Trouble Me: A Rosewood Novel (5 page)

Rob’s gaze locked on the sweetly rounded globes filling the satin bra that was edged with lace. Her nipples, tight as pebbles, strained against the ivory fabric. He pictured closing his mouth over them, drawing them against his tongue as he suckled.

Christ
, he thought as everything in him tightened with
need. He raised his eyes, meeting a gaze that reminded him of lying under the canopy of a tree on a lazy summer day. He wanted to lose himself in those sparkling green depths as he sank into her hot, welcoming body. Was it necessary to know her name to do that?

“No, I guess I don’t,” he murmured, already dipping his head to draw one deliciously rounded breast into his mouth.

Pleasure rocked her as his lips latched on to her nipple and he began to rub his tongue over the wet satin of her bra and tease the distended bud with his teeth. The friction and wet heat against her sensitive flesh made her gasp and sent shivers racing through her. Digging her fingers into his hair, she anchored him there as he continued his sensual onslaught.

His hands were as busy as his mouth. One worked sexual magic on her other breast, pushing her bra back to cup her breast in his callused palm, kneading and fondling it, each tugging caress sending sparks dancing in a hot, thrilling line to her core; the other tugged the zipper of her jeans, peeling the denim down her hips.

Then hands and mouth traveled south, boldly claiming territory, and her eyes closed in anticipation. The reality of him as a lover was more than a match for her finest fantasies.

With a hunger that matched his, she followed his example, eagerly stripping his clothes to taste and stroke the warm flesh that was revealed. Each taste a feast, each stroke a carnal worship.

Oh, yes, he was very, very fine, she thought happily, taking in his naked body, a perfect complement to his striking face. He worked out. That much was obvious from the breadth of his shoulders and the sculpted ridges of his abdomen. His hips were narrow, and his long, straight legs were dusted with dark hair. God, she even liked his feet. Her gaze traveled back up his muscular
legs to stare at his cock—right now the most breathtaking part of his anatomy—and she bit her lip, stifling a giggle as all sorts of deliciously raunchy one-liners sprang to mind. She settled on the one about the man with the right kind of tool for the job, and her smile grew. “Like what you see?”

“Most definitely. You have a very nice d—” She drew out the consonant, finishing with “—imple.”

He grinned, and the dimple she’d professed to admire deepened. A sexy, well-hung hunk who had a dimple when he smiled. How utterly sweet.

“Thanks. And you have a very nice …”

She felt her body temperature ratchet a few degrees higher as his gaze traveled slowly over her, his eyes caressing her as boldly as his hands and mouth had moments ago. She found herself wondering what he would say—praying he wouldn’t spoil the mood—and unconsciously held her breath.

“Tattoo,” he pronounced.

She expelled her pent-up breath in a delighted laugh. “Thank you.” Yeah, she liked this guy, and now that she’d seen ample evidence that he had a sense of humor as well as an insanely good body, she liked him even more. For a second Jade was tempted to tell him her name—but then she took another look at him and his truly impressive erection and decided she had better things to do with this splendid male specimen than swap biographical info.

Luckily for her, he apparently had other things on his to-do list as well.

“Mind if I take a closer look?” He paused, and a wicked grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “At the tat?”

She swallowed. “Feel free.”

Not needing a second invitation, he dropped to his knees in front of her and reached out to trace the outline of the butterfly tattoo that floated between her hip bone
and the light-brown hair covering her mound. She sucked in her breath at the electricity generated by his gentle touch. Sizzling and sparking along her skin, it traveled down and center, making her core muscles tighten convulsively, making her wet.

“Excellent detail work. I like the way it looks like the butterfly is in flight. If I were that butterfly, I’d want to land right here.”

A moan escaped her as his fingers brushed her curls and found her clitoris. Stroking the nub with the pad of his thumb, he looked up and his smile flashed white. “I wonder, do you taste as good as you look, sweetheart?”

“I—” she began and ended, incapable of speech. Her mind, however, screamed,
God, please touch me now
.

