Just One Night Part 12

She felt the bulge of his arousal in his jeans as he b.u.mped up against her and the feel of this denim-covered hot man rubbing against her near-nakedness had her turning to embrace him.

The jeans hung low on his hips, his long torso was tawny, sprinkled with sun freckles on his broad shoulders. He felt so solid that she leaned into him, rubbing herself against him shamelessly.

He stumbled.

Her big, strong, s.e.xy guy stumbled and barely bit back a wince of pain.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I forgot your leg. Did I hurt you?"

"No. Just got unbalanced," he replied gruffly.

She could have kicked herself for being so thoughtless. She knew better, though, than to make an issue of it. Instead she walked to the bed, knowing he'd follow her, and sat. When he came toward her, she leaned forward and kissed his belly where a line of hair arrowed into his waistband and then she tackled the fly.

She eased the zipper over the enticing bulge and began to ease the jeans down over his hips.

And soon realized he'd gone skimpier on the undies than she had.

He wasn't wearing any.

Staring back at her was the nicest c.o.c.k she'd ever seen. Long and thick and standing proud. As she continued to stare, her hands halted as though frozen, she could have sworn it stood even straighter to attention, as though proud to have stunned her so thoroughly.

She couldn't stop herself; she had to touch it. Wrapping her hand around the hardness, she squeezed gently and heard him pull in his breath. "Remember, it's been a while for me. Don't want to embarra.s.s myself," he said through gritted teeth.

"Right." She quickly let go and continued removing his pants. When she saw his thigh wound she had to bite back a gasp. She'd expected, if she'd thought about it at all, that the spot would be neatly bandaged. It wasn't.

The bullet had blasted a hole in the front of his thigh and another out the back. It was roughly st.i.tched, but still red and raw-looking. "That looks so painful," she said, unable to help herself.

"I should have covered it up," he said. "Didn't know this was going to happen."

"No. It's okay. I'm only sorry this happened to you."

Now that she understood the mess his leg was in, she understood that she was going to have to be careful not to hurt him. Mostly in her experience, especially the first time, she'd let the man take the lead in the bedroom. Tonight she was going to have to take control, if only to stop him from hurting himself.

She kind of liked the idea of taking control, especially knowing it would make his night more pleasurable.

She eased herself off the bed, kneeling before him to continue pulling off his jeans. When he'd stepped out of them she pushed him gently back on the bed until he was half reclining looking up at her quizzically.

"What are you doing?" he asked, half belligerent, half husky.

She smiled at him, channeling every s.e.xy siren who had ever gone before her. "Remember when you used to lie in your single bed in this very room and fantasize about a woman who would come to you and give you everything you desire?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I am your fantasy."

He reached out to cup the back of her head. His voice was husky when he said, "You have no idea."

In truth she wasn't the boldest woman in town but her desire not to hurt him was stronger than her fear of making a fool of herself.

Standing in full view of him she slowly slipped off her thong, enjoying the way his gaze stayed riveted on her every move. She tingled at the intensity of his gaze. And then, slowly, taking care not to b.u.mp his bad leg, she put one knee on the bed and straddled him.

"You're a take-charge kind of woman."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

He shook his head, "No."

"Good."

She smiled to herself thinking of all the fantasies she'd had of this moment. They'd taken place in the big bed in the master bedroom, or on the rug in front of the fireplace. And in every one of them, she'd been the one lying at ease while he pleasured her in ways that spoke to her deepest fantasies. Not one of which included her doing all the work.

And yet there was something enormously erotic taking charge. In knowing she had it in her power to give him pleasure. She felt free, powerful, s.e.xy.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she leaned down to kiss him deeply, and, as she did, she took hold of his c.o.c.k and began to rub it back and forth across her c.l.i.t, bringing her to full enjoyment of the moment and torturing him a little along the way.

She'd never been much for living in the moment. A woman with two organizers tended to spend a lot of her energy on the future and usually Hailey was fine with that. But there were times, like now, when she couldn't do anything but live in the moment. If she looked at the future even as closely as tomorrow, this would all be over. This man lying beneath her, all warm and s.e.xy and naked, wouldn't be her lover anymore. He'd revert to her client.

Clothed.

This feeling of joyful abandon would end. In truth she'd never been one for short-term relationships. They never seemed worth the effort, but to have an affair that was only going to last one night took all the anxiety away. There was no worry about tomorrow or his expectations or her expectations or whether he'd call and whether she wanted him to. There was no tomorrow, which meant there was only glorious perfect now. And as she slipped the condom onto him and sank, slowly, onto his jutting c.o.c.k, she knew she'd never, ever had a more perfect now.

11.

HE FILLED HER, made himself at home within her body, and then they began to move together. The connection between them when their gazes met was almost more intimate than their joined bodies. "This," she said, leaning close so she could brush the words against his lips like a kiss, "is a perfect moment."

"Oh, yeah, and it's about to get more perfect."

"Mmm." She'd have said he let her set her own pace except that it felt as though they were in perfect sync, rising and falling together as their bodies surged and ebbed.

His chest was rising and falling with the effort. She wanted to slow things down, to make this wonderful now last forever, but then he slipped a hand between them and began to touch her hot spot.

He'd barely touched her, brushing his fingertips across her c.l.i.t, when she reared back, climaxing in a burst of heat that felt volcanic. She felt herself squeezing him, watched his blue eyes lose their focus, but still he kept touching her, easily, softly. She felt herself rising again and rode him hard. The bed protested. She didn't care if they broke the bed; she'd buy a new one. He bucked beneath her, driving up and into her, hitting her G-spot and an entire alphabet of new erogenous zones she hadn't known she possessed.

He grabbed her hips when he came, arching up and taking her with him so her cries echoed his.

