Talking Sense (17 page)

He kissed along her cheek to her ear, then down her neck, moving her shirt to one side so he could nibble the sensitive skin of her shoulder blade and breastbone.

“Colm,” she teased, “what’s got into you?”

“You,” he murmured, kissing back up to her lips. “You smell divine. And taste even better.” He held her head and kissed her until the blood thundered through her veins and an ache grew between her thighs, and then he lifted his head and studied her with passion-filled eyes. “Stay the night with me, Mia. I can’t bear to be away from you. Not even for five minutes.”

Delight welled inside her. He felt the same way. “Okay,” she whispered, an unusual shyness warming her cheeks. She’d never had this reaction from a man before—they’d desired her, but nobody had ever seemed to enjoy being with her as much as he did.

She glanced out of the window at the pouring rain. “We’d best not get the painting out the car at the moment, though. It’ll get soaked. Are you happy to leave it in here until the morning?”

“Not really. I’d rather wait for a while and see if the rain stops.”

Disappointment spiralled through her. He’d acted as if he wanted her now, and she was ready for him, hungry for him.

“So we’ll have to find something to do for a while to amuse ourselves,” he said.

And before she could protest, he reached across, lifted her up and scooted across the gap between them into the passenger seat.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mia gasped as he manoeuvred her to sit on top of him, which wasn’t easy considering his car wasn’t exactly on the roomy side.

“Ouch,” she said as she bumped her head on the roof.

Colm stopped moving, and his face creased with concern. “Shit, sorry. I forgot about your back.”

“My back’s fine,” she said, rubbing the top of her head. “I took some painkillers about an hour ago.”

She’d hoped there might be some sex in the offing, and she’d taken them just in case. As a temporary measure, she’d told herself.

Colm gave a deep, sexy laugh, slipped a hand into her hair and pulled her head down for a kiss. “Good girl,” he murmured.

“Don’t be so fucking patron—”

But it was too late, his lips were on hers, and Mia groaned as his tongue slid between her teeth and began its beautiful, erotic dance with hers.

She’d never made out in a car before. It was something she’d seen happen in teenage horror movies, but she’d never actually tried it herself. She was surprised by the lack of room, unless it was just because the car was so damn small. Her right elbow knocked on the window, and she couldn’t sit up straight because the roof wasn’t high enough.

“Why don’t we come back for the painting?” she panted when he finally allowed her to lift her head. “I feel a bit…constrained.”

“Nope.” He took off his glasses and put them on the driver’s seat, then began to unbutton her shirt. “Here.”

She tried—unsuccessfully—to push his hands away. “Colm, we’re in public.”

“Honey, anyone venturing outside in this weather deserves to get an eyeful.” He got to the bottom of the buttons and pushed the shirt apart. “Oh yeah.”

She glowed with pleasure at his obvious admiration of her lacy black bra, but still, this was hardly the place. “Sweetheart, eager as I am, and even though I’ve taken the painkillers, I don’t think I can contort myself into the kind of position needed to have sex in this car.”

“Rubbish.” He turned the handle on the side of his seat, lowering the back by six inches, and reclined to look up at her, filling his palms with her breasts. “It looks pretty good from where I’m lying.”

“Well, yes…” She had to admit it gave her a bit more room, but it was so…inappropriate. “Colm, seriously…” Her words ended with a gasp as he pulled down one cup of her bra to expose her breast and fastened his mouth onto her nipple. “Fuck!”

He groaned in response, sucking hard, and she closed her eyes, her hands fisting on his shoulders.

“We can’t, not here,” she said faintly, but she might as well have been talking to the roadmap in the side pocket. He ignored her and pulled down the other cup so both her breasts sat atop the black lace, the nipples contracting to small, tight peaks as he sucked them hard. He raised his head, leaving them glistening pink in the light from the street lamp. “Goodness,” was all she could say.

Colm slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, opened it and took out a condom.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, hoping he was. “I’m thirty.”

“Thirty, sexy and beautiful,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. “Get your knickers off.”

