The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom (14 page)

But she was making it damned hard.

Lily stepped closer. Tensing, Curt stood his ground. She reached up and brushed her lips against his. Her hands slid inside his shirt and found his nipples. Nail hard, they telegraphed a message where no message was needed. It was called sensory overload.

“Lily, think about it—I don't want to—”

“I do. Please, Curt? I've never felt like this before.”

If she'd been some by-the-hour bimbo, he wouldn't have wasted time talking, but this was Lily.

Lilith. Female demon rumored to hang out in desolate places.

Oh, yeah, he'd heard all about Lilith. If this was her twenty-first-century incarnation, then he was in way over his head.

H
alfway to the bedroom, Curt swept her up in his arms. “Last chance,” he warned, wondering what he'd do if she took him up on the escape clause.

Instead, she tugged his face down to hers and rubbed her parted lips against his mouth. “You're supposed to kiss me back,” she murmured.

It was all he could do to carry her. If he had to kiss her, too, they'd both end up sprawled on the floor. He told himself there were ninety-nine reasons to walk away and not one damned reason to follow through. Somebody's bluff had just been called, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure which one of them was the caller and which the callee.

His lower back protested with a warning twinge. Valiantly he ignored it. He made it as far as the bed, dropped the woman on top of the heap of line-dried laundry she had dumped there. Just as he collapsed beside her, she
rolled her onto her back and lifted her arms in a sweet gesture of welcome.

There were winners and losers in any game, and this was the oldest game in the world. Curt told himself that he didn't want Lily to end up on the losing side, but at this point the alternative wasn't too appealing, either.

“You're thinking,” she whispered, searching his face for…something she wasn't going to find there. “You think too much.”

So he quit thinking and covered her mouth with a hungry kiss.

His subconscious mind took over as his conscious mind shut down. It was called situation awareness. Skin like richest cream. Just beneath the silken surface, a strength, a resilience he was only now coming to appreciate. The heady scent of arousal, mixed with what he'd come to think of as Essence of Lily. “Lily—are you sure?”

His advance warning systems—the clanging bells, the prickly awareness—were out of commission. There was only the muffled roar of surf and the more intimate sound of quick, harsh breathing. Curt told himself that if he had to stop now, he could do it, but it might be days before he could walk in an upright position.

“Too many clothes,” she complained. “I want to see you.”

If it weren't for the flimsy barrier of clothing between them, he thought with desperate amusement, he would be rearing over her like a maddened stallion. He reached for the buttons of her shirt. Fingers that could disarm a bomb so sensitive that a harsh word would set it off were defeated by a simple buttonhole. He gave up and ripped. Buttons flew, striking the floor like a handful of rice thrown at a wedding.

Bad analogy.

Encouraged by his frustration, which she obviously took for eagerness, Lily attacked his belt buckle. “Careful, there,” he whispered hoarsely.

They managed between them to shed enough clothes so the rest didn't matter. Her bra was around her waist. It could wait. The world could wait.

Lily couldn't. “Don't be so blasted gentle,” she growled. “Don't treat me like a lady, treat me like a woman!” Impatient, desperately afraid even now that he wasn't going to take what she offered—equally afraid he would—she tugged at his shirt, managed to pull it over his head and fling it across the room.

It was going to happen. Lily had made up her mind. But it had to happen now, before she lost her nerve. “Oh, my, you're…”

A bitter bark of laughter nearly sent her scurrying for cover, but she'd gone too far now to retreat. The earthy scent of him, the contrasting textures of smooth, tanned skin and crisp, wiry hair—muscles that leaped at the touch of her hands—

Too much. The old Lily would be cowering in a closet by now, but the new Lily—the woman Curt Powers had created—that Lily knew what she wanted. She refused to be denied.

First one and then the other took the lead, demanding access, staking a claim to each new discovery. The foothills of her small breasts—the valley between them. The shallow canyons where his muscular thighs swelled from the crease of his groin. Her fingers brushed against the crisp thicket of pelvic hair and the ridged plain of his abdomen…and then slipped lower.

