Love At First Bite Part 15

Juanita nodded and opened her eyes. The entire experience felt like a crazy, jumbled-up dream. A part of her was scared to death, horrified by what she'd seen. Another part of her felt like she was embarking upon the greatest adventure of her life... and the man who had saved her was the most handsome, s.e.xy hunk she'd ever been this close to.

Tingles claimed her belly as she hunted through the medicine cabinet looking for mouthwash and spied small Dixie cups. There was baby lotion and Jergens lotion. She tried to forestall getting undressed as long as possible. But she knew in her soul that this barrio prince who stood like a soldier, back erect, gorgeous eyes alert to the darkness, would not turn around or fail her by breaking his honor.

Little by little, she eased her jeans down and then quickly turned on the water. "Don't listen. This is so embarra.s.sing."

"I'll just sing," he said, laughing, and began humming a heavy rap tune. When she flushed, he laughed. "You're gonna have to holla and stomp your feet to drown me out when I go, girl. That wasn't nothing but a princess tinkle."

She laughed as she washed her hands. "You so crazy."

"Like none of what we're dealing with tonight is crazy?"

"It is crazy," she said, stripping off her clothing, by shy degrees. "But I'm not scared in here with you. And I'm sorta glad we met, anyway."

"You know, most guys meet a fine woman in a club, down on Venice Beach, walking down the street... but no. I have to meet the finest babe I've ever seen while on a motorcycle tear down a demon-filled street. That's the type of year I've been having. Truth be told, that's the kind of life I've been having. So, my bad if I wish I had met you under different circ.u.mstances... but I am glad we hooked up."

Juanita turned on the water and slipped under the spray without a word. He'd said she was the finest woman he'd ever met. Wow. A guy like him? He'd also said, in so many words, that he was unattached, since it was hard to meet people and he was having a bad year. Plus had said she princess-tinkled. She smiled as the warm water covered her and she doused her hair in it, finding a bar of Ivory soap on the rack. Her papi used to say that to her when she was a little girl... "go make a princess tinkle." She wanted to laugh and cry both at the same time.

"Your people are really nice, Jose. Thank you for sharing them with me for the night, and for taking me in... and for doubling back to pick me up on your bike. My family isn't as cool as yours."

"Yeah, well, you ain't never met my mom. She's a trip," he said, watching the window intently. The scent of Ivory soap was embedded in his nose, creating a memory template that he'd never forget. Wet woman splashing behind a thin curtain... naked. Trust was as thick between them as the growing steam and the heavy throb that had begun to cause a dull ache in his groin. Codependency-her dependent on him for safety, him dependent on her for hope, for balm to his wounded male pride... to make losing his mural, his last-ditch dream, worth it all, with both of them wrapped in the faith that they weren't crazy. They'd both seen it, had tribal elders confirm it.

"My mom is a trip, too... that's why I was out tonight," she said so quietly and in such a sad voice that he was tempted to turn around but didn't.

"Moms can be like that," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the response came out on a gentle rush of breath.

"You have any brothers and sisters?" She peered around the curtain and drew his attention away from his neutral post.

"No," he said slowly, unable to keep from looking at her squeaky-clean face and how the water ran down her wet hair, down her throat, and then slid away behind the semi-sheer curtain that barely concealed her wet cinnamon-brown skin. "Long story. But it's just me and her."

"Oh," she said, ducking back into the water behind the curtain.

Conflict tore at him. He wanted to keep staring at her and yet also needed to turn around to keep her from seeing the state she'd put him in.

"You and your mom had an argument?" He needed to talk, keep things moving in the bathroom. If it got too quiet, she might be able to hear him breathing through his mouth.

"I wanted to go out with friends," she said in a tight murmur, just above the spray. "But she slapped me and called me a wh.o.r.e- and I've never even been with a man. All I do is go to work, watch my little brother, clean up the house after him and Juan, my older brother, who she thinks walks on water, no matter what he does. Cook, clean, 'do this, Juanita,' 'do that, Juanita,' that's all I ever hear, ya know? I wanted to go to college one day but wound up working in a drugstore ringing a register, just to help Momma out. So, I just got fed up when she slapped me for wearing red and makeup, and I ran away. But I didn't ever think..."

"Hey, I hear you. Noticed you, like me, weren't in a hurry to make the call home. Maybe when we get outta here, huh?" he said, trying to mentally catalog everything this beauty had told him in one rush.

