The Edge of Dawn (19 page)

She ran her hand down his bearded cheek. “Yes. Are you?”

“Now I am.”

He pulled her in against him again and the kiss that followed was inevitable and wonderful and oh-so-welcome. Off in the distance sirens could be heard. Saint eased his lips from hers and murmured against her ear. “Time to go, angel.”

She responded by kissing him again with such sweetness, he groaned and whispered, “Stop it woman. We need to split.”

But he couldn't fit actions to words. The taste of her lips, the feel of her soft body pressed against him made him want to stand there until sunrise. That was out of
the question, though, so he placed his hands on her waist, lifted her bodily and gently set her down a few inches away. “Let's go.”

She grinned. He grabbed up the launcher and they raced back to the Caddy.

Saint shot the stick into first. Leaving behind the burning carcass of the crashed helicopter, they headed out of the field. Once Lily had pavement under the wheels again, he took the speed up.

In Narice's door mirror she could see dozens of flashing red and blue lights pulsating in the darkness behind them. “Here come the cavalry.”

Saint took the speedometer up to eighty-five. “And we're getting out of Dodge.”

Saint looked over at Narice. No words could describe how impressed he was by her. With her elegant and unorthodox ways, she'd already stolen a big chunk of his heart. When the time came for them to go their separate ways he would miss her a lot. The thought of never seeing her again didn't sit well, he realized. Usually he had no problem cutting ties to people he met on the job. “You did real good back there.”

“I was scared stupid. I never want to do that again. Ever.” Memories of the earth exploding around her made her fight off a shiver of delayed reaction. “I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

He chuckled in the darkness. “Lean over here a minute.”

When she did, he kissed her softly, fully. “Damn good.”

He went back to driving. She settled in and enjoyed the way his praise warmed her insides, but the darkness of the last hour hovered on the edges of her consciousness like the copters hovering over the highway. She hoped the driver of the Mustang had gotten out before the fire, but she was less charitable about the chopper pilot.

A while later, they drove past a large highway sign that welcomed them to the State of Tennessee. “Are we going to stop?” She was hoping for a nice soft bed.

“Just for gas. I want to be in Atlanta by morning.”

“Then what?”

“Get a room, lose ourselves for a day or so, get our bearings, grab some sleep….”

The tone of his voice on the word
sleep
piqued Narice's interest. “Sleep, huh?”

“Yeah, you know—like in a bed.”

“I thought cheetahs slept in trees?”

He gave her a slow grin. “Not when there's a lioness around.”

Even in the dark that smile of his stroked her. “Do you know where this bed in Atlanta is going to be?”

“How about something five-star for the lady?”

Narice liked that idea. She was so tired and sleepy she'd almost trade the grenade launcher for a good meal and a long hot soak in a tub filled with scented bubbles. “Shouldn't we be in some hole in-the-wall hotel keeping it on the down low?”

“Yes, and it'll be the first place Ridley will look. By the time he and his people figure it out and run us
down, we should be checked out and on our way to the Okefenokee.”

Narice didn't know if she agreed with that logic, but since he was the secret agent, she deferred to his expertise. “Well, we should share the drive. Atlanta's almost three hundred miles from here.”

Saint looked at the numbers on the map she'd brought up on the green scope of the GPS. “I can handle it,” he said easily. “I'll set the cruise and we'll be there in no time.

Narice was again skeptical, after all they were both too tired for words, but she didn't argue.

Saint wasn't worried at all. He had driven longer distances on less sleep hundreds of times. He appreciated Narice's offer to help with the drive, but with flying cockroaches on their trail he needed to be behind the wheel. Narice was a damned good driver, but he was trained. That the choppers were carrying missiles still blew him away. Ridley and his crew were playing hardball, which meant this chess game was only going to get uglier. The rocket launcher caught them with their pants down, though, just like he'd hoped. The knowledge that the chopper had flown off in a southerly direction did not bode well.