Restraining her hand, he kissed her again, in a way that was totally carnal, a prelude to the act it foreshadowed.
Then, lifting his head, he gulped in a shuddering gasp of air and stared down at her. Slowly he shook his head.

Taking it for rejection, Lily pleaded, “Please—please, Curt, don't stop now.”

She was embarrassingly wet between her legs. And while technically she knew what to expect, never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the sheer force of all these tumultuous feelings.

Well, perhaps in her dreams.

Last chance. All ashore that's going ashore.
Another broken, meaningless phrase raced through her mind.
Man the lifeboats!

“Curt, you don't have to do this,” she managed to say. “Maybe we'd better talk about it first.” Those blasted diaries. Here she was drowning, and she was waving off her last chance of rescue.

“Changed your mind? It's not too late.” His voice was so strained it was barely audible.

It was too late. It had been too late the first time she'd ever laid eyes on him, pinning her with those laser eyes of his, moving toward her like a great, stalking, tawny-haired cat. Unable to help herself, Lily lowered her gaze to his fully aroused sex, shut her eyes and said quickly, “I haven't changed my mind. Just…just do it, will you?”

Eyes still closed, she waited. And waited some more. With her heart pounding like a kettledrum, he could've shouted in her ear and she might not have heard him. At least he didn't attack her. He didn't get up, walk out and slam the door. And he didn't laugh. So she opened her eyes and peered up at him.

He was staring back at her. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at his chest—at the dark-brown nipples, circled with hair, that were standing erect like small nail heads.

“Lily, what the hell is going on here? I think you'd better level with me before this goes any further.”

Last chance. She could have escaped with a few shreds of dignity intact. Instead, she was lying there like a willing victim, waiting for him to make up his mind whether or not she was worth the effort.

Dammit, she was no victim. That was the whole point of this entire exercise, she told herself, needing desperately to believe it. For years she'd been promising herself that when the time came, she would be the one to choose instead of having the choice ripped from her by force.

Well, the time had come and she had chosen. This was the man, and if her timing wasn't perfect, then that was too bad, because it was probably the only chance she was going to get.

“Lily? Is there something you'd like to tell me?”

“Um. Well.”
Way to go, lady.
“If you'd read any of my books, you'd know that I'm not at all shy about—you know. Sex. So we've been here together for a while, and you're—well, let's face it, you're not exactly dog food.”

He made a choking sound. Lily forced herself to go on. This was hardly the scene she'd created in her mind titled The Deflowering of Lily. She should have been wearing something seductive. Candlelight had always figured somewhere in her love scenes. Instead, here she was, strip, stark naked except for the bra around her waist, with this particular man, out of all the men in the world. And all he was offering was sex. Nothing more. Not a single sweet, seductive whisper.

Actually, he hadn't even offered, she'd had to beg.

“Well, anyway,” she said, and did her best to look sexy and sophisticated and experienced and very, very cool about the whole scene, when cool was the last thing she felt. “Anyway, I thought, why not? I mean, I've thought
about it, and you have, too, because men can't hide that kind of thing,”

“Is that a fact?”

“Don't laugh at me. Don't you dare laugh! If you're not interested, just say so. Or maybe you're just not up to it yet. I know you're still recovering from whatever happened to you, so if you want to opt out, feel free. My feelings won't be hurt, I assure you.”

She reminded herself that she was the one in control here. While he might be physically stronger, she was onto him now. She knew his weakness. He was an honorable man, and honorable men were no match for a woman who knew every sneaky trick in the book. She could take him easy, if it came to that.

Not even to herself did she attempt to define
taking him.
All she knew was that she had never wanted anything so much in her entire life as she wanted this man. Parts of her body she usually took for granted were throbbing with every beat of her heart. Lately she'd been dreaming dreams she didn't even know
how
to dream.

“Well,” she said gruffly, “are we going to talk it to death, or are we going to do it?” She glared up at him, wishing she could think of an appropriate line. Something like, “I want to have your baby.” The trouble was, writing about it and actually doing it were far different things.

Carefully he rose up on his knees, bringing his torso into clear view. She had touched him almost everywhere but there. His naked sex. She'd wanted to, had even dared to try, but he'd caught her hand, and she'd thought maybe that was something he didn't like. It wasn't the first time she'd seen an unclothed male body. Unfortunately, she'd seen more than she'd ever wanted to. She used to have nightmares about them, but that was then and this was now.

