Hush (34 page)

She imagined it inside her, filling her, thrusting deep, and her blood turned to steam.

“What if it is?” Heart pounding, she stared up at him, almost taken by surprise by how much she wanted him. The chemistry had always been there between them. Now it was all but tangible, wrapping around them, flowing from her body to his. He felt it: there was no mistaking that, and yet he was resisting it still for some reason of his own. The hand in her hair tightened. So did the one on her hip. He was holding her in place, studying her face with unnerving intensity. It was clear from the increasing desire that blazed in his eyes that he was getting a pretty accurate read on what she was thinking about yet again.

And that would be sex. The air was laden with it. It was there in his eyes for her to see, and she had no doubt at all that it was there in hers.

“Sleeping with me isn't going to fix anything.” He said it as a warning, in a voice that was noticeably rougher and thicker than before. Besides the heat, there was a careful, calculating kind of
caution in his eyes that was echoed in the hardness of his jaw, in the way he was holding her, holding himself back from her. She got the impression that part of him wanted to pull back, walk away, and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

“Who said I was going to sleep with you?” If she sounded breathless, well, that was because she was. The kiss had been an impulse, a mixture of desire and opportunity and, yes, a need to stop him from badgering her and get the balance of power between them back on a more equal level. The excitement it had roused in both of them was enough to render the reason for it moot. A maelstrom of emotions churned inside her: terror for Emma, grief for Jeff, anxiety for Margaret, fear for her own safety. But they were all receding into the background as, right now, in this moment, the man in front of her was rapidly becoming all she could think about, all she could see.

“Then what the hell is this?” The hand in her hair moved down to cradle the back of her neck.

“A kiss.” It gave her some satisfaction to echo the words he'd said to her not so long ago.

“A kiss.” There was a flatness to his voice, a patent disbelief. “And that's it?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

Something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. His face hardened, and so did his hands on her. All of a sudden the wall at her back made her feel penned in. His big body looming over her made her feel penned in. Even as aroused as she was, she didn't like the sensation, didn't like her sudden awareness that, physically, she was helpless against him and he could pretty much do whatever he wanted to do with her. Quick fantasy flashes of herself
at his mercy might make her go all tight and shivery inside, they might make her pulse rate quicken and her bare toes curl into the carpet, but the reality of it awakened her pride, her fighting spirit, her innate sense of inviolable self that had never, ever knuckled in to anybody and never would.

His eyes slid over her face. “Better decide.”

“I'm thinking.”

“Think fast,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her again.

For a split second there, before their lips touched, while his hand that had been gripping her hip slid slowly up her rib cage toward her breast, she nearly panicked. She had the sensation that she was plunging deep into something she had no experience of, something that was already more than she had bargained on.

You started this
, she reminded herself, and it was true, she had, but she could tell, from the fierce tension in his body, from the restless glitter in his eyes, from the way he was holding her, handling her, that she wasn't in charge. And then she had a blinding flash of insight in which she realized why she had always preferred gentler, more pliable men: she'd been the one directing the course of events. Always, all her life, she'd been the one to figure things out, the one to dictate what would happen next, the one to decide.

With Finn, she wasn't. What was happening between them was outside her comfort zone.
He
was outside her comfort zone.

And that scared her.

She almost pushed against his chest, almost demanded to be let go.

