Burn (19 page)

Mostly.

But she wanted to trust him completely.

“I want to see you naked.”

He had been drinking his wine, and her confession so
surprised him that he sucked a little of the vino up his
nose. Cinder dropped her feet to the floor to take a fresh
napkin from the coffee table. She gave it to him, pressing
back a tiny smile as he sputtered and blew his nose.

“I didn’t mean to shock you,” Cinder said.

“That wasn’t something I expected you to come out
and say like that.”

“Could I see you?”

He gave his head a little shake of confusion.

“I’d like to look at you.”

She elaborated no further, but he saw something in
her eyes that gave him a clear understanding of what she
was asking of him. Vulnerability and fear mingled with
hope and longing in her expression, and Gian knew then
t
hat he would do anything she asked if it removed any
lingering doubts she had about him. He held her gaze as
he unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened his belt, then stood to undo his button fly. With a self-effacing grin,
he let his jeans fall to his ankles, leaving him with his
shirt fronts billowing and the front of his sports briefs
bulging.

Cinder used her foot to push the coffee table out a little, giving Gian more room. He was imposing enough
in clothes, but shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of
the pool of denim at his feet, he seemed to expand until
he filled her view. Her eyes traced the thick veins and
cords standing out against his skin as he hooked his
thumbs into the waist band of his briefs, the muscles of his arms and chest lengthened and bunched as he bent
over to lower them. Shadows filled the hollows of his hip
muscles when he stepped out of his briefs and lightly kicked them to one side.

He straightened, displaying the definition of his
abdominal muscles, trying to read Cinder’s expression. Was she pleased? Frightened? Standing before her, he
could hide nothing, especially the fact that her gaze
affected him as strongly as her touch might have. Only
her eyes moved as they traveled over him. They lingered
in certain areas, places that responded painfully to her
interest. Just when he would have begged her to allow
him to do so, she asked him to sit.

“You have so many scars,” she murmured, touching
the trio of pale, smooth slash marks striping his left pec
toral muscle.

“
I got into a fight with Wolverine,” Gian joked.
When Cinder didn’t laugh or smile, Gian continued
more soberly. “I got that in a skirmish with locals outside
Kandahar. They were farmers armed with spades and
hoes. One of them got in a good lick with a tiller before
we drove them back.”

She scooted closer to him, leaning in to stroke the
raised, jagged line of scar tissue just under his navel. “And
this?”

“Homemade machete,” he said simply. “That was the
last time I underestimated the power of handmade
weaponry.”

Cinder repositioned him to recline against the corner of the sofa, his legs up and outstretched. She sat facing
him, her hip to his. Her right hand came to rest lightly
on his thigh. “May I touch you?”

“I think I might die if you don’t.”

Cinder’s slim hand whispered over his skin, her touch
as stimulating as an electric current. Gian breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes when she
cupped his face, her thumb lightly stroking over his lips
once before she ventured to the solid column of his neck.

She took his shoulders and sat on his upper thighs, her knees flanking his hips. She took his wrists, guiding
his arms up and above his head, his hands far out of reach
of her.

She leisurely reacquainted herself with a man’s body, with Gian’s body. She paid careful attention, intent on
learning his textures, how he tasted, smelled, and
responded. She threaded her fingers through his hair and
f
ound it soft, but so unlike hers. His hair was very straight with a cowlick that would have been more
noticeable had his hair been longer. She leaned forward,
her bosom in his face, to study his scalp. His maple-gold
hair was thick with little space between the follicles. She
pressed her nose to his head and inhaled, approving of
the fresh, clean scent that reminded her of the forest after
a heavy rain.

She liked his ears, deeming them perfect—not too
big, not too small. They were sensitive, given the way he
tensed when she took the rim of his ear between her
teeth, traced it with her tongue and suckled his earlobe before trailing her lips lower. The scent of his neck was
very different from that of his hair. No less pleasant, it
was warmer, stronger, more him, as distinct as the scent
of fresh bread yet decidedly male.

At the hollow of his throat, his pulse drummed
against her lips. With the tip of her tongue, she sampled
the velvety texture of his skin. His chest was naturally
bare, so she had a smooth path to his nipples. The tawny
pips hardened, the darker skin around them puckering in
response to the moist heat of her tongue. Cinder’s own
flesh reacted in kind, tightening when Gian let his head
fall back. He took a deep breath that expanded his chest
and rocked her back a bit.

Gian kept silent, although he wanted to tell her how
much he liked the dance of her fingers over the ridged
muscles of his rib cage and the defined squares of his
abdomen. A thin trail of golden-brown hair originated at
his navel and led downward. Cinder scooted down his
l
egs to settle more comfortably upon him while following
the trail of hair, which ended in a silky nest of darker fur
from which reared the eager prominence of Gian’s not
so-little soldier.