“I bet you do,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning her sensitive skin. “But just in case, I better investigate.” Then his mouth closed over her, his clever tongue circling and gliding over her pulsing nub, and the sensation was so exquisite that her knees buckled. She laid her hands on his muscled shoulders, bracing herself, as she succumbed to the raw pleasure he was offering. Each leisurely lash of his tongue sent her closer to the edge, left her panting softly with anticipation and desperation. A light graze of his teeth and it was too much. With a broken cry she came, shattering into pieces. Boneless, she sank against him.

Then she was floating as, with effortless ease, he picked her up and carried her to the immense bed.

Still racked by the force of her orgasm, she looked dazedly up at him. Fierce hunger stamped his features. Then her gaze traveled down, past the ridges of his abdomen and the dark arrow of hair below his belly button to his erection, thick and straining, and everything inside her went tight and achy and needy all over again.

Sculpted muscles shifted as he moved, placing a knee onto the mattress and lowering his torso over her. A
single word popped out automatically—she’d repeated it so often in her college-newspaper advice column, her editor had kidded her it should be her byline. “Protection.”

He jackknifed up. “What? Oh, yeah, of course.” A horrified expression crossed his face as he looked over at his pants, lying in a heap on the maroon carpet. “Shit! God damn it! I—”

She didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing that he looked really cute when he was embarrassed and frustrated as all get out. But he did. Seeing, too, that he wasn’t some slick operator trolling bars for a lay was hugely reassuring.

Relief mixed with amusement filled her voice. “No worries. I got you covered.” She rolled off the bed, taking the time to pat his very fine butt cheek before dashing into the bathroom to grab a bunch of Trojans from her toiletries bag. Clutching them tight, she sprinted back and dove onto the bed. As she rolled onto her back, she smiled and let the condoms rain down beside her. Holding the last one flat on her palm, she extended it in offering, just as she would a treat to Nocturne, her favorite stud at Rosewood. With a happy smile she asked, “Now, where were we?”

The sex was amazing
—he
was amazing. She’d never felt like this before with anyone, as if she were a flame burning ever hotter with each stroke, each kiss, each powerful surge of hips driving into her pulsing center, his expression fiercely intense. And when she exploded in a flash of color, he held her in his arms, his body hard and sweat-slicked against hers, his erection still throbbing inside her. Then his touch changed, lingering, learning, exciting her unbearably as it cupped the underside of her breast, kneaded the curve of her ass, or palmed the line of her hip. Desire burst into flame inside her, burning as hot and intense, as uncontrollable, as before.

And with each heart-slamming orgasm he wrung from her through the silvery blackness of the night, he inspired her to give him the same kind of mind-blowing pleasure. Their murmurs filled the room as they moved and shifted, finding new positions. Murmurs turned into moans and helpless gasps as their bodies strained against each other and then together soared into sensual bliss. And if she thought her need seemed uncontrollable, well, his seemed insatiable, a wild passion let loose.

Over and over they came together, each giving as much as demanding, until finally, as the gray of a storm-tossed dawn edged out the night, they fell into a tangled heap of exhaustion.

Rob moved about the half-lit room, silently gathering his clothes, which lay littered on the carpet, but more often simply standing with an unconsciously tender expression on his face as he stole yet another glance at her. She was smiling in her sleep. She looked impossibly fine, her long hair a riotous, gold-streaked tangle about her naked shoulders. He remembered the feel of that hair when he’d dug his fingers into its thick silkiness. Its softness around his fists had been as sensually exotic as the liquid heat of her mouth as she closed her lips around his shaft and took him deep inside. He remembered the lightly flowered scent of it as, nearly blind with pleasure, he’d dragged her up to bring that wonderfully wicked mouth to his. Plunging his tongue past her lips, he’d tasted himself as well as her in that deep, desperate kiss. Fueled by desire, he’d blazed a searing trail of kisses down her neck to the slope of her shoulder, dipping into hollows where her pulse hammered, its beat as wild as the rest of her. As wild as his own.

As he tugged on his shirt, his gaze slid past shoulders that gleamed like gold dust in the soft light. The delicate curves of her body played peekaboo with the white sheet
twisted about her, but that was enough. All he needed was a glimpse for his blood to begin pounding in his veins.

She was about the sexiest woman he’d ever seen—satin-skinned, long-limbed, agile as a gymnast, and scorching hot in her unfeigned responses. He might not know her name, but he knew she didn’t have a single inhibited bone in that unbelievably fine body. How fucking lucky was he to have stumbled across a woman who could arouse him with a single shimmy of her sleek body?

