Lure of the Wicked Part 8

Eye to eye.

Phin's fingers tightened on her wrist. It was all he could do to force back the awareness, a wild temptation that unfurled in him like a banner. A silent, echoing cry. "Naomi-"

Her eyes lit. "Shut up, Mr. Clarke."

He did. The instant she leaned forward and fused her mouth to his, he had nothing left to say. Control be d.a.m.ned. Barely leashed desire detonated in his head, shredded every trace of common sense as heat spiraled from her lips to his. Her free hand fisted in his collar, captured him close as her mouth opened, beckoned.

Aggressive. Demanding. She was all that and something a thousand times more primal as her tongue swept into his mouth; the velvet stroke of her tongue slid against his and he surged forward, slammed her back against the rough bag.

Phin wasn't going to stand there and let her think she had him. Even if she did.

Even if he knew he'd already lost.

The impact rocked them closer together, threatened to knock them over until she braced her legs against the floor and pushed back against the swaying bag.

He stepped into the welcoming vee of her legs, trapped her against his chest, his hips, the hard edge of his erection. Perfect, spiraling focus, a point of pleasure so intense he could only revel in the mind-shattering heat of her body, the soft curves compounded by elastic muscle.

Just the feel of her, the scent of her damp skin, was enough.

Enough to scream a warning. To wave red flags in his mind's eye. "Jesus," he managed, his voice strained as she tore her mouth from his. Naomi's laughter drifted like smoke over his jaw, his neck. Her hips tilted, ground against him, and Phin groaned as he seized her waist.

Too hot. Too fast.

He hadn't wanted to push her.

Taut with the effort, his hands strained against every impulse to haul her closer. To pull her into his skin and burn them both up to ash. She had to slow down, he had to slow down before she stroked him right into an explosive o.r.g.a.s.m he wasn't prepared for.

But Naomi wasn't letting him play nice.

The sharp edge of her teeth bit a line of fire into the skin of his neck. He gasped, pleasure and pain combined into a wild surge of need. "Naomi-"

"No," she murmured. She lifted her head, pulled her fingers through his hair to meet his gaze with a glittering need of her own. She twisted, throwing a leg over his thigh. His hips jerked of their own accord, and he gritted his teeth. Locked every muscle.

Just the press of her body. Jesus, just the demand, her laughter. Unable to help himself, he slid his palms up the sleek heat of her flat belly. Her ribs. He found the edge of her cropped tank top, worked underneath to encircle one constrained breast.

She filled his hand perfectly. Her nipple peaked hard into his palm, and he groaned. Her breath hissed out from between her teeth.

Phin found his hands full of ice and fire, of silk and steel. All the conundrums he didn't know how to tame, not right now.

Maybe not ever.

She curved into his body like he was the last thing she'd ever need, and the heady combination of hazy violet eyes and the beckoning pulse of her body against him was too much.

Too d.a.m.n fast.

He dragged her hips upward, pushed her higher against the bag. The slick material of her athletic shorts glided like water over him. The juncture of her legs slid over the hard length of his pulsing, desperately hard c.o.c.k, and she rode him, legs wrapped hard around his waist. Rode him as if their clothes didn't exist, as if she could drag herself over him and feed on the shudders of sensation between them both.

It was torture. It was h.e.l.l.

It was pure heaven.

Naomi gasped, her cheeks flushed, back arching. Her fingers knotted in the mesh netting that kept the athletic bag supported, kept her supported against it. Gone with l.u.s.t, with the crazy intoxication of her scent, her sounds, Jesus, her own s.e.xual madness, Phin angled her body, dragged her over him again.

And again.

Her body trembled. Tightened under his hands. She threw her head back, eyes clenched shut. Pink swept across her chest, across her shoulders, her throat. He felt her desperate release build in the tension surging beneath her skin.

Curling one hand around the back of her neck, his fingers brushing against the hot metal beads she hid so well, Phin jerked her away from the bag. He pressed her face to his shoulder and gritted his teeth as her wild, m.u.f.fled cry washed over him, as she went rigid against him. Around him, locked hip to hip.

He was, he reflected as he braced himself against the rough bag behind her, a complete m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t.

For a long moment there was only the sound of her breathing. Of his muted heartbeat thundering against his ribs. It matched hers, beat for beat. Slam for slam.

She stirred.

Naomi's legs uncurled from around his waist. Pliant, fluid, she eased her taped feet back to the floor and pushed her damp hair from her face. She smiled languidly, as satisfied as a cat surrounded by defenseless canaries.

"Well," she said, casual as the wind. "That was nice."

"Oh, no." Phin caught her arm when she shifted, held it when he could read her intent to escape as easily as if she'd announced it.

She glanced at his hand, measuring it. Her gaze turned curious, amused, as it flicked back to his. "What?"

"It's not going to end here."

Amus.e.m.e.nt faded. Her lashes narrowed, a thick line of edged black. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Phin let her go, slowly, and stepped back from the maddening feel of her body before he pushed it one limit too far and made a mess of himself.

Naomi stretched languorously, those sleek muscles moving like silk under her skin. Her arms locked over her head, her back arched in sinuous challenge. "What makes you think I'm interested in anything else?"

With need, the temptation of her battering at his unfulfilled body, Phin wasn't going to play her game. Not now.

Later. After he'd taken care of the erection practically begging for attention under his shorts. He flashed a smile he knew would annoy her. Easy, knowing.

The kind of smile that said, I've seen you come and loved every second of it.

Her smile faltered. Her lips parted on a small, almost imperceptible breath.

One point for him.

Laughter split through the gym, the isolated contest of wills, and shredded the small pocket of silence around them. Naomi stiffened, her gaze jerking suddenly over his shoulder. Phin glanced behind him to watch a handful of day-trippers enter the far entrance. Each carried towels and complimentary water bottles.