But then his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her, slow and sweet and not scary at all, and she was dazzled, and tempted,
and finally lost. Eyes closing, she slid her arms around his neck, and went on tiptoe and kissed him back with increasing abandon as her body ignited and then went totally up in flames. He was barefoot, which actually didn't ease the size differential much but did allow their toes to touch. His were warm, and a glance down showed her that they were long, and tan, with nicely trimmed square nails, and made a noticeable contrast to her own paler, more delicate, coral-painted ones. She could feel the long, firm muscles of his legs beneath the well-tailored suit pants. Higher up, the stiff ridge of his erection was impossible to miss. It was there between them, aggressive in its sheer size, blatant in letting her know what he wanted. She responded to it instinctively by moving closer, fitting herself against him, and then reaching down to touch him. She stroked a questing finger along the iron-hard bulge, and it instantly seemed to grow larger and harder still until it tested the restraint of his pants. He made an indecipherable sound under his breath and grabbed her hand and pulled it away from him, settling it back on his shoulder, kissing her with an almost savage intensity as he leaned into her, full-body crush, pressing her back into the wall. Only now, instead of being dismayed at finding herself trapped, she was on fire for him, loving the way he felt, the heat and solid strength of his body, the size of him, the weight of him.

Her head spun. Her knees felt weak. Her body molded itself to his, arching up so that she could feel the hardness of his muscles—all his muscles—wedged even more completely against her. He shifted so that the iron hardness she'd stroked nudged the notch between her thighs, settled there, rocked into her,
making her mindless, making her move against him, making her shudder and quake.

She wanted him so much that she was woozy with it. The blazing sexual attraction that had raged between them from the first was now a wildfire that was out of control.

His hand found her breast, and any last hope of rational thought she had left vanished. She was blindsided by sensation, by her own white-hot reaction to his touch. The hungry demand of his lips on hers, the hot urgency of his tongue filling her mouth, the pure pleasure of having his hand on her breast and his body rocking into hers, drove everything else out of her mind. Her bones turned to water. Her muscles dissolved. Deep inside, her body throbbed and clenched. She shivered as he caressed her through the delicate layers of her dress with its built-in bra. Then his thumb found and rubbed her nipple. It stiffened and stood up for him, and the resultant ripple of desire had her arching up into his hand as she wordlessly begged for more.

“Made a decision yet?” He whispered it into the ear he was kissing before trailing his lips down the side of her neck. The wet heat of his mouth, the prickle of the stubble on his jaw against her skin, the warm, caressing hand on her breast, made her pulse race. They interfered with her breathing.

It took willpower, but she opened her eyes, sucked in air, strove for clarity. Her vision was instantly filled by his dark head bent low over her as he kissed her throat, by the nape of his brown neck, by his broad shoulders in the white shirt curved around her. The faint smell of menthol from his shaving cream intoxicated her. She had to swallow before she could reply.

“Still thinking.” Breathy, passion-drugged voice. Coherent answer, even if she wasn't sure it was true.

He lifted his head, studied her face. His eyes blazed down at her. His hand never left her breast.

“Oh, yeah?” The slight uptick of his mouth as it dipped toward hers was so sexy it made her heart beat faster. “Angel, any time you want to call a halt, all you have to do is say ‘when.' ”

She didn't reply because she couldn't. She was so turned on she could barely breathe, let alone speak. Then his mouth found hers again, and thinking was out, too. All that was left to her was to feel.

They kissed, hot fierce kisses, and while they did she started working on his shirt buttons until she had them undone and she could slide her hands up over his chest. His wide, hard-muscled chest with its wedge of dark hair was a visual treat that seared itself into her mind: honed and tanned and gorgeous, it was, like the rest of him, unmistakably, overwhelmingly male. His skin was smooth and hot, the hair covering it was crisp, and the muscles beneath could have been carved out of granite. As her hands moved sensuously over him, he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth with a growl and rocked into her until Riley thought she would come right there and then.

Her heart thundered. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She was shaken by delicious little tremors of lust that made her want to go ahead and push him to the floor and jump his bones.

She might have done it, too, if what he was doing to her wasn't so mind-blowingly delicious, and if he hadn't been too damned big to move.

His hand slid inside her neckline to cover her bare breast. The
heat of his hand, the abrasion of his rougher skin sliding over the silkiness of hers, the pressure of his broad palm moving sensuously over her nipple, sent a shock wave of pleasure through her. It turned her insides to something with the approximate consistency of Jell-O. Hot, thick, molten Jell-O.