As the night hours passed, Saint drove from Jellico to Knoxville and then through the mountains to Chattanooga. One hundred and eight miles after leaving Chattanooga, they rolled into Atlanta.

The fact that she and Saint were still in one piece
was cause for champagne, Narice decided, and planned to order some just as soon as they got to where they were going. It was early morning in Atlanta and the city was just waking up. She on the other hand wanted to sleep so badly she didn't care if it was on a street corner, but as he'd promised, Saint drove the scarred and battered Lily up to the gold and glass doors of one of the city's most prestigious hotels. She looked the place over and smiled. “I've stayed here before. Very classy choice, Cyclops.”

“How about the best suite in the house?”

“Fine with me. Can we afford it?”

“Yep.”

“Will they give us a room, though? We're not exactly freshly dressed.” With her travel-wrinkled shorts and blouse, and him in that coat, they'd be lucky to get a room at the Y.

He cut the engine and turned her way. “Quit worrying.”

“Okay,” she said skeptically.

While a blue-uniformed doorman waited patiently by the Caddy's closed doors, Saint ran his eyes over her lips and thought about the kisses he planned on enjoying later on.

Narice had become so attuned to him, she didn't need to see his eyes to know what he was thinking, and right now, his thoughts were in a place easily read. He reached out with a finger and gently traced her mouth. His touch made her eyelids lower and heat race through her veins.

Her response thrilled Saint to his core. Unable to re
sist, he leaned in and kissed her; the more he kissed her the sweeter she tasted.

By now the scarred, mud-covered Cadillac was drawing very skeptical looks from the brother doorman.

Saint in his flowing coat and dark glasses hit the button to lower the window and said to the brother, “I'll park her myself.”

After parking Lily in the back of the large lot, Saint escorted Narice inside.

The hotel was done in royal purples and gold. It's signature chandelier, supposedly one of the largest in the world, sparkled overhead like diamonds. The establishment was well known for its superior service, luxurious rooms, and catering to people who didn't mind paying up to six figures per night.

The perfectly coiffed, redheaded sister behind the desk took one look at Saint in his coat and Narice in her travel-wrinkled clothing and said, “I'm sorry. We don't have any rooms available.”

Narice knew the woman was lying. She was just about to challenge the woman when Saint put up his hand. “I got this.” He then said to the woman dressed in her red hotel suit. “Can I see your manager please?”

“She's unavailable.”

Narice wanted to snatch her.

Saint reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue business cardholder. He opened it, flipped through, and handed her one. “Read that out loud for me, please.”

She sighed impatiently. “Jeffrey Galen. Vice President for Quality Assurance”—her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper—“you work for our hotels?”

“Yes, I do. My assistant and I travel the country looking this way to make sure all of our guests are treated fairly. Now, your name? Ms. Cooper remember this name.”

Narice assumed she was Ms. Cooper, so she piped in seriously, “Yes, sir, Mr. Galen,” and she stared smugly at the now terrified clerk.

“My name is Sheila Stump. I'm so very sorry. I'll get you our best room.”

Galen said, “And Ms. Stump, you are not to tell anyone on the staff that I am here. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“As far you are concerned I am just another guest. Do that and I may let you keep your job.”

She looked ready to burst into tears. “Yes, sir.”

Saint reached into his pocket and pulled a wad of hundred-dollar bills. “Will fifteen hundred cover my bill for one night?”

The woman nodded so quickly Narice thought her head might bounce off her neck. Narice had no idea what other business cards Saint carried, but she loved the way this one put Ms. Sheila Stump in her place.

The clerk was now hustling to handle the paperwork. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

“Nope. Just a key and a room.”

And what a room it turned out to be. Narice was accustomed to traveling first-class, but even she was impressed by the chandelier hanging above the entranceway and the large bank of windows overlooking the city. The twin bathrooms had large walk-in showers and sensual Jacuzzis. The two bedrooms had big beds sumptuously covered in ivory and gold. There was a bar, a sitting room, which sported black leather furniture, three TVs, and a killer sound system. The refrigerator was fully stocked. From the drapes to the carpeting on the floor, it was a room fit for a queen.