She, that fine babe, was a virgin-he'd heard that first. Then, his mind processed the rest: She didn't have a man. Had dreams that had been crushed by duty-he could relate-which meant that she had a good heart, a tender spirit, cared for people, and put family first. She didn't have a man? Shee-it. Problem solved.

"What were you doing out there?" she asked quietly, turning off the shower.

Jose let out a long breath. "I was almost dog meat," he replied, leaning against the wall with a thud as the grim reality finally hit him. "I was up on the scaffolding of the building that the city gave me a contract to paint a mural on. Up there, at night, by myself, studying the bricks and where to lay down the design-then cops pull up, ha.s.sle me, make me come down. In a weird way, they probably saved my life."

He heard the curtain yank back and steeled himself against the shudder of desire that ran down his spine.

"OhmiG.o.d, you were out there by yourself, all alone, doing the mural, and could have been killed? You're an artist? Like a real artist, and went out there at night?"

The tone of her voice, the excited rush, and the awe that echoed in the bathroom made the muscle in his jaw pulse. No woman had ever listened to what he had to say with bated breath. No one had ever heard his tales of victory after near death like he was some street warrior returned from battle-he'd never had anything like the other hombres had to tell an adoring feminine crowd. But right now he had Juanita's full attention focused on him, her wet movements beneath a towel driving him to the brink of insanity; then the sweet smell of lotion and the sound of it being applied almost made him groan out loud.

"Yeah... I can draw," was all he said.

"But you were out there by yourself, Jose. OhmiG.o.d!"

"Yeah. But it was cool."

"Whew," she whispered. "Okay, you can turn around now."

He shook his head no. "Uh... why don't you turn around so I can jump in there?"

"All right. I'm not looking."

She heard him drag in a deep breath and begin taking off his clothes. His sneakers fell to the floor in heavy thuds, and the vibrations made her belly quiver. This fine man was getting naked behind her back. This awesome guy had just stripped to the raw-this same man who had saved her life. He was an artist, single and unattached. The city thought enough of his work to give him a contract, at his age, so he had to be ba-a-ad. He was a man going places and a man unafraid. He made her feel safe and have hope and faith and something she dared not name. Just hearing him turn on the water and jump into the shower made her mouth go dry.

She peeped over her shoulder. "Want me to hold onto the gun?"

"It's a rifle," he said, chuckling, "but if it'll make you feel better, just keep the barrel pointed away from me, aw'ight?"

She laughed and didn't go near the weapon that rested on the floor. "That's okay," she said, stealing glances at his moving form behind the plastic curtain. Her body was responding against her will. The humid, foggy enclosure reminded her so much of the best parts of her crazy dreams... angry black smoke giving way to a thick rain forest-like mist... primordial steam, the sound of a waterfall. She was a water sign, Cancer, and the element was a part of her. That had to be it.

"So you hungry?" he asked over the din of the spray.

She towel-dried her hair harder, trying to wrest her thoughts back to appropriate topics. "Yeah, I guess."

"Cool. After I get out, we can go see if there's anything in the fridge."

By the time the water stopped, her heart was thudding in mild arrhythmia. When he leaned out of the curtain to grab a towel, rivulets of water running down his body, she didn't even bother to turn away. Toffee-hued bronze-tan skin cut through the steamy haze. Pure masculine scent mixed with the water and made her lean against the sink to stare. His chest was carved into two solid blocks of hard muscle, and as her gaze discreetly slid down his torso she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from going hang-jawed.

Perfectly sculpted abs in isolated free-standing muscles drew her gaze down to a silky thin line of water-slicked hair just under his navel. This wasn't the soft body of an artist; what Jose owned belonged to a warrior. Heaven help her, desire bathed her in a hot sheath of want. Her skin was on fire, her nipples were so hard they hurt, and the moisture that crept between her thighs made her face burn with sudden shame. He was the entire package-a decent human being, listening ear, soldier at the ready, generous of spirit to share his family, a man with integrity who had saved her life.

She turned her head like she'd been slapped when he swathed himself in a towel, but she noticed that he just stood in the tub, breathing in slow, paced sips. He willed his legs to move, but they didn't cooperate. He begged his eyes to go back to an appropriate place, but they wouldn't listen. The finest woman he'd ever seen was leaning on his grandfather's sink in a white cotton nightgown that her wet hair had made cling to her. Nipples hard, dark brown hair making the gown sheer in all the right spots, curves unconcealed beneath the fabric. Just slap him. Adrenaline and the whole drama were clearly making him stupid. This woman trusted him and depended on him, but por dios, she was fine.

