Silent Desires Page 8

  “We’ll forget all about the past few hours, then?”

  “They won’t even be a dim memory,” he said.

  “Well,” she said. Her lips pressed together and then she nodded. “To be honest, I think I like that plan a lot.”

  “Great,” he said. He nodded toward the foyer. “Let’s go.”

  She frowned, but followed him.

  “So here we are,” he said. “I’ve just answered the door and let you in.”

  An odd expression crossed Joan’s face, somewhere between amusement and confusion. “All right,” she said, standing in the foyer looking absolutely beautiful. “Um, so now what?”

  Bryce stared at her, something tickling his memory. And then it clicked. He cocked his head, regarding her. “What did you mean earlier,” he asked, “when you said that you’d changed your mind and were trying to leave?”

  “Oh. I…” She trailed off into a shrug. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” he repeated. “I don’t think so.”

  She didn’t respond, just licked her lips and stared at the tile floor.

  With purpose, he moved back to the living area, then plucked the book off the coffee table. “The Pleasures of a Young Woman,” he said. “One you picked out for my collection?”

  “It’s quite rare,” she said, still in the foyer. “It would be quite a coup for a collector.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, never taking his eyes off hers. “But the book was here when I stepped in from the shower. And if you came in with the book…” He trailed off, his eyes scouring the room for possible hiding places. There were no closets. The kitchenette, perhaps? Behind the counter?

  Her gaze drifted to the three-paneled screen, and he knew. “That is the perfect spot,” he said. “Unless of course I’d decided to walk over here to turn on this lamp.” He demonstrated, heading toward the lamp right then, and ending up on the rear side of the screen.

  “But you didn’t,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed, “I didn’t.” But the words were a mere murmur because, at that point, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d been doing, but about what she’d been up to. From the front, the gaps in the panel were barely noticeable, cleverly disguised by the artist as elements of the triptych. From this side, however…

  He bent closer, pressing his eye to the gap. The view was quite clear. Both of the chair he’d been sitting in and the broad expanse of the bedroom.

  When he came back around the screen, he saw that she was nibbling on her lower lip. He fought a smile. No use showing his hand. “Your hiding place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quite a view,” he said.

  Again, she simply answered, “Yes.” This time, however, the words were accompanied by a deep blush.

  He moved back to the chair, sitting down and facing her. He ran his hand over his chin. He needed a shave. She watched, not saying a word, though she walked slowly—cautiously—toward him.

  “I, um, wasn’t really expecting…I mean, I didn’t come up here to see…I mean—”

  He leaned back. “Did you like what you saw?”

  She drew in a deep breath. Whether expressing relief or drawing courage, he wasn’t sure. “Hell yes,” she said after a bit.

  Bryce wanted to laugh, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “But now you’ve seen me naked, and I haven’t had the same pleasure. That hardly seems fair.”

  She cocked her head, wary, but didn’t say a word.

  “Don’t worry about it, though,” Bryce said. “I’ve figured out a solution.”

  “You have?” she said, the wariness shifting from her eyes to her voice.

  “Of course,” he said. He let his gaze roam over her, starting at her stocking feet and trailing all the way up to eyes that were watching him with just a hint of trepidation. “I think, sweetheart, that you’re simply going to have to take off that dress. Get naked, Joan,” he said. “After all, fair is fair.”

  6

  NAKED.

  Joan swallowed. Naked meant blowing all her plans and promises. Naked meant sultry gazes and tender caresses and finding absolute pleasure in the arms of this man. This man, whose intense gaze had grabbed her from the first moment they’d met. This man, whom she wanted desperately even though it meant breaking her own resolution.

  She would have liked to blame it on the circumstances, but that was only part of it. She’d wanted him from the first moment she’d seen him, when the air between them had seemed alive with electricity. She’d had willpower then. Now, though…

  Now her willpower had been swept aside. All she knew was that her resolution didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t even remember why she’d made it. Something about Mr. Right. But that could be Bryce, couldn’t it? He was smart, articulate, rich. A real American prince. An honest-to-goodness exception to her stupid little resolution.

  In the back of her mind, she knew that was idiotic. What would a guy like Bryce want with a woman like her over the long term? Still, she could dream. Wanted to dream. Because in dreaming she didn’t have to think about what was happening in reality. And right then, she didn’t want to think at all.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Come on. Show a little skin.” He crossed his arms in front of him, his expression completely serious except for the slight twinkle in his eye.

  It was that twinkle that was her undoing, and she grinned. This was a man with whom she would enjoy flirting. And so much more, too.

  She met his eyes. “Skin, huh?”

  “Skin,” he repeated. This time the smile in his eyes reached his mouth. “Let me know if you need help with buttons or hooks or clasps.”

  “Got experience in that regard, do you?”

  “A tad, yes.”

  She licked her lips. “Naked,” she said, meeting his eyes. “As in naked naked.”

  He nodded. “I think it’s only fair.”

  She conjured a sultry grin. “Never let it be said that I’m unreasonable.” Slowly, she lifted one foot onto the soft cushion of the sofa. She flexed her muscle, pleased with the nice definition in her calf. She’d spent four nights a week in the gym before the summer had hit in full force, wanting to be ready for swimsuit weather. It had been hell, but considering the heated way Bryce was now looking at her, she decided it had been worth it.