Standing before the windows enjoying the view, Narice said, “I like the way you roll, St. Martin.”

He grinned.

“Jeff Galen. Quality Assurance.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Right now, though, I'm with the Narice Quality Assurance,” and he brushed his lips across the edge of her jaw. Narice rippled in response to the unexpected caress. She turned up her lips for a kiss and he complied deliciously.

Soon one kiss turned into another, and before they knew it, the fire between them was fully involved. His hands began moving slowly over her breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers and sliding his palms over the tightened points. She could barely breathe. “I should take a shower…” she managed to say.

The buttons on her blouse were conquered, the halves opened, and his lips were saluting each newly bared inch of skin from the hollow of her throat to the
soft flesh rising and falling above her lacy black bra. “If you leave, you'll miss this…”

He unhooked her bra and filled his palms with the trembling weight of her soft breasts. He tongued each nipple in turn, letting the scents of her skin turn up his heat even more, then sucked until she gasped from the heat filling her.

He captured her mouth again while his expert hands and fingers continued to play her breasts like a gifted musician on a prized instrument. When he dropped his head to once again taste the buds he'd prepared so lavishly, she crooned like a lust-filled Stradivarius.

The pleasure pulsing through Narice was wonderful. To be in the hands of a man who knew his way around a woman's body was priceless. His lips on her throat, his mouth on her breasts, the heat of his hard thighs against her own all set her on fire.

Saint was on fire, too; a slow burning, white hot variety that made him want to lay her across the bed and fill her until she moaned his name. He didn't care about showers; he wanted her now. He whispered boldly, “How 'bout we move to the bed?”

Narice nibbled his bottom lip, then licked at the parted corners of his mouth, before saying in a passion husked voice, “Thought you'd never ask….”

They kissed their way through the suite to one of the bedrooms; opening the fronts of pants, discarding clothing, and lingering over the caressing of heightened flesh. He picked her up, then gently laid her on top of the elegant spread. Next she knew, her shorts
were taken from her and the founder of the Jordan Academy was lying below him wearing her opened blouse, undone bra, and matching black lace panties.

Saint had been wanting this woman for over a week now. He traced the waistband of her panties and then the whorl of her navel. “Love your underwear,” he murmured.

His hand cupped that hot warm place between her thighs. When she spread her legs in wanton invitation, his hands sent back an erotic rsvp. “We can shower later, angel. I can't wait.”

Neither could she. His touches were magic; scandalous. She wanted to touch him like he was touching her, but every time she tried to reach for him her efforts died because he was stroking her through the fabric of her panties in bold and magical ways that made her so hot and filled her with such hazy desire, she couldn't complete her goal.

Saint had wanted this first time to be slow and un-rushed but touching her, kissing her, and hearing her moan in response made him feel like a teenager in his girl's bedroom and her mama was due home in twenty minutes. He had to have her now or explode.

Narice was breathless and wet from the passion flowing between her thighs. As he slid her panties off her hips and stroked the dampness of her core, she thought she'd explode into orgasm then and there. She held his eyes while he eased the condom on. When he entered her, then filled her, her eyes closed and she growled like the contented lioness that she was.

Saint made a mental note to make love to this woman early and often; she was passionate, uninhibited, and oh-so-sexy, but now he concentrated on stroking her, teasing her, making her beautiful body rise and fall to his rhythm. He filled his hands with her soft hips and lifted her so she could feel every possessive inch of his thrusts. Wanting to brand himself into her memory, his rhythm increased. Her soft cries of response floated in the silent room. It didn't take them long to find paradise. She finished first and he exploded right behind her. The cheetah growled, the lioness purred, then they slept.