They chattered and teased one another. None of them spared more than a glance toward Naomi and Phin. Phin grinned at the sudden wary tension that ratcheted her body.

He leaned forward, handed her the water bottle she'd dropped around the same time she'd kissed him stupid. "Guess we'll have to be more careful next time," he murmured in her ear.

Naomi drove an elbow into his chest. "Next time, my a.s.s," she hissed.

She sidestepped him, shoulders rigid as he laughed softly at her back. "You can run, Naomi."

She didn't acknowledge the threat.

Phin didn't pretend it was anything else but.

Chapter Seven.

Ten minutes of ice-cold water was more punishment than any man should suffer for a woman. Shivering, Phin turned off the shower and thought it wasn't nearly as terrible as what he was doing to himself.

l.u.s.ting after a guest? Check.

l.u.s.ting after a guest he suspected had more baggage than she let on? Check.

Acting on it anyway? That was the kicker.

But there was something about Naomi that pulled on every nerve, every sense he possessed. He wanted to like her. He wanted to help her.

And, he admitted in silent aggravation, he wanted to peel her out of that facade of cool, calculated amus.e.m.e.nt that she wore like a G.o.dd.a.m.n mask.

He wanted her eyes dark and clouded with pa.s.sion, not wariness. Her mouth gasping his name.

"Whoa," Phin muttered, and ground a fist into his eyes until he couldn't count the pulse in his crotch anymore. A cold shower wasn't going to help if he just kept at it.

Deliberately he slid the shower stall open and reached for a towel as he thought about the day's notes. He'd made it as far as the repairs scheduled for the sauna tomorrow when the comm unit he'd tossed carelessly to the counter vibrated itself onto the floor with a clatter.

Hurriedly, wrapping the towel around his dripping waist, he scrambled to collect it before the caller hung up.

"Wait a minute." He fumbled with the earpiece, swore, and gave up when it slipped through his slick fingers. He pressed the speaker to his wet ear instead. "Phin Clarke. How can I help you?"

"Firstly"-Gemma's voice all but vibrated the line with amus.e.m.e.nt-"you're nowhere to be found mid-afternoon. Now, either you've managed to entangle yourself with someone quite pretty for the moment-"

He winced. "No."

"-or you're hiding," she finished on a chuckle. "As the lovely Jordana has just now entered the dining floor, I'm going to lean toward the latter."

Phin shifted the comm to his other ear, snagging a hand towel from its neat rack to blot at his dripping hair. "Jordana would eat me alive, Mother, and you know it." He sighed, knowing it for the long-suffering sound it was. "Neither. I was tired from being up all night with the technicians, so I took a quick shower to wake up."

"You poor dear," Gemma crooned, suddenly nothing but contrite. "Are you doing all right now?"

Feeling only a little twinge of guilt, he said simply, "Foggy around the edges, but fine, Mother, don't worry about me. Is there a secondly in there somewhere?"

"What? Oh! Yes, there is."

A beat. Phin grinned, quickly raking a comb through his hair. "And it would be?"

"Family meeting."

The comb slid through his fingers and clattered to the counter. Phin grabbed at it, missed, and sent it spiraling into the sink. Biting back a sound of irritation, he focused on the comm instead. "When? Where?"

"Soon as you can make it to your mother's office, dear."

Phin grimaced. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Gemma hummed a farewell, disconnecting the call before Phin could shake the water off the small screen.

He dressed quickly, left his suite tidy and dry behind him. Within the ten minutes he'd promised, he made it to the floors tucked underneath the public levels and entered Lillian's office.

Two sets of speculative eyes greeted his arrival.

Lillian perched one hip on the rich rosewood desk, her suit tailored to chic simplicity. The muted plum color brought out a diamond shine in her golden hair, made her eyes look luminous gold and green. Beside her, Gemma sat in the matching chair, one hand threaded loosely with Lillian's, palm to palm.

Lillian's eyebrow arched in regal Hollywood flair. "Exactly on time."

Phin shut the door behind him, ruefully spread his hands. "What did I do now?"

"Nothing." Gemma grinned, revealing the dimples she'd pa.s.sed on to him. "I think."

"Gemma."

The woman smothered her amus.e.m.e.nt at Lillian's murmured warning, clearing her throat. "Right, well, let's get right to it."

"Have a seat, my love," Lillian added, inclining her perfectly coiffed head toward one of the two chairs arrayed before the desk.

Feeling a little like a boy called before the dean, Phin sat. "All right." He sighed. "But this had better have everything to do with the accident, and not the ongoing discussion of my love life."

"Or lack-" Gemma clamped her mouth under Lillian's warning squeeze. He didn't miss the flex of his mother's fingers, the shift of her beautiful eyes. "It does," she said instead.

"I filled your mother in," Lillian explained, her tone crisp. Professional.

Down to business, after all. Phin straightened. "The sauna accident looks targeted, but it makes no sense." He rubbed at his jaw idly. "It's no accident, that's clear. The good news here is that the technicians can get it fixed within three days, if the parts are available."

The women exchanged a glance, worry and relief tangled.

"What?" He frowned. "What's going on?"

"Maybe nothing," Gemma said, only to smile wanly as Lillian stated, "Your mother has a concern."

"Oh, no." Phin pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "No, no, I don't want to hear that."

"Maybe it's nothing," Gemma repeated, rising. Her bow-shaped mouth intent, she put her hands on her hips and frowned fiercely at them both, lines drawn between her dark eyebrows. "It seems so random, so out of the blue. I can't believe it was just about poor Alexandra."

Lillian adjusted the sleeve of her jacket. Sharp, tight movements. Frustration. He knew the signs, knew each woman as well as he knew himself.