Just One Taste...(10)

"I'll keep doing it then." In Cajun French, he whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear. "Now you know all my secrets."

"I do?"

He smiled. "No."

"We don't know each other at all."

Leaning forward, he tongued her earlobe. "I can fix that."

She let her head fall back on a deep sigh, exposing her throat, which he  took full advantage of. He laid his lips against her warm, pine-scented  skin, dragging his mouth along her jaw, then down her neck, pushing his  hands beneath the robe, then pushing it off her shoulders.

His heart hammered in his chest as more of her beautiful body was  revealed, and his own body throbbed in response. Was she part of his  path to redeem himself from past sins? Or would she be a new sin he'd be  compelled to atone for?                       
       
           



       

He wished like hell he could turn off his conscience and embrace  hedonism as he once had, but his inner sense of duty-from wherever it  had sprung-had been given a voice, and it wasn't likely to be silenced  again.

Though the sound of Vanessa's ragged, need-filled breathing could no doubt drown out any sensible thought he managed to form.

Placing slow, lingering kisses along her neck and shoulders, he untied  the robe, sliding his hands up her bare sides to cup her breasts. His  thumbs brushed the peaks, which hardened like pebbles.

She moaned again, her eyes still closed, while he, on the other hand,  kept his wide open. Seeing the flush of desire creep over her skin was a  sight he didn't intend to miss.

He continued moving his thumbs back and forth across her nipples. She  moved sinuously, pushing herself more firmly into his touch. Heat surged  through his body. Watching her give herself over to pleasure so  shamelessly made him as hard as a rock.

How had he fallen under her spell so quickly, so completely? He wanted to breathe her in, bind her to him.

For tonight, at least, he could.

Gently, he replaced his hands with his mouth. He laved her warm, smooth  skin; he teased her nipples with his tongue. When he suckled one nipple  into his mouth, she cried out and gripped his shoulders.

He reveled in her softness, her beauty and openness. His body ached,  while his senses soaked in every touch, moan and gasp. Their first time  had been a desperate, needy firestorm. This was a sigh, a slow breeze  stirring a moonlit lake, building and billowing outward as the  sensations grew more intense, more powerful.

Needing to get closer to her, to absorb her warmth, he lifted her legs,  hooking them around his hips, drawing her to the edge of the bar stool,  fitting himself tight between the juncture of her silky thighs. She  sighed his name, and he smiled, cupping the back of her head, bringing  her lips against his, even as their lower bodies molded together.  Throbbing. Pulsating.

Even though he still wore his jeans, he swore he could feel her wet  heat. She rolled her hips, her bare flesh scraping across the fly of his  jeans. He could only imagine how the rough fabric must feel against her  raw nerve endings.

The idea was erotic, intoxicating. Much like everything about the lady  herself. She tasted like no other woman he'd ever kissed. She was unique  in a world of sameness. Unforgettable. Special.

Her sighs had him gritting his teeth. He wanted to drive himself inside  her, feel her close tightly around him like a fist of silken delight.

"Oh, Lucas," she breathed.

Sensing she was close to climax, he slid his hands down her stomach,  pressing his thumbs into her. He teased her with a stroke up, then down,  before centering his thumbs on her clitoris.

Her hips pumped; she moaned and thrashed. She was on the edge. He nearly  came himself at the sight of the pleasure and torture dancing across  her flushed face.

He moved his thumb roughly over the tip of her desire. He pressed hard, relentlessly urging her to the peak.

She went over in a rush, her body bucking, flooding his hand.

Even as he relished her satisfaction, his own needs throbbed for attention. Now.

Before she caught her breath, he'd unbuttoned his jeans, slid on protection and driven himself inside her.

She jerked in surprise, her eyes still dilated from the intensity of her orgasm.

"Go up again," he said, withdrawing, then surging forward.

Her eyes fluttered closed. She gripped his biceps in her fists. She squeezed her inner muscles around his hardness.