  First, she slipped off her shoes. Then with slow, deliberate movements, she slid her skirt up, finally revealing the clips of the garter belt that held her stocking in place. She pressed her thumb against the pressure point, opening the clip. With her palms, she slid the stocking down her calf, wondering if she should be humming a striptease tune.

  As soon as she reached her ankle, she arched her foot, slipping the silk garment all the way off. She straightened up, her foot still on the sofa, and faced Bryce, the stocking dangling triumphantly from her forefinger.

  “Voilà,” she said, keeping her voice low and breathy. “Skin.”

  “Nice,” he said. His gaze traced up her leg, leaving a streak of palpable heat in its wake. “But I was looking for a little bit more.”

  “Hey,” she said, adding a note of indignation to her tone. “I had to work for my eyeful.” She nodded toward the screen. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit still in a crouch behind that thing?”

  He glanced toward the screen, then smiled a slow grin. “So we’re negotiating?”

  “Why not? You’re a businessman. You want to see skin. I want…” She trailed off with a shrug.

  “What?” he asked. He moved toward her, and suddenly his hand was cupping her calf. She inhaled, a sharp intake of breath that probably didn’t serve her well if she was trying to act calm and collected.

  But the truth was, she was feeling anything but calm and cool. Instead, she was feeling hot. And antsy. And the press of Bryce’s palm against her skin only made this vague, sensual longing all the more intense.

  While one hand stayed on her leg, the other cupped her waist. He leane
d in, his breath tickling her ear, and she caught the faint scent of wine. “What do you want?”

  Joan swallowed. She could barely think, couldn’t answer. All she wanted was this man’s touch. The situation enticed her, and memories of her favorite erotic passages drifted through her head. Bryce was the unknown Victorian Englishman who wrote My Secret Life. He was touching her, devoting long and intimate attention to every part of her body. Every secret erogenous zone. Making her crazy. Making her hot. And, most of all, making her forget the horrific situation that had trapped them together.

  “Joan?” His lips brushed her ear, and she shivered, the contact sending a million electrical flurries skittering over her body. She realized she’d gotten lost in her fantasies, mixing the reality of his touch with the meanderings of her mind.

  “Yes?” Her voice was breathless, and she had to force the single word out.

  “Tell me. What do you want?” He stroked her leg as he spoke, finding the sensitive area behind her knee.

  Joan opened her mouth to answer, barely able to form thoughts, much less actual words. She shifted until she could look him in the eye, the movement causing his hands to rub up against her waist. The heat burning in her body was reflected right back at her in his eyes. “You,” she said. “Right now, I want you.”

  BRYCE HAD EXPECTED her answer. Joan wouldn’t last a day in the wilds of Wall Street; her eyes gave too much away. But what he hadn’t expected was the overwhelming rush of relief when she spoke that one word— “You.”

  She wanted him, just as hundreds of other women did. But never before had he felt he’d be risking severe disappointment if a woman walked away from him. And it would have been more than just a blow to his ego. That, he could handle. With Joan, there was more at stake. Her aggressiveness coupled with her sense of self intrigued him. Hell, everything about her intrigued him, including the way she filled out that dress. He had no intention of starting up something that would last long-term, but, right then, only Joan filled his thoughts.

  He told himself he simply wanted to protect her, to hold and caress her. But it was more than that. So much more, in fact, that he didn’t want to think about it. The woman messed with his head in a way he’d never experienced before. And the sensation was both unnerving and enticing.

  She was looking up at him, her bright blue eyes hiding a hint of a question—had she said the wrong thing? He didn’t answer out loud. Instead, he tugged her close, so that she was no longer balancing one leg on the sofa, but was standing right in front of him.

  She released a little breath of surprise, and for some reason the sound turned him on even more than her earlier demand for him had. She was lost in the moment, lost in a haze of desire. For him. And he didn’t intend to disappoint.

  He closed his mouth over hers, delighted when her lips parted automatically so he could deepen the kiss. He’d wanted to kiss her since the first moment they’d locked eyes in the bookstore, and now he made up for lost time, his tongue exploring and teasing as his hands explored her body.

  One hand continued to cup her waist, but with his other hand he stroked her leg. Her skin was soft, and his fingers grazed over her calf, her knee, and then up her thigh. She’d come to his apartment in a come-hither dress, and Bryce thought she looked absolutely edible. The dress hit her thigh at about the same place as the skirt she’d been wearing at the store. He’d fantasized then about the delights waiting for him under that short bit of material. Now he intended to find out.

  With the palm of his hand, he stroked her bare thigh, sliding his hand around to the soft skin on the inside of her leg. A low moan settled in her throat, and she slid her own hands down to his ass, silently urging him toward her.

  He was rock-hard, and he had to draw on every ounce of willpower in his body not to toss that skirt up, lay her back over the couch, rip off her panties, and sink deep inside her.

  But no. He wanted to take this slow. Wanted to keep them both on edge for as long as possible.

  After all, as far as he knew, they really did have all the time in the world.

