. He grunted. Slid deeper.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

Only to slide back out. All the way out.

“Nash.”

He reared back, breaking her ankle lock, the muscles in his arms bulging. “You need somethin', darlin'?”
His drawl was heavier, sultrier, like a hot humid night that the desert had never, ever experienced.

“You know what I need,” she gasped out, as his erection teased her swollen nerve endings.

“Then you know what you need to do.” His eyes were intense, but he was smiling at her, a gentle smile that set those butterflies tumbling inside her chest again.

He sat back onto his knees and slid his hands to her inner thighs, holding her open, wide, vulnerable.

Except Nash would never hurt her.

He slowly ran his shaft along her folds, up and down, but never inside her, never enough. “Oh, Eve, you feel so good. You feel so right.”

Hot goose bumps prickled her skin. She was close. He was getting her so close.

Except Nash was holding out. He would never give her what she wanted until she gave him what
he
wanted first.

Fine, fine. It didn't matter. She would put him back in his place later. In a minute. As soon as he got the job done. “Please, Nash. Please, I'm begging you.”

His eyes glittered as he looked down at her, but there was still such tenderness on his face. How could that be? “You're beggin' for what, Eve?”

Was there a word for it? The ordinary ones didn't seem quite right. “I'm begging for you.”

Where had that come from? But there wasn't time to worry about it, because he covered her again, sliding down, sliding deep. They groaned together again.

But even then he didn't follow the usual game plan. While he gave her those lovely deep thrusts, he punctuated them with those wet, caressing slides. Stroke, slide, stroke, slide. His hips kept her thighs pushed
wide, and every movement stretched her tighter, took her higher, coiled the desire tighter, until, until…

“Nash,
please
.”

He sank fast and deep, deeper than ever before, the base of his shaft pressing against her clitoris in small, insistent pulses, one, two thr—

And she climaxed, her arms and legs splayed wide on the mattress as pleasure exploded through her body. She trembled and trembled and trembled, and inside her those butterflies broke free.