Hours later, Narice awakened in the bed. The slow realization that Saint wasn't beside her made her sit up. Her eyes swept the room. The clock beside the bed showed five after seven, which meant she'd slept a good ten hours. The opened drapes showed dusk falling, but where was he? Still wearing only her blouse, she got up, intending to search the rest of the large suite, but a note on the table beside the bed made her stop. Picking it up, she read:
“Gone for whipped cream.”
Laughing, she set the note down and padded into the shower.

Twenty minutes later, a revived Narice wrapped herself in one of the hotel's thick black terry robes and stepped out of the bathroom feeling all the world like a woman who'd been thoroughly loved. Her nipples
tightened at the memories of his hands plying her nipples and the hard promise of his body sliding into hers. Just thinking about him made a soft pulse begin its familiar beat between her thighs. The smell of food cut into her reminisces. Tantalizing aromas filled her nose and captured her attention.
Surely he wasn't cooking?
Throwing on some clothes, she went to find out.

He wasn't cooking. Dressed in a black tank top that showed off his lean muscles, and wearing a pair of well-fitting black jeans, he was standing beside a beautifully set table for two. The cloth on it was the color of indigo and the china and silver reflected the twin flames of the ivory candlesticks in the center. Ornate silver dishes covered the food and a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket packed with ice. The table was positioned right beside the windows and offered a dazzling view of Atlanta, twinkling like a constellation against the shadows of evening. The subtle glow of the dimmed lamps in tandem with the sounds of the soft jazz floating from the speakers made the atmosphere sensual and romantic. “This is very nice.”

“I thought we could do with a little room service.”

He didn't have his dark glasses on and once again Narice had trouble deciding which of his personas intrigued her the most. She concluded that it didn't really matter; the man moved her in every form and the scandalous woman growing herself inside couldn't wait to be
moved
again. “Did you get your whipped cream?”

“Yeah, I did,” he told her with a gleam in his green eyes, then gestured her to the table. “Shall we?”

Narice inclined her head royally, then walked to one of the two chairs. Always the gentleman he came to assist her, lingering just long enough for the heat of his nearness and the fresh scent of his clean body to tease her senses, then took his own seat.

Saint thought she looked even more beautiful by candlelight. She was casually dressed in a sleeveless green top and a matching pair of lightweight blousy pants. Her bare feet sported red toenail polish. The row of dark buttons fronting the shirt brought his attention to her curves. The fabric was thin, showing the points of her nipples and making him remember the passionate gasp she'd made when he took them in his mouth.

Narice forced herself to look away from the brilliant hunger in his eyes so she could clear her mind and say a silent prayer before starting in on the meal. Once that was done, she looked up and found him still watching her. His intensity seemed to raise the temp in the room a good fifteen degrees. “We really should eat.”

“Do we have to?”

Both knew what the other wanted.

“Yes.”

“Why?” He began taking tops off of the food.

“Because we'll need our strength.”

He answered with a smile. “You're right.”

Anticipation stroked Narice with a sensual shiver, and because she'd never meet another man quite like Anthony St. Martin, she vowed to enjoy this interlude.

The dinner included roast chicken seasoned with rosemary, a salad with Caesar dressing, side dishes
featuring everything from green beans to spiced apples, hot yeast rolls, and a chocolate hazelnut gateau for dessert.

Saint popped the cork on the champagne. After pouring some of the fine beverage into two crystal flutes, he set the bottle back into the ice then raised his glass for a toast. “To a beautiful sexy lady named Narice.”

“To a handsome sexy brother named Saint.”

Eyes mingling they sipped in unison, then set the glasses down.

Fixing their plates came next, but as Saint picked up his silverware, he paused to watch Narice's fingers slowly and deliberately undo the top three buttons of her shirt. “And what are you doing?”

“Playing.”

He surveyed her hot eyes. “Playing what?”

“A new game I just invented called,
Seduction.
”

Saint's blood began to roar. “Are there any rules?”

“I don't think so.”

“Can I play?”