"You look much better after the water hit you," she said, trying to make a joke of their previously grimy condition.

"I'm a Pisces," he said, his laughter strained. "What can I say? Water is my thing."

For a moment she didn't answer, processing the comment a number of wicked ways. "I'm a Cancer," she said with a shy smile.

"Water is my thing, too."

"Moonlight doesn't do too bad on you, either, moon child." He smiled and glanced at the window and then at her.

He stepped out of the tub and was standing two inches from her. She tried not to glance down at his towel or the hard length it

shielded and fixed her gaze on his eyes. He was standing so close that their bodies almost brushed.

"Any sweats or anything in there that I can throw on?"

"I think so," she whispered, and then pulled her gaze away from him with great effort.

"Give me a second; then I'll go find you something to eat."

Him for dinner was a viable option. She turned around quickly, wishing that the steam hadn't claimed the mirror so completely.

She peeked but turned away and simply suffered at hearing him drag on the soft fabric.

"I'm decent," he said in a low murmur.

She turned to face him again, smiled, and stopped breathing as his body made a definitive tent in his gray sweats.

"You hungry?" he asked in a quiet, sensual tone that released a new flow of thick wetness between her thighs.

She nodded and swallowed hard.

"Me, too. Been a long time since I had anything good."

She stared up at him as he closed the distance between them and allowed his body to brush hers to get a towel to dry his hair.

The sensation of his naked torso sweeping against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s almost made her gasp. Her stomach clenched, and his erection

grazed her thighs, making her want to open them.

About to hyperventilate, she clasped the edges of the sink with both hands behind her. She'd never felt a man's body against hers, had never been touched so gently in an accidental rake of bare skin against cotton. Her nipples pouted with the urgent need for one more pa.s.s, one more feather-light contact Even in the dense, steamy heat, gooseflesh had risen on her arms. But he simply stood inches from her, drying his hair, staring at her.

"Can I tell you something?" he finally asked, reaching past her again to slip the towel on the edge of the sink, his chest gently touching hers again when he did so.

She nodded quickly, his caress sending shards of lightning between her legs. "Yes," she breathed out. "What?"

"You are so beautiful that I really wanna kiss you, but I'm not trying to freak you out, after everything you just went through." He swallowed hard. "It's just that, I'm so glad you weren't hurt, so glad to be alive... and can't get the fact out of my head that we've been dreaming the same dream-and before tonight I didn't even know you."

She couldn't move or take her eyes off his as his finger softly traced her cheek and then found her ear to move her wet hair behind it.

"I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of you, because I'm not... and it ain't like I'm trying to look for some payback for the ride. I don't roll like that."

It was the stone-cold truth. His actions were driven by none of those things. She was simply beautiful, a heaven-sent gift. A phantom beauty in the mist, sipping air, making his skin burn beneath too-tight sweatpants, making him remember how alone he was in the world-no touch, no mouth to hunger for his, no hands or body to make him know life was worth living.

He smiled a half smile. "Maybe I should have taken a cold shower instead. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," she whispered, her soft voice holding him for ransom. "Maybe we both should have."

The way she turned her head, bit her bottom lip, and gripped the edge of the sink tighter did something to him. He knew it was foolish, to go for it under the circ.u.mstances, but if he didn't touch her, he'd lose his mind.

Ever so slowly, he took her mouth, testing for acceptance as he closed his eyes and his tongue met hers. The warm, moist yielding of her soft lips drew his body nearer, yet he took care not to crush his to hers-he didn't want to offend her or scare her off. But the sensation of her satiny skin in patches against his made it necessary to swallow a groan. He deepened the kiss and allowed his palms to slowly slide up her rigid biceps, closing the small fraction of s.p.a.ce between them until his pelvis welded with hers.

The sound of her voice trapped in their mouths made his tongue more aggressive, but he took great care not to move against her like he so desperately wanted to. She had sanctioned a kiss, had only said yes to that. She'd never been with a man and had almost lost her life. Her momma had put her out, or some variation on a theme. It wasn't about working on Juanita while she was in a vulnerable, messed-up mental state. Yes, he wanted her, but not like that in his grandfather's house... tears the next day, recriminations, no.