Cinder nuzzled its base with her nose, inhaling his
earthy fragrance. He smelled delicious, his aroma inviting
her to taste the hard instrument grazing her cheek. She
raised her head enough to catch its tip between her lips. Pinching her lips into a snug ring, she lowered her head,
drawing him farther into her mouth. Gian’s arms tensed,
his abdomen and buttocks flexing, his hips lifting reflex
ively to drive himself deeper. His hands clenched into
hard fists eager to grab Cinder, but Gian knew that he
couldn’t, not until she invited him. If they were to pro
ceed any further, he had to follow her lead and respond
within her parameters.

Cinder’s hands went beneath him, clasping his back
side so hard her blunt fingernails creased his skin.

Helpless, Gian groaned low in his throat, the sound
emanating from the depths of his pleasure. His hands opened and closed as he pushed his shoulders into the
back of the sofa, his hips pumping in rhythm with
Cinder’s head. The softness of her inner cheeks, the
thrilling rasp of her tongue and the wet heat of her
mouth combined to render him ignorant of all but her
exquisite attention.

Cinder measured her breathing, taking him deeper
with each down stroke. She removed her hands from his
shaft and stroked his legs, smoothing her hands over the
hard muscles under his skin.

W
ith a loud grunt, Gian reached the limit of his
endurance. He surrendered with a shudder, his elbows
and heels digging into the sofa. Cinder held onto the back
of the sofa with one hand to keep him from throwing her
off as his hips seemed to move on automatic, his noises of
relief waning as his excitement subsided.

“Cinder,” he gasped, his body relaxing, “when you said touch, I didn’t think you meant like that.”

She discreetly swiped a napkin across her mouth and
tidied him before she lay atop him, resting her head on his shoulder and draping an arm over his chest. Gian
considered that an invitation, and he fastened her tight in
his arms.

“You aren’t annoyed with me?”

He laughed. “Annoyed is so not the word to describe
how I feel right now. Why would you think I’d be
annoyed?”

“Because I did what I wanted to do, and you didn’t get to do anything.”

“I understand why you had to do what you just did.”

She shifted, lacing her fingers on his chest and resting
her chin on them to face him. “Good. Explain it to me.”

He lovingly touched a fingertip to the end of her nose
before tracing the line of her jaw. “I think you want me.”

She giggled. “Really? Is it obvious?” He gave her a half
grin that made her want to reach between his legs once
more.

“When was the last time you were with a man?”

She dropped her eyes. “My ex-husband is the last
man I was with.”

“
I think that you needed to establish control,” he
said. “You needed to see that you could trust me. That I wouldn’t hurt you or try to force you into something you
didn’t want.”

Her head went back to his shoulder and her left arm
circled his head, her fingers moving through his hair.
“There were a couple of men who were interested in me when I first moved here,” she said. “The first one tried to
kiss me after we’d gone to a gallery exhibit. I couldn’t let
him. Every time he touched me, it reminded me of
Sumchai. It was worse with the second man. We never
made it to the end of the first date. He took control of
everything. He ordered for me at the restaurant, and
chose my bowling ball for me. It made me so nauseous, I just ran out on him. I know how silly and stupid that is,
but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Gian assured her. “And it’s not your
fault. Your ex is the one responsible for the fact that you
link innocent gestures and words to pain.”

“How do you know so much about things like this?”

Gian stroked her arm with his fingertips. He sighed
and said, “My sister Lucia was a runner. She used to work
out in a different park every month. There’s so many of
them in and around St. Louis because some society lady
at the turn of the century decided that parks should be
available to everyone, not just the rich folks who lived in
the painted ladies downtown.”

“What’s a painted lady?”

“That’s a nickname for the Victorian houses in the
neighborhood surrounding Lafayette Park, down on
Mississippi, Missouri, and Park Avenues,” Gian said. “In
the past couple decades, the houses have been remodeled
and painted. The area is real upscale now.”

“Zae took me to Lafayette Park once,” Cinder said.
“It’s really pretty. There’s a bridge crossing over a little creek, and with the trees bowing low over it and all the
water lilies and moss-covered stones in the water, it looks
like something from an old-fashioned book of fairy tales.”

“Lucia liked the bridge, too. It’s the main reason she
liked running down there. One Saturday afternoon,
though, the park was crowded, and she had to park her car about three blocks away. The neighborhood wasn’t
very good, but she hadn’t expected anything to happen in
the middle of a sunny Saturday with so many people out on the streets.”

A weak shudder moved through Cinder, and Gian
held her closer, sweeping his lips across the top of her
head in a reassuring kiss.

“She was never able to tell us how many assailants
were involved, but a group of young thugs grabbed her
and dragged her between two dilapidated buildings. She’s
a real fierce kid, but those creeps outnumbered her. On a
day when so many other people had gone to the park to
enjoy the weather, these monsters thought it would be
fun to spend the afternoon beating and raping my baby
sister.”

Gian’s chest heaved. He struggled to hold back emo
tions Cinder could only guess at—fury, sorrow, pain, and
frustration top among them. She comforted him with
soft kisses to his temple and the backs of his fingers.