The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) (13 page)

The week wasn't
going all that well to Cara's disappointment. To begin with, she lost her cell phone,
which was totally out of character for her. She didn't lose things, was way too
good a Girl Scout for that nonsense. But, of course, as Murphy's Law would have
it, she'd lost her cell phone at the beginning of the week she needed it the
worst. There was little to do but replace it. And she'd about had it with her
old cellular provider, so she went with a new one and bought a new phone.
Still, she'd lost all her contacts, and it was driving her crazy in the midst
of the busyness of the week.

Greg had agreed
to come to South Beach for the weekend. It was a minor miracle in reality,
being that it was fall and college football was in full swing. She didn't know
exactly how he'd managed it, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was
that they had two whole days, and more importantly, two whole nights together.
It had been so long. Every time Cara thought of being with him a sizzle of heat
gave her a sexual buzz.

The Dance
Symposium had been good, full of innovative and exciting ideas, but by the end
of day two, Cara was fairly saturated with all things dance.  The last
workshop let out at five p.m. on Friday afternoon, which was going to work out
well since Greg's plane had landed at four. They would probably arrive at the
hotel at about the same time.

Unfortunately,
another convention of some sort let out at exactly the same time, and Cara
found it nearly impossible to hail a cab. What should have been a short fifteen
minute cab ride turned into an hour and ten minute ordeal. And to make matters
worse, it began to rain, so by the time she arrived at the hotel, she was wet
and frazzled as a worn shoe lace.

She was never
late. To anything, she thought irritably, waiting and waiting for the elevator
that seemed to be stopping at every single floor on its way to the lobby. And
here she was looking like a drowned rat while Greg waited for her. Lord, could
the damned elevator be any slower? Someone was holding it at floor three, she
decided, looking around for the stairs. Twelve floors up was a lot to climb, but
she was about to do that when the elevator chimed and the door opened. Finally.

She entered and
pushed the button for the Twelfth Floor, then checked her phone to see if he'd
texted her, but there was nothing. With any luck, he'd be a little late
himself, and she might have time to make herself look more presentable.

Luck was not her
friend this week though.

She pushed
through the door to her room and found him sitting in an upholstered club
chair, his back to the window. He must have been there a while. His shoes were
off, as was his sports jacket, and his tie was loosened at his neck. He looked
up from the newspaper he'd been reading, then, instead of smiling and rising to
meet her as she expected, he folded the paper and put it aside.

"You're
late," he said pointedly, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair.
She could tell he was cool, at the very least, maybe even irritable.

Cara didn't
exactly know how to take it. She dropped her purse and things on the credenza
near the door, buying herself a moment to gather her wits. Greg rarely showed
any irritation or anger, so she didn't have much experience in dealing with him
in this situation. Disappointment rippled through her. This was not an
auspicious beginning to the weekend she'd been fantasizing about for the past
month.

"I know I'm
late. And I'm a total mess. I had a horrible time getting a cab and in the
rain, nonetheless. I'm sorry you've been waiting. And for a while it looks
like."

He nodded, but
his expression didn't soften at all. He was angry with her.
Good grief.
It wasn't like she'd been sitting in a bar somewhere. She'd been trying
diligently to get here.

He looked down
at his watch. "Caught an earlier flight. I've been here for ... oh, almost
two hours waiting on you," he finally said.

She crossed to
the chair and squatted down beside him. "Greg, I know. And I'm sorry.
There was another convention that released at the same time, and it was insane
trying to hail a cab. There was absolutely no organization about it. They need
a woman in charge down there. That would help, let me just tell you," she
said, growing testy herself.

He listened,
silent, letting her spew, but when she realized her tale of woe was not
changing his demeanor, she stopped and canted her head at him. "You're
angry with me, aren't you?"

He angled his
own head a bit, considering, his eyes narrowing. "Angry isn't it.
Impatient, is more like it," he finally said. "I've been
very
impatient for you to get here," he added, his look stern and unbending.

She stood up,
finally fed up with all the irritations and disappointments of the day ... the
week.

"Fine. Pout
then. I'm getting in the shower," she said and turned to walk to the
bathroom.

"Stop,"
he said. It was quietly spoken, but said with an authority that took her
completely by surprise.

She turned
around to look at him, trying to understand exactly what was going on in his
mind.

"Good
girl," he said. "I like a woman who knows how to obey."

Cara's brows
rose in surprise, and she laughed a little. "Excuse me?"

"Not
yet," he said, working the knot to further loosen his necktie, then
pulling it off over his head. "You'll be excused when I say you are. Right
now, though, what you're going to do is get undressed."

He said it so
matter-of-factly that Cara had to take a moment to process it. She shook her
head slightly, still disbelieving the afternoon was unfolding in this way.
"Um, no. I'm getting in the shower," she repeated, as if he might be
a little dense.

He cocked one
eyebrow at her in a way she'd never seen him do, and for a moment, she could
imagine the sort of dressing down Ryan got on their road trip to Norman those
months ago. It was an intimidating sight to behold, and she was a woman, full
grown.

"Take your
clothes off, Cara. I'm not going to say it again." He folded the necktie
in half, then in half again, and laid it neatly on the arm of the chair,
waiting patiently for her to obey.

A tingling
thrill went through her as the dawning came, but something else battled with it
at the same time. An unaccustomed feeling of shyness rose up in her that he
wanted to break out the kinky finally.

"Greg ...
" she began, cajoling.

He looked at her
across the room, his jaw set, and he shrugged ever so slightly. "You want
to do this the hard way?"