“Not a chance of that.” She couldn’t even twist in the seat without knocking her elbows. “I’m not tiny, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Perfectly proportioned.” He gave her nipples a quick lick as he freed his erection.

“I wasn’t talking about my…oh dear Lord.”

He rolled the condom on, hitched up her skirt and lifted her until he brushed against her panties.

“I’m still wearing them,” she complained.

“Not a problem.” He hooked a finger in the elastic and pulled them to one side before sliding his fingers into her folds. “Fucking hell, Mia. As wet inside the car as it is outside.”

“Oh my God. I hate you.”

He slipped his fingers deep into her and groaned. “You’re so ready for me, honey. You can’t deny it.”

“Yes I accept that, but there’s no way I could come like this, it’s too…oh.” She gave in and let him push the tip of his erection into her, and as she relaxed on top of him, she slid down his hard length. “Fuuuuuuck.”

Colm tipped his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. “Jesus. I’m in heaven.”

Mia tightened her internal muscles, sighing at the answering sensations. He was right—it was heavenly being like this, closing around him, encasing him in her wet heat. He stretched her until she moaned with pleasure, and when he held her hips and pushed up hard, she knew he’d filled her completely.

She rocked her hips to slide him in and out, murmuring her approval as she found that her clit was brushing against his pubic hair. Okay, maybe she
could
come like this.

Outside, the rain lashed against the car windows, which had begun to steam up. It felt as if they were in another world, cocooned in warmth and heat and quietness while the storm raged around them, and Mia found she didn’t mind being in the centre of the storm with Colm, not at all.

She moved atop him slowly, enjoying the sensual slide of him inside her.

Clearly, though, it wasn’t enough for Colm.

“Too slow,” he said, and he took the collar of her shirt and yanked it down her back. The material locked around her elbows and forced her arms back.

“Jeez,” she said, and tried to get her arms out of the shirt. But there was no room, and even as she struggled, he did something behind her back with the shirt, making it tighter, and gave a chuckle of victory.

“My prisoner,” he said, and fastened his mouth on her right nipple.

Mia squealed, off balance without the use of her hands and feeling exposed with her breasts propped up on display above her bra cups. “Let me go,” she whispered furiously, but he ignored her and swapped to the other nipple, using his fingers to tease the one he’d left behind. The sensitive skin was wet and puckered, and she inhaled at the exquisite sensation.

She struggled again to free her arms, but whatever he’d done behind her back had secured the shirt around her elbows, and there wasn’t enough room for her to manoeuvre herself free.

She half lay on him, and he lifted and turned her so they were almost side by side. She lay with her back against the car door, her hands trapped behind her, unable to do anything as he hooked her free leg around his waist and began to thrust hard, tugging on her nipple with his fingers as he did so.

Mia began to spiral out of control, dizzy with lust and longing. It was hardly the most comfortable way she’d ever made love—the door was hard against her back, there was some kind of button or handle beneath her hip, and thank God she’d taken the painkillers, considering what kind of position he’d contorted her into. But his passion, his control of her arousal and his obvious, overwhelming desire for her blew her away.

She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that a policeman wasn’t going to knock on the door, because it was going to take her half an hour to move upright and get her clothes sorted out, and then everything fled her mind and all she could think about was the sensations he was arousing in her. He kissed down her neck, sucked hard where it met her shoulder, and continued to pluck her nipples, occasionally licking his fingers to ensure her skin remained wet and sensitive.

She cried out, and in response he kissed her, hot and hard, swallowing up her cries and enveloping her in his heat, smell and taste until he seemed to be everywhere, even inside her head, her mind filled to exploding with sensations as her body opened up to him and everything began to tighten between her thighs.

He held her tightly as if he wanted to thrust even deeper into her, and when she came hard, he joined her in a triumphant roar, pushing her up against the door as he erupted into her. As the waves of bliss subsided, she felt him swell inside her, his hips jerking as he climaxed, and the knowledge that she’d brought him pleasure was almost—
almost
—as nice as her own orgasm.

They collapsed onto the seat, still locked together, and stared at each other for a brief moment, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he said eventually.