Fireworks exploded behind her eyes and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath.

The moment stretched to eternity and back again and then a glorious sense of peace filled her.

"Oh, my goodness," she said, slumping onto his sweat-damp chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. They remained connected intimately because she didn't want to let him go.

They didn't speak, both savoring the experience, enjoying the afterglow.

After a few minutes had pa.s.sed, she kissed his neck, and wiggled her pelvis. To her surprise, a rock-hard p.e.n.i.s still filled her. She lifted her head to look at him. "Didn't you come?"

He snorted. "Ah, yeah. In case you didn't notice, I did."

"But you're still hard." She heard her own puzzlement.

"It's kind of a thing I have," he said, looking vaguely embarra.s.sed.

"What kind of a thing?"

"I can stay hard between sessions."

"You mean you can go again? Right away?"

"Yep."

She'd never heard of such a thing. "Are you, like, multi-o.r.g.a.s.mic?"

"Are we going to a.n.a.lyze this or are we going to enjoy it?" he snapped.

She decided to let her actions speak for her and reached down to cup his s.c.r.o.t.u.m, stroking him. Then she began to play, exploring all the ways they could make love without putting strain on his wounded leg. With the first rush of need taken care of, they were free to take a leisurely pace and simply enjoy each other.

She'd never had so much fun in bed.

Ever.

He was earthy, giving, athletic and possessed stamina unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She thought she'd be worn-out long before morning.

They dozed, then starving, raided the kitchen at three in the morning.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked, opening the refrigerator. His robe hung on her small frame, while he'd shoved only his jeans on so he was bare of chest and foot. Exactly how she liked him.

"Grilled cheese sandwiches."

"With pickles."

"I'll get the frying pan heating. You get the food."

They sat at the kitchen table munching sandwiches and pickles and drinking milk until they had enough energy to go back upstairs. They curled up together in that ridiculously small bed. As he played idly with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she drew silly doodles with her fingers on his belly, they talked.

"How did you get into real estate?" he asked.

"When I was a kid we moved thirteen times in twelve years. My dad was in the army. He loved change and new places." She glanced at him. "Kind of like you."

"I guess."

"When you've never had something you can get pretty obsessed. I never felt like I had a real home." She loved the line of softer hair on his lower belly and she stroked it as she talked. "I mean, I always had a home, but eventually my poor mother just couldn't be bothered to unpack everything. What was the point? We'd only be moving again. We lived in military housing or rentals off base and never decorated or anything." She made a face. "When other kids were reading Seventeen magazine I read home-decorating magazines. And TV? I watched The OC for the houses, not the cute guys. I used to pretend that Martha Stewart was my mom and I lived in her house with her."

"Did your friends think you were nuts?"

"I didn't have any real friends. I've always envied those lifetime friendships women have. Oh, sure, I got over my shyness, learned to make casual friends and to protect my heart so it didn't break when I had to leave a place and start all over again in another."

He rolled over, cupped her face and kissed her softly. "That sounds so lonely."

"It was, but I also became pretty self-sufficient and independent. Good qualities in a Realtor."

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

"My dad pa.s.sed away a couple of years ago just before he would have retired. My mom remarried and lives in California. She works in a furniture store and she never goes anywhere if she can help it."

"You feel that way?"

"No, I love to travel. But I want to know I've got a home to come back to. I suppose I have a little of both of my parents in me. I've been in the same rental for four years. I'm saving up to buy a place." She sighed. "I wish I could afford Bellamy House. This is my ideal. A home you could stay in for your whole life. Raise kids. Maybe get a dog. Get to know your neighbors."

"This is the place for that all right."

She was drowsy, so sated from s.e.x that her body felt limp and well-used. But she didn't want to waste any time sleeping.

It was nice, swapping secrets in the dark. "How about you? I saw a picture of your mother, but you never talk about your parents."

"Not much to tell," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "My parents got divorced when I was young. I never knew my dad. Mom was a hippie. A real free spirit. She had a lot of boyfriends. Usually the guys didn't want a little kid around."

A ball of anger began to form in her belly. Who would do that to a sweet little boy, the kind she was sure Rob would have been?

"She used to send me to my grandmother's for months at a stretch. That suited all of us. Then she'd end up single or miss me and haul me back."

In an odd way, she thought their backgrounds were more alike than she'd realized.

"Everything changed when I was fourteen." He turned, running his hand over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down her belly. "My mom had a new loser, a real piece of work. I wasn't a little kid anymore and I'd had enough. I hitchhiked to the Canadian border. Had great plans about working up north on oil rigs. I'd heard you could make a pile of money. The border guards didn't think too much of my plans. I told them my mother was dead so they called my grandmother."

His hand slipped lower and she had to concentrate to hang on to the thread of the story. "She made a deal with me. If I finished school and lived with her she'd buy me a round-the-world ticket for graduation."

"What a smart woman."

"Oh, she was. She didn't yell at me or anything. She got it. She also let me turn that bathroom downstairs into a darkroom and helped me buy my first camera."

"Wow."

"Could you spread your legs a little wider?"

She was happy to comply.

"After journalism school, when I was twenty-two, I took her up on that ticket. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which for a budding photojournalist was exactly the right place at the right time. I was in Namibia. It was August 1999. The Caprivi Liberation Army claimed that the government was neglecting their region. Guerrillas attacked the Namibian military and police on August second. I'd only been in the region a couple of days. I was one of the first photographers on the scene and got some great footage."

"Wow. Some holiday." Then he moved his fingers and she sighed with pleasure.

"I sent my photos to Gary Wallenberg who was then bureau chief for Africa for World Week. Gary snapped them up. I started freelancing and then got hired on permanent staff. Like I said, right place, right time."

And the right talent, she thought.