And this was Curt.

She told herself she probably didn't love him. She wasn't sure what love even felt like. She was sure of only one thing—that if this wasn't love, then it was as close as she was ever likely to get to the real thing. Whatever it was, it was the only reason she was here in his bed. A clear case of now or never, she thought sadly.

He was beautiful, scars and all. More rangy than brawny. His features weren't perfect—taken alone, they weren't even close. Odd that he should turn out to be the one man out of all the men she'd ever met, all the men she had ever written about. The one.

And his sex—

Oh, my. She stared—couldn't help herself, even knowing he was watching. “Well, you looked at me,” she said defensively, and he nodded.

So she took her time, looked her fill, telling herself that even though it looked impossible, it was going to work. She knew all about everything—in theory, at least. She knew that nature took over at the proper time, doing whatever was necessary to make Part A fit comfortably into Part B.

Curt allowed her to stare at him. Bold as brass, he told himself, no longer quite believing it, even though she'd been the one to proposition him instead of the other way around. He wasn't going to rush her. If she wanted to do the driving, the least a gentleman could do was oblige her, even if it killed him. Which it damned well might.

He waited, the outside world fading away as the intoxicating scent of sex drifted up around him like some exotic, mind-altering spice.

Lily's thighs kept shifting, parting. She kept forgetting to breathe and having to gulp air like a drowning woman. Crazy, incredible feelings invaded the most intimate parts
of her body, but she was in charge, she really, truly was, because this whole thing had been her idea.

Bending slowly—carefully—he took her nipple in his mouth and suckled gently, and then not so gently. And then he moved lower. She gasped, knowing what was coming next because she'd read books on technique and, after all, she'd written countless love scenes.

But mere words lost all meaning when it was actually happening.

“Oh, oh, oh…!” Helpless against the renewed surge of passion, she lifted her hips, silently begging him for release—for relief.

When it came, it was shattering. He rose over her, a tight, strained look on his face. She was ready. Wildly, breathlessly ready. Frantically she grasped at his shoulders, slippery with sweat, urging him on.

The last thing Curt needed was urging. Sex hadn't been a part of the prescribed recovery program. It had been a long time for him, but she was a desirable woman. She was available. Hell, she'd started this business—the least he could do was oblige her. If sex with a Navy SEAL came under the heading of research, then he was willing to do his part for the sake of literature—do it if it killed him.

Which it well might.

Years of the most rigorous training rose to the occasion. He forced himself to take his time instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was jump her bones and ride her until they both collapsed. Her timing was less than optimum, but he was determined to make this a memorable experience. Good sex was all he could offer—all he intended to offer—and even good sex might be beyond him in his present condition. He had a feeling that in spite of
the way she'd exploded before, she wasn't quite as experienced as she wanted him to believe.

Gently, he moved his hand over her warm, damp thicket, preparing her for his entrance. She stared up at him, her eyes nearly black with arousal. Like one of those carnivorous plants, her legs came together, trapping his hand. She was ready. He told himself he was a fool to hold back.
Get in, get the job done, get out,
he thought grimly.

But this was Lily. She deserved the best he could offer—patience, at the very least. Except for that first time, when they'd both been fully clothed, he hadn't dared let her touch him, knowing what would happen. Premature detonation. He'd been primed far too long as it was. Now, taking her hand, he moved it down his body, closing her fingers around him…and then he sucked in his breath and snatched her hand away.

“I'm sorry,” she said plaintively.

“No, honey, don't—it's… The thing is, it's been a long time for me, and I'm running a short, fast-burning fuse.” Plus, his back was already issuing a few warnings of its own.

“Then why don't we just do it?”

A bark of laughter escaped. “
Do it?
Like…now?”

She nodded. He tried to come up with something suave, such as “Your wish is my command,” but by that time words were out of the question. Ignoring the ominous tightening muscles in his lower back, he spread her legs farther, positioned himself and stroked her, using first his thumb and then the head of his member.