Narice's nipples tightened deliciously. “Yes.”

He slowly set down his silverware, then walked over to where she was sitting. The desire blazing in his gaze made Narice tremble a bit. When he leaned down and brushed his lips ever so softly over hers, her trembling increased.

He coaxed her to come and play with kisses that were featherlight yet potent enough to make her reach up and slip her hand behind his head to bring him
closer. Their earlier coupling had been as frenetic as two teenagers in the back seat of a car, but Narice wanted to go slow this time so she could thoroughly explore every golden inch of him. The kiss deepened and their tongues mated provocatively, reigniting their inner fires and their need for each other.

Moments later, he slowly backed away then straightened, only to slide a possessive palm down over her breast. As he caressed her, teased her and made her lips part, he husked out. “I think we should call this game,
Make the Principal Hot
.”

Narice thought he had hands of magic. The sensations caused by him expertly rolling her pleading nipples between his thumb and forefinger made her arch and preen with uninhibited delight. “I think she already is.”

“Good.” He dallied with her breasts and lips for a few more steamy moments. Only when she groaned out her pleasure did he seem satisfied. He silently slipped away and retook his seat.

Narice was breathless, weak, and rocked. Her vision was hazed over, and if he touched her intimately he'd find her already flowing.
Make the Principal Hot
was a good game.

Saint liked the way his game was progressing. Everything about her made him want to lay her down on the nearest flat surface and see how many times he could make her explode beneath him, on top of him, in front of him; he wanted to make love to her in so many different ways it would take two lifetimes to experi
ence them all. He was falling for her and falling hard, a voice in the back of his head pointed out, but Saint didn't want to deal with that now. Right now, all he cared about was pleasuring her until sunrise.

So, they ate. It was a slow process because what they really wanted was each other. As a result they spent as much time making love with their eyes as they did sampling their meal.

Narice had never considered herself a very sexual woman, but being with Saint seemed to have opened a new channel within herself. All she could think about was being naked for him, having him run his hands slowly up and down her thighs, and having him fill her to the hilt. Her ex had been just as inexperienced as she the first few times they'd gone to bed, and Lars had been more focused on his own pleasure. Her best time in bed had been three years ago. A Canadian financial guru. The brother's talent as a financier was surpassed only by his talent in bed. After a torrid six-month affair, they'd gone their separate ways. Last she heard he was serving time in a Canadian jail for embezzling 14 million from a mutual fund.

But here in the present the
new
Narice boldy undid the last three buttons. The now gaping top made the sides of her breasts very visible.

Saint eyed the tempting brown beauties waiting for him to claim, and his manhood rose to the occasion. “Come here for a moment, Narice.”

She set her napkin on the table and walked over.
When she reached him, he took her by the hand and guided her to sit on his lap. Without further ado, he kissed her slowly and fully, sending desire surging through her veins. In response she met him willingly, boldy, running her hands up and down his strong arms. He pulled her closer, teasing her tongue with his, then brushed his mouth over the soft skin covering her jaw. “Are you hot, Ms. Principal?”

Narice's eyes were closed. She wanted to answer but gave a croon instead as his hands filled themselves with the trembling weight of her breasts. Dinner was momentarily forgotten because the diners were hungrier for passion.

Saint didn't think he could get any harder, but the scent of her perfume, and the silken feel of her breasts increased his need a thousand times over. How was he going to let her go when this adventure came to an end? No brother in his right mind would relinquish skin this soft or a mouth this divine. She wanted no ties yet he wanted to tie her to him for life. Instead he had to take what she offered, which was her spirited mind and body.

It was the body he was concentrating on now, and so leaned her back and took a sweet dark nipple into his mouth. She growled low in her throat and he turned his attention to the neglected twin, tonguing it, sucking it while his hand beneath her shirt explored her back and the planes of her waist. He tugged at the waistband of her pants and she lifted her hips to accommodate their
removal. They fluttered to the floor leaving Narice on his lap wearing her opened green top and a black lace thong.