Gritting his teeth, he held onto his control by a thread. And, like her,  he was suddenly in no mood for teasing touches or butterfly kisses.  Lust drove him. Need roared through his veins.

The pinnacle hovered just out of reach. He pounded himself into her. Her  hips slapping against his as she, too, rode the wave of hunger they  couldn't seem to sate.

The wave finally crested, and he poured himself into her as her cries  mingled with his quick thrusts. Punch, slam, boom, his climax roared  over him like an out-of-control locomotive.

Sweat pouring off him, he held her close as small pulses continued to punch through his body.

He could become addicted to her so very easily.

"Do you really want to keep me around?" she asked as she fought for breath.                       
       
           



       

"Very much."





4



VANESSA, HER MUSCLES SORE from the night of lust, crept out of bed at  4:00 a.m.As she fumbled through a guilty hop-step into her rebel-girl  dress, she couldn't help her gaze sliding to the luscious form on the  rumpled bed.

He was sprawled on his stomach, the white sheet flung across his hips,  his dark hair mussed from her fingers, his profile strong, but relaxed  in sleep. Illuminated by the light from the bathroom, his broad, tanned  back rippled with muscles. She even got a partial glimpse of his rose  tattoo.

Amazing.

With a sigh of contentment-and of regret-she slipped from the bedroom.  Dangling her slingbacks from two fingers, she tiptoed down the hall  toward the kitchen. She'd leave Lucas a note.

Tacky?

Probably. But her etiquette coach-aka her mother-wasn't around at the  moment. And she sincerely doubted the inevitable parting after screwing a  guy you've known just hours five times in one night was covered in the  Proper Girls of Atlanta manual.

She found a pad and pen in the drawer nearest the phone. Those helpful  moving folks again. Poised to find the right words when she had no idea  how she felt about what they'd done beyond unexpected,  scandalous … amazing, she jolted when she heard his voice.

"There's just not a proper ring to 'thanks for the sex,' is there?"

She spun to face him. He stood in the hall, leaning against the wall.  Again he wore only his jeans. He did have the most amazing body. Even  better, he knew what to do with it.

"I, uh … Lucas-" She laid down the pen and self-consciously raked her fingers through her tangled hair. "I have to go."

He pushed away from the wall, his gaze locked on hers as he moved toward  her. "No, you don't. But you can if you'd feel more comfortable."

"I would." She paused, biting her lip. She couldn't remember the last  time she felt this off balance. "It's been great, but I need to cater  tomorrow night. Ah, make that tonight. I need to get some sleep."

Once he reached her, he extended his hand, sliding his knuckles down her cheek.

She shivered. He'd explored, pounded, licked and touched more parts of  her body than she'd believed she'd had erogenous zones. But she had to  regroup. She had to figure out what this carnal night really meant. He'd  said he wanted to keep her around. But for how long? And was that  really possible? Could any kind of relationship develop from a one-night  stand?

"I'm sorry I kept you up," he said softly.

"You didn't." She felt her face flush.

Good God, she was an adult. Impulsive maybe, but not idiotic. This was  ridiculous. Find your spine, girl. Thank the man, then get out.

"Of course you did." She leaned forward, laid her palm on his bare chest  and kissed him lightly. "And it was a pleasure. But I need to get  home."

She brushed past him, and he followed her without comment as she scooted into the foyer.

"I'll follow you to your car," he said.

"No, really. I'm fine."

He reached into the hall closet for a pale gray fleece jacket, which he  slipped into and zipped. "It's late. You're not going into the parking  garage alone." Without asking if she wanted it, he helped her into a  black jacket of the same soft material. As she zipped it up, he added,  "It might be cool out."

They walked out, and Vanessa felt a weird pleasure and panic rise in her  throat. "I'll give it back to you once I get to my car."

"Keep it."

"How will I get it back to you?"

"My business card is in the right pocket. Call me."

How'd he manage to do that without her noticing? "Okay."