"I don't
know," she said, completely in new territory with him. It seemed like a
game, but his voice was so serious and daunting. "I don't know what you
want me to do, Greg."

"Really?
Because I think I've been very clear." If he was playing a part, Hollywood
should be calling his ass, because he was completely believable.

She stood there,
her heart beating in her throat, and had the absurd feeling of being a child in
the Principal's office ... a naughty girl who was about to get her just deserts
in a very sexy way.

"Last chance,
Cara. Take your clothes off," he said, his tone insistent.

She kicked her
shoes off and, with trembling hands, began to unbutton her blouse. "Is
this better?" she asked, a defiant streak in her tone as she balled her
shirt up and threw it on the bed. She didn't know quite how to feel about being
dominated. It called up a host of feelings in her that were unfamiliar, but not
altogether unpleasant. She had the distinct feeling it would all be to her
advantage somehow, and that brought heat to life in parts of her she hadn't had
time to think about this disastrous afternoon. "Is this what you
want?" she asked, still sounding rebellious.

"It's an
improvement, but you've got a ways to go there, girl. Now the pants," he
said, nodding at her lower half.

Submission
seemed to win the battle with her urge to defy. She dropped the pants around
her ankles and glared at him. "Happy?" she asked, sarcasm getting the
better of her.

"Not
yet," he said, as cool as he could possibly be. "And with that
attitude, it may take some doing to make me happy, Cara. I suggest you control
your tongue."

Again, the
defiance grew. "And if I don't?"

 "Take
off your bra," he said, and there was absolutely no amusement in his tone,
only a smolder in those green eyes that hinted at his game.

Cara noted the
erection pressing against the front of his slacks as she pondered her next
step. "You've got an issue there, I see," she said, nodding at his
lap.

"And have
had for about a week. Because all I could think about was fucking you senseless
in this hotel room all weekend long. And I arrive, expecting to find you here
waiting just as impatiently, but no. You're not here," he said, as if
talking to a recalcitrant child.

Her temperature
soared at his profanity, just thinking about him thinking about fucking her
senseless excited her. "I told you I tried, Greg. It wasn't like I just
decided to make you wait," she said. She walked back to the chair and
knelt down on her knees before him.

He traced the
backs of his fingers along her collar bone, then pulled her hand to his
erection. "Feel how hard that is."

Her hand
surrounded him and she gave him a gentle squeeze. "Oh, my. That is very
firm," she said, a felt something electric skitter along her nerves.

"And
uncomfortable," he said. "I've waited a long time in this
condition."

"I've been
a very bad girl, haven't I?" She moved her hand up and down the length of
his shaft through his slacks, feeling his heat and strength, and wanted badly
to undress him as well.

"You have.
And you continue to disobey me." He watched her hands work on his cock,
and Cara half-expected him to push her to her back on the carpet and have his
way with her any minute now.  Instead, he leaned his head against the back
of the chair and quietly directed her again. "Take off the rest,
Cara." His steadfast and authoritative mien unnerved her, and though she
wavered for a moment, she eventually stood and did as he told her.

"Good,"
he said, once she stood before him nude, and he finally ... finally rewarded
her with a smile. "That's better." He leaned forward, pulling her to
stand between his knees. Caroline felt oddly at war within herself for control
of the situation, wanting to undress him, caress him, but his mood didn't seem
to invite it. His hands grabbed her by the ass, pulling her forward, and he
buried his face in the softness of her belly. Cara gasped at the open mouthed
kisses he pressed into her stomach, her hands delving into his hair, and she
watched, mesmerized as his lips and tongue and teeth brought her desire raging
to life. His kisses felt like he wanted to devour her, were just short of
painful, and she moaned as he moved back and forth between her hipbones and
naval, his hands kneading and caressing her bottom roughly. Without warning, he
pulled her down into the chair with him to sit straddle his lap.

His seriously
intent gaze held hers while he fit her firmly, squarely on his erection,
flexing his hips against her, then his mouth returned, and he pulled her left
nipple into his hot mouth for more devouring, sucking hard. Cara nearly cried
out, so great was the sensation, riding a razor's edge between pleasure and
pain.

She'd thought of
this a thousand times in the past two weeks, day dreaming about all the ways
they would make love this weekend, but her fevered imagination couldn't come
close to creating the pleasure she felt with his hot erection pressing against
her wet core, his hot mouth on her breasts. Her hands rose to hold the sides of
his face, but he pulled them away, forcing them down to her sides, pulling away
from her breast just long enough to pin a look of rebuke on her.  

But she found it
impossible to keep her hands off him, and in a moment they rose to tangle into
his hair. His mouth incited a near riot of her senses as he bathed her nipple
with lavish warmth, then tugged on it with his teeth until she did cry out, but
he sucked the sting away quickly. She tried to pull his face up to kiss him,
but he reached for her hands once more and removed them to the arms of the
chair.

"Leave them
there or I'll bind them," he said bluntly.

"Greg, I
want to touch you," she said, sounding needy and wheedling, even to
herself. "I want to kiss you."

He pressed her
hands firmly on the arms of the chair. "You'll have to earn that
pleasure," he told her, employing that same stern, authoritative
expression that had so unsettled her earlier.

"I can't
touch you?" she asked, incredulous and intrigued at once.

"Not unless
I tell you so," he said, then applied his wondrous mouth to her neck with a
like result. She had to force her hands to be still, digging her nails into the
nubby fabric of the chair arms and moaning deeply in her throat as he kissed
and sucked and lightly bit her along her collar bone, then moved to the
sensitive area beneath her ear. It inflamed her, made her press her hips
against the burning length of his erection, seeking relief from the throbbing
need he was creating in her.