“Jesus,” she replied. “That’s probably the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been while having sex.”

He started to laugh, withdrew from her and disposed of the condom. “I’m sorry. But you only have yourself to blame.”

“Me, why? What did I do?”

“Looked gorgeous.” He kissed her. “I couldn’t wait until we got in.”

She glared at him, but inside she glowed with pleasure at his compliment. “Now look at me. Trussed up like a turkey. Talk about humiliated.”

She half expected him to apologise and free her hastily, but instead he just grinned, propped his head on a hand and brushed her nipple with his finger.

“Very nice, too,” he said. “I might leave you like that.”

“Colm!” She was genuinely shocked. “I still can’t believe you. What a fraud. You pretend you’re all gentlemanly, and then you…”

“I what?” He tweaked her nipple.

“Argh. Go all
grrr.
”

“All what?”

“Never mind. Can you get me out of this shirt? I think I’ve lost all sensation in my hands.”

It took them a couple of minutes to free her, and by the time she was finally liberated, they were both laughing and exhausted.

“The rain’s nearly stopped.” He helped her back on with her shirt and buttoned it up for her. “We should go in. Are you going to stay the night with me?” His gaze met hers.

Mia hesitated.
Mustn’t, shouldn’t, ought not to…

“Okay,” she said. It might not be the wisest thing to do, but she liked him and she wanted to spend time with him. What was so terrible about that?

“Come on, then.”

He slid on his glasses, and they struggled to lever themselves out of the car. The wind wafted a light spray of rain across them, and then it was gone, little more than a fine mist remaining.

“I’ll run with the painting,” he said, lifting it out of the boot. “I want it indoors. Come on.”

She gave one last look at the view of the harbour, the tarmac path that snaked beside the beach glistening, the lights in the distance still blurring like drips of watercolour paint dropped onto a wet page. She wouldn’t forget this night in a hurry. But then this man seemed to have a habit of forcing his way into her mind. She hadn’t forgotten that she’d dreamed he called her Clio.

Giving a little shiver, she ran across the road to join him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Colm opened his eyes. He was in his own bed, curled around Mia, her back to his chest, and the rain was pattering at the windows again. He lifted his head and squinted at the clock, the hands blurry without his glasses. Nearly seven. No need to get up yet.

He lay back, propping his head on a hand, analysing this strange intrusion into his bed. The woman in his arms smelled like heaven in a curvy-shaped bottle. In spite of the fact that she went to the gym twice a week, and she’d lost weight since the accident, her body remained soft and sensual, her skin like satin beneath his fingertips. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of touching her.

Too bad he was due to leave the country in a few months.

He stroked her shoulder, but she didn’t move, didn’t even stir, her rib cage continuing to rise and fall evenly. He could just see her profile, her long lashes dark against her cheek, lips slightly parted.

His hand travelled down, skimming her hips, and then he slid it forward to rest on her stomach. Flat without being muscley, it was warm under his fingers.

She probably wasn’t pregnant. If her period was due at the weekend, it meant they’d missed her most fertile time. Plus it would be very unlucky to get pregnant the one time he’d ever had sex without a condom.

He rested his lips on her shoulder. But what if she was?

He stroked the skin just under her navel with his thumb. Would she enjoy being pregnant, being a mother? She’d got to thirty without settling down, so clearly she was in no rush to enter wedded bliss. Maybe she’d hate it, be one of those women who felt constrained being indoors and who returned to work after a few weeks, leaving the baby with a nanny.

There was nothing wrong with that
per se
, but in his daydreams he’d always pictured a wife who’d be happy to stay at home for a while. What was the point in having a child just so someone else could bring it up? He liked the idea of going to work and then coming home at night to a warm and well-lit house, dinner in the oven, baby in the bath ready for a play before his or her bedtime story.

No doubt that was a stupid fantasy—were any households really like that anymore? The pregnancy magazine his sister had bought that he’d flicked through had talked about post-natal depression and cracked nipples and projectile vomiting, and had hardly made it sound like the idyllic experience he’d secretly dreamed of.