Yet his hands kept gliding up and down her arms and on each pa.s.s edging nearer to the side swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He couldn't help it. She tasted so good, smelled so sweet, his body ached for touch so badly, and she had turned him on so thoroughly. When her hips slightly lifted to press her mound against him harder, he allowed his thumbs to caress the sides of the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, gently tracing the heavy lobes that rose and fell with her shallow inhales.

She broke from the kiss, breathing hard, but didn't pull away. He loved how she stared up at him, a question in her beautiful brown eyes. His thumbs never stopped moving against the sides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He never took his eyes away from hers. Compelled, his thumbs grazed her nipples, and she closed her eyes with a shiver. That was all he needed to witness. Permission granted to explore how far she wanted to go.

This time when he took her mouth, his lazy thumb roll back and forth became a quick flicker of attention that made her gasp. Her hands left the sink and found broad shoulders to hold. A man she'd just met on the back of a bike in a deserted street was between her legs, moving hard against her, making her cling to him, making her moan, making her ready to grab his back, making her lean her head to touch the medicine cabinet mirror.

Hot kisses along her neck stole her breath. Male hands both rough and gentle at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s made a whimper escape and fuse with the steam. It felt so good, so wonderfully, terribly good, as his body now created an insistent pulse, like he was trying to climb inside her, simply pull himself through the fabric, and G.o.d how she wanted him to do that.

Yet from some very remote place in her mind she'd been called out of her name, a vile word delivered by her mother that gave her pause. His family had offered them both trust and asylum, and an old Indian woman had kissed her cheek. Yet this man was coming out of his pants, the friction wearing loose the drawstring, wearing down her resolve, wearing a hole in her brain while wearing her out, hiking up her gown, making her bud ache with such agony that she almost cried and begged him to touch it.

"Your grandparents," she gasped in a rush as he suddenly bent, dipped low, and pushed her gown up to French-kiss her navel.

"They're cool; they're gone for the night," he said in a ragged whisper against her belly. "I'll be gentle."

He was on his knees on the bathroom floor, whispering promises with kisses against a place that only her fingers had ever touched. Her thighs parted without her rational consent. But she couldn't help it. He had spoken truth and torture against the swollen wet lips between her legs, finding spots that made her shoulders collide with mirror gla.s.s. If he didn't stop, she would lose her mind; if he stopped, she'd slap him. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound creeping past her larynx, but her hand fell away and her voice rent the room, echoing, bouncing off the tiles, a wail that she couldn't hold.

The scent of ready woman was all in his nose, had penetrated his sinuses, was in his mouth, and lit the back of his tongue to ignite his groin on autopilot. d.a.m.n... this was the one. Right here on the bathroom sink. b.u.t.ter-soft thighs tensing and releasing, hot flow all over his face. Her tight, round a.s.s lifting, hips jerking under his hold... sweet virgin essence washing his face, her voice a moaning plea for something more to quench her that only he had. Oh yeah... he'd be gentle but firm, would take her spilling tears of pleasure. Her hands had found his hair and had become fists-he knew exactly what she was trying to say.

He didn't need a bed; a bathroom floor would do. The wall, whatever, oh, baby... yeah... just let it go like that when I'm inside you.

It was impossible to catch his breath as he pulled her down to the floor with him. Her mouth fought his for more tongue, a deeper kiss, her hands seeming as though they couldn't touch enough of his skin fast enough. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s begged to be suckled, and he obliged as he slid down his pants and nestled himself between her legs. Tears made her eyes shimmer in the lifting steam.

"I won't hurt you; I promise," he whispered, finding her slick entry point.

She looked up at him with eager, trusting eyes. "Just don't get me pregnant, okay?"

Her voice was so small and tight, just like he knew she'd be, that it split his conscience in two. "Okay," he said on a ragged whisper.

She closed her eyes; the rational side of his brain shut down with them. He entered her slowly, easing in just the head, and dropped down on his elbows to cradle her skull in a gentle grip.

"Take a deep breath," he said quietly, watching her expression. "Don't tense up, all right?" Agony clawed at his groin until it felt like his sac would be drawn up into his abdomen with each inhale.

She nodded quickly but kept her eyes closed.

" 'Nita, look at me," he whispered, kissing the bridge of her nose and waiting until she did. "Trust me. It won't hurt in a minute. Don't take your eyes off mine," he said, allowing more of him to fill her.

She arched and he reached down with one hand to hold her hips steady, careful not to press his full weight down on her.