Then the top of her dress came loose and she heard a kind of slither, and felt the whisper of air-conditioning on tender flesh that had until that moment been covered by layers of cloth. Her eyes opened, and she cast a slightly disoriented look down at herself to discover that the movement of his hand on the back of her neck that she'd been vaguely aware of had been him unbuttoning the four small buttons that fastened the halter neck of her dress. The entire front of her dress, built-in bra and all, had dropped, leaving her bare to the wide, snug waistband that still encased her waist.

Her breasts were firm and round. A nice size for her slender frame, they were creamy white with dark pink nipples, and she'd always liked them. Now she contrasted their soft fullness with the big, tanned, blatantly masculine hand that fondled them even as she watched, and felt her bones dissolve.

As her breath caught, she glanced up to find that he was watching what he was doing to her, too. He must have felt the weight of her gaze, because he looked up and their eyes met. His were darker than she'd ever seen them, heavy-lidded, smoldering at her.

“You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.” It was a husky murmur, uttered as he bent to take the nipple of the breast he was cupping into his mouth.

If she hadn't been clinging to his shoulders for support at
that moment, she would have slithered right down the wall to the floor. His mouth felt so good, so scaldingly hot, so insistent, that the spiral of need he'd already wakened coiled tighter and tighter until she was pure liquid fire inside and absolutely his for the taking.

“Finn,” she said, too weak with longing now even to start pulling off his clothes, which she wanted to do, or start stripping off the rest of her own clothes, which she also wanted to do, or in fact to do anything else except hold on to him as he kissed and licked and suckled her. What he was doing made her so tight and so shivery inside that she thought she might be going to die from the thrill of it.

“Riley.” His voice was thick. His tone was surprising. It was absolutely serious, somber even, as if her name had weight. He lifted his head, looked at her consideringly. His eyes were narrow and hot. His face was flushed and his hair was mussed from having her fingers in it. His mouth was hard and sensual and faintly damp, as were the tips of her breasts from his kisses. Just looking at him made her breathless, made her dizzy, made her heart feel like it was going to pound its way out of her chest.

She wanted to say what she'd started to say, but the way he was looking at her suddenly made it impossible for her to draw enough air into her lungs to speak. She swallowed, tried again.

“Is this you trying to say ‘when'?” he asked carefully. His hands tightened on her waist. His face had gone absolutely still. No expression, no emotion at all, except for the dark gleam in his eyes.

She shook her head. She might be making a bad mistake here. In fact, she probably was making a bad mistake here. Bottom
line, she didn't care. However this whole thing worked out, she would have at best a night or two with him. She would take them, take him.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her knees threatened to give way.

She said, “This is me trying to say, make love to me.”

F
inn looked at her for a moment longer, his hard face inscrutable, nothing at all to read in it except the blaze of desire in his eyes. He didn't say a word. Instead he bent his head and kissed her.

It was a deep, slow, hungry kiss that was so hot it practically steamed up the air around them. Eyes closing, she kissed him back passionately, all pent-up longing and urgent physical need. She was so intoxicated by the lush demand of his mouth on hers, by the warmth and firm resilience of his bare chest pressing against her breasts, by the satiny smoothness of his heavy shoulders as she clung to them, that she almost missed the tiny sound of a zipper being lowered.

Then her dress dropped the rest of the way, all the way to the carpet, where it puddled around her feet. She realized that while he'd been kissing her he had unzipped the small zipper at her waist that held up the rest of her dress, which allowed her skirt
to slide down her legs to the floor, which left her standing there in nothing but a pair of tiny nude-colored silk-and-lace panties.

He broke off the kiss to hold her a little away from him. The carnal gleam in his eyes was so erotic that she practically melted where she stood as he looked over every nearly naked inch of her. After an immobilized-by-lust moment, she took advantage of his superheated inattention to anything except her body to lean in, press her lips to his wide, warm chest, and reach for his belt.