  She broke the kiss, murmuring soft words of protest when he resisted her efforts to press their bodies together.

  “Trust me,” he said. He wanted distance. Not too much, just enough so that he had room to explore her body. Press too close, and he lost the ability to maneuver. And right then, Bryce wanted to slide his hands over her body almost as much as he wanted to sink deep inside her.

  “You’re torturing me,” she said.

  “Payback,” he murmured. “Your punishment for spying on me.”

  “If this is punishment,” she said, “I’m dying to know what you’d do to me if I did something really bad.”

  He grinned, but didn’t answer. Instead, he skimmed his palm up her side, noting with pleasure the slight tremble that shook her body. His hands grazed the soft skin just under her arms, bare from the cut of the dress. With his thumb, he reached out, letting the pad tease her erect nipple. Joan closed her eyes, her head tilted back, and Bryce placed a gentle kiss in the soft spot between her neck and collarbone.

  “More,” she whispered.

  “Shhh,” he said, then brushed a kiss over her lips. “My payback, my rules.”

  She whimpered in response, a soft, needy sound, and once again Bryce almost lost control.

  He didn’t, though. Not yet. Not until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  He moved his hand, and lowered his mouth to her breast, suckling her through the thin, purple material. With his other hand, he returned his attention to her thigh, stroking up until the tips of his fingers brushed against the lace of her panties.

  She shifted her stance, widening her legs to give him better access. Bryce smiled. The woman knew what she wanted, and damned if Bryce didn’t want the same thing.

  “This?” he whispered, tracing the pad of his finger over the elastic band between her crotch and her thigh.

  “Yes,” she murmured, then shook her head. “I mean no. More.” She forced the words out. “Bryce, please.”

  “More,” he repeated, feigning confusion. “You mean like this?” He cupped his palm, then stroked his fingertips over her satin-covered mound.

  Her panties were damp, and she bucked against his hand, an involuntary movement as her body demanded even more.

  He shifted their positions until his legs straddled her, and her opposite thigh was pressed against him. His erection rubbed against her leg, and now he moaned in pleasure, his body tightening as her sweet heat stroked him.

  “Bryce.” His name was a whisper, but it was also a demand. He slipped just the tip of his finger under the elastic, barely grazing her flesh, and nowhere near the sweet spot where he knew she craved his touch.

  “Like that?” he said.

  “Dammit, Bryce. Touch me,” she said, her voice low and delicious. “Touch me or you’re really going to learn about payback.”

  He laughed, but complied. He’d been torturing himself as much as her, and the truth was he wanted her. Wanted to watch as she melted under his touch. Wanted to look into her eyes as he made her come.

  Roughly, he pushed the crotch of her panties aside, then slid his fingers through her slick, wet curls until he found her center. Her breathing was uneven, punctuated by low murmurs of “yes” and “please.”

  He didn’t disappoint. He slipped his forefinger and index finger inside her, cupping her sex with his palm as he stroked her. He felt himself harden as he continued the erotic rhythm, sliding in and out in slow, deep movements designed to take her right to the edge.

  “Do you like that?”

  “Oh, God, yes.” A pause, and then, “But what part of ‘more’ don’t you understand?”

  Her words worked a magic on him, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Enough with the slow teases and the slow builds. He wanted her, and he wanted her now.

  He shifted them, taking her in a deep, passionate kiss. At the same time, he urged them, moving as one, across the room until she was
pressed up against the pillar that marked the end of the living area and the beginning of the small kitchenette.

  Her breath came fast, her eyes widening in both question and excitement.

  “More,” he said simply.

  A smile touched her lips. “About damn time.”

  Her fingers reached for the waistband of his sweats, nimbly untying the knot that held up the pants. She released the drawstring, and the garment slid down over his hips. He hadn’t worn underwear, and now the cool air acted as an enticing counterpoint to the heat generated between the two of them.

  She reached down to cup his balls, then stroked him. His body rocked, and it was everything he could do not to come right then, as her touch sent about a million volts of pure electricity racing through him.

  Gently, he tugged her hand away. “Not yet,” he said. “Not unless you want a different ending to this show than the one I had planned.”

  “Couldn’t have that,” she murmured. She swung her arm around his neck, this time taking him in a kiss that she controlled. Her hands stroked his body, slipping under his T-shirt to stroke his chest, roaming around his back and then down to cup his ass. She was wild and determined and knew exactly what she wanted, and her touch turned Bryce on even more than he already was.

  “Joan,” he said, the one word both a demand and a plea. He pressed her back against the pillar, his free hand groping on the counter for his wallet. He found it, then fumbled for a condom as she shifted against him, her soft movements as demanding as words. He slipped it on, then moved closer, lifting her skirt with one hand as he grabbed the band of her panties with the other. He started to tug them down, but she shook her head.

  “Rip them,” she demanded. And when he did, she arched her back, her nipples hard against the soft folds of her dress, her expression one of pure delight.

  Right then, Bryce knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed closer, the tip of his erection pressing against her and his hips moving in a sensual rhythm. But it wasn’t enough. And with one bold movement, he clutched her waist and lifted her, then pulled her down onto his rock-hard shaft.