“God, you look hot…”

He began trailing kisses down her arched throat and over the soft tops of her breasts. The scents on her skin were driving him wild as was the heat of her hips atop his hardness. Capturing her mouth again, he kissed her as if he needed her essence to live while touring a slow hand over the yielding brown flesh of her thighs. He explored her languidly, learning the shape of her while his palm burned over her skin as he moved it up and down her limbs.

Narice took it all back; the Canadian brother was an amateur compared to this master. The hand now working slow magic between her thighs made her part her legs so he could do whatever he wished. Her wish had already come true. The knowledge that he was wickedly caressing her through the thong sent her senses racing.

“Is the principal hot…?”

His steamy voice and the feel of the lace being circled so wantonly over her honey-filled core made speech impossible for Narice.

“Are you hot enough to come for me?”

He raised his finger to her breasts and circled a wet finger around the aureole. Leaning down, he bit the nipple gently before sliding two long fingers into her core. It was so good Narice buckled, twisted, and came with a hoarse scream that ruffled the silence.

Saint's manhood was so thick and full he felt like he was going to burst. Watching her come with such awesome abandon pushed him right to the edge, but he held on. He had more in store for the Lady Narice. Then it could be his turn.

It took Narice a few long seconds to come back. Lying over his arm, like a rag doll, she tried to find her brain. She'd never had such a powerful orgasm. Never. But then she'd never been with a man like Saint before.

Something cold awakened her nipple, making her instinctively draw away and open her eyes. The sight of the whipped cream he was dabbing on her made her chuckle and then groan with renewed excitement as he sucked and licked her clean.

“Dessert…” he murmured, and after setting the silver bowl of cream closer at hand, dipped in a finger and boldly and slowly coated the other bud. He flicked a hot tongue over it until it too was hard and clean. “Nubbins and cream. My favorite.”

He sucked her in fully and Narice drew in a loud shaky breath. She could feel his sensual tugs on her nipples down to her toes. When he raised his head, she was spiraling. In the past it took her body a while to bounce back for more loving, but with him things were different. Her body was more than eager for another round.

Dipping his finger in the cream again, Saint drew a white fluffy line down the valley of her breasts, then slowly kissed her clean. He repeated the action across each soft top and then moved to the succulent under
curves. He wanted to eat her up, but forced himself to wait. There was no guarantee they'd make love again, so he wanted this night to be memorable.

Next Narice knew he was carrying her back to the bedroom. He eased her down onto the gold and ivory spread, then reached down to play between her parted thighs. She held his sparkling eyes for as long she could, but when the heat from his ministrations took her higher and higher, maintaining contact became impossible. Her hips rose, her eyes closed, and her head fell back. She felt the bed give as he joined her on top of it, but his wicked, wicked hands never stopped.

He took her thong, and once she was bare, he spent a few long moments making certain she was still flowing. Narice arched sensually, purring for him, blooming for him. Her navel was adorned with a small dollop of the cream from the dish he'd brought along, but it soon disappeared beneath his sorcerer's tongue.

Saint dipped his finger back into the dish of sweetened cream. Certain images really turned him on: a scantily clad school principal dabbled with whipped cream stood at the top of list. “How do you like my whipped cream?”

“I think it and you are scandalous,” she breathed.

“I'll take that as a compliment.” He placed a bit on the other inner thigh and lingered over the taste of it against her brown skin. She was, as the old song said,
the sweetest thing this side of heaven.
Circling her damp heat with his fingers, he couldn't resist and so flicked his tongue against the lodestone that made her
woman. Her gasping reaction made him want more so he opened her gently and feasted lustily.

Narice didn't think more pleasure was possible, but this blazing hot encounter proved her wrong. Spreading her legs wantonly, she let him nibble taste and delight her until her hips rose to offer him more. He took the offering gladly, increasing his ardor and making her mewl in response. “I'm going to come…” she pleaded, whispered.