He should write a goodbye note, thanking her, and lay it on her pillow. It would be a better note, of course, if he knew whom he was addressing.

His gaze strayed to the floral upholstered chair beside the bed as he shoved his feet into his shoes. Her purse, one of those high-end leather jobs, was resting on it. It would be so easy to cross over to the chair, open her bag, fish out her wallet, and check her ID, all without causing so much as one of her thick eyelashes to flutter or a silken limb to stir. But something held him back. He wasn’t a cop 24/7.

And why bother anyway? What would knowing her name accomplish? It wasn’t as if Rob would ever want to see her again. Even if she lived somewhere in Virginia, he certainly wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with her. A sex vixen was hardly the type of woman he envisioned in his life, let alone Hayley’s. Better that she remain a delicious, mysterious memory—the woman who’d blown his body and mind alike, as though he were a case of dynamite. A fantasy evening he’d remember with a smile for a long time to come.

As he was smiling now. Rob definitely had to thank her for that, for the excellent frame of mind he found himself in after a night of first-class sex.

He walked over to the head of the bed and crouched
down next to her. For a second he simply cataloged the details of her face: the winged arch of her brows, the dense fan of her long, dark lashes, the straight line of her nose, the tiny flare of her nostrils as she breathed. And that mouth. Jesus, her lips could tempt a saint. And last night had proved beyond all doubt that Rob was not destined for sainthood.

He brought his lips to hers, pressing lightly as his tongue slipped inside. She tasted of sleep and of sex. Delicious.

She stirred, her lips parting in a drowsy smile. Slowly her lids lifted. Against the white of the bed linen, her eyes were even greener. And she didn’t wear contacts. Unusual shade, he didn’t think he’d ever seen—

“Hi. What time is it?” Her huskily croaked question cut off his thoughts.

“Five o’clock. Time for me to go.” Even as he answered, his mind was wavering. He could spare a half hour.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” He made himself say it and ignored the ridiculous feeling of regret that he wasn’t going to climb back into bed with her. The feeling was strong enough to have him reaching out and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the ripe swell of her lower lip, the better to remember her smile. “I enjoyed last night.”

“Ditto.” She pursed her lips against his thumb and kissed it.

Just like that, he was hard. “I really need to hit the road.” Reluctance dragged at his words.

She nodded sleepily. “Mmm-hmm. Me too, but I need a few more minutes’ sleep. You have yourself an excellent life.” With another sleepy smile, she rolled onto her side and snuggled into the pillow.

Well, that settled that. The lady wasn’t interested in a morning tumble. A grin tugged the corners of his mouth
as he realized she was once again fast asleep. She was something, all right. And there was no reason to feel any regret that he’d never see her again. This was the perfect parting of ways, easy and trouble-free. Another thing to thank her for—when he next thought of her.

“So long, beautiful,” Rob murmured. Straightening, he headed for the door.

J
ADE TRIED
not to show how touched she was by the fact that the entire gang, from Patrick and Ellie Banner, who had tended Rosewood’s gardens, grounds, and house for years, right down to Neddy and Will, whose jobs as the youngest of the Radcliffe–Maher–Gage clan were basically to soak up the love showered on them, was waiting for her when she pulled up in front of the old Greek revival house that had been in the family forever. Jordan and Ellie had prepared a brunch, complete with Braverman’s bagels—cinnamon raisin included—a zucchini frittata, a mozzarella-and-tomato salad, and fruit-studded yogurts topped with Jordan’s homemade granola. The kids ran around on the long expanse of lawn, while the adults sat around the two long tables that Owen and Travis had carried onto the grass and ate and drank coffee. Jade opted for both activities, inhaling food that tasted like ambrosia after the fare offered down in Ocala and the junk she’d been eating on the road, and then springing up from the table to race after Olivia, tackling her niece and launching a full-scale tickle attack while the six-year-old writhed with giggling glee. Or, if Will had taken it into his head to crawl all the way to Warburg and had reached the spot where the lawn met the tall grass of the horse pastures, she’d lope over and scoop him up, trotting back with him under her arm, football style. Will was at the chucklehead stage where he liked that sort of thing.