Just One Taste...(26)

"Lucas, please."

He slowed his pace, and she gasped in frustration. "How much do you want me?" he asked.

"A lot." The shimmering edges of climax started to fade as his pace  continued to slow. He moved his finger off the throbbing button that  promised ecstasy. "A whole lot."

He sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe. "You're not wearing your dominatrix gear now. I'm in charge."

If it was possible, her desire multiplied. "O-okay."

He tugged her nipples, and a sharp ache of longing pierced her stomach. "Only I can make you feel like this."

"Only you," she parroted, getting into the spirit of the submissive  role, even as she wanted him to end the pleasurable torture, and as she  remembered it was his commanding presence that had first sparked her  interest. He was made for the part. She could easily imagine how juries  had fallen at his feet.

"I'll be inside you when you come," he said, then he blissfully glided  his hand back between her legs. He inserted one finger, then two inside  her.

As she jolted from the renewed pleasure, she arched against him, lifting  her hands up and back to wrap them around his neck. He placed warm, wet  kisses along her neck and shoulders. She wanted more of him, all of  him, and though she was panting with need, she recognized his breathing  was also uneven, and his erection was rock hard, pressing against her  lower back. He had to be as delirious as she was.

She turned his face to hers. "Now."

His eyes liquid and dark, he said nothing, but as he pressed his lips to hers, he slid inside her.

She closed her eyes, spreading her legs farther as he gripped her hips.  He withdrew until just the tip of his erection remained inside her, then  he surged forward. She absorbed the jolt of satisfaction with a groan.

Their joining turned him on like a light. He caught fire, though water  streamed over them. She braced her hands against the slick tile wall as  he drove himself inside her. From this angle, his erection seemed  longer, thicker, moving deeper within her than ever before.

She tried to concentrate on simply the carnality of pleasure and satisfaction. Of desire leading to climax.

But her damn conscience wouldn't let her. Memories gushed over her just  like the shower. His reckless flirting at the country-club fund-raiser.  His need for restitution over what he saw as mistakes in his past. His  anger at the way her family pushed her away, then drew her close when  they needed to meet their own obligations or needs.

In just a few short days, she'd come to rely on his companionship, his  caring, his spotlight of her needs. The loneliness she sensed in him was  reflected deep inside herself. As social and open as she was with most  people, she recognized she held much of herself apart. Just as Lucas  did.

She relished his understanding and acceptance. Could she burden him with  the need for acceptance she wanted from her family? Should she put that  much pressure on him? Did she trust him with that vulnerability?

When he'd knelt at her feet a few moments ago, a strange sensation had  skipped over her heart. Something powerful and foreign. Something scary.  But wonderful.

Could she trust that emotion? Was she willing to try?

Pleasure swamped her before she could answer herself. She relished the  slap of Lucas's flesh against hers, the ripples of sensation flowing  through her body, absorbing into her blood and literally becoming part  of her.

The climax he'd staved off was coming, like a train approaching a  downhill slide. She panted in an effort to bring it quicker, to make the  tight coil finally break free.

Then, miraculously, it did.

Her body clamped down, then released, and waves of pleasure rolled on  and on and on, pulsing with such intensity her legs nearly collapsed  from under her. She was vaguely aware of Lucas driving hard into her as  he came just behind her.

As he held her to him like a precious jewel. As the heat of his body  warmed emotions she'd banished. As he made her question every protective  device she'd ever constructed.                       
       
           



       





9



JOSEPH DOUGLAS SCOOPED a stack of letters off his desk. Nearly two weeks  after the hospital fund-raiser, and he was still behind on thank-you  notes. He'd just laid them in his briefcase when his secretary buzzed  him on the intercom."Mr. Douglas, Anthony would like to speak to you  before you go."

Stifling his irritation, Joseph said calmly, "Send him in."

Moments later, his law clerk, sweat beaded on his forehead, shuffled in.  "M-Mr. Douglas, I'm sorry to disturb you. I just … " He stared at his  feet.

Joseph closed his briefcase with a snap. "You just what?"

As expected, Anthony jumped at his commanding tone. "Well, sir, I had this dream that I-"

"You're going to tell me about your dreams?"

Anthony's gaze darted from side to side. "I think it was a dream."

Joseph sighed. He really didn't have time for this nonsense. Elise was  going to be cross with him if he was late to dinner again. And it was  Wednesday.

"See, I was talking to this guy from Miami the other night-"

"Is this in the dream or real?"

Anthony licked his lips. "I'm not sure. I mean, I did dream all this, but I sort of think some of it happened, too."

An incoherent, hallucinating law clerk. Just what he needed. "Continue."

"Well, we were talking about Mrs. Switzer."

Joseph narrowed his eyes. "You and the guy from Miami."

His head bobbed quickly. "Yes, s-sir. We talked about how she's so nice  and how she doesn't deserve-I mean how she always calls me by name and  everything."

"And did you discuss anything that might pertain to this office? Anything private?"

Anthony stared at the floor. "No, sir."

Which, of course, meant he had. Damn. Anthony had graduated at the top  of his class. He had an excellent memory for judgments and precedents  that could be used to benefit their clients. He was a premier  researcher. He wasn't an idiot. Normally anyway. "Was there a reason you  chose to discuss confidential details about a client?"

"I guess I wasn't thinking right."

"No, you most certainly weren't." Joseph braced his hands on his desk in  an effort to keep from strangling him. "Does this person from Miami  have a name?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Description?"

"Tall. Maybe six feet. Dark hair. Dressed really nice. And he had a funny way of talking."

"Like an accent?"

Clearly confused, Anthony frowned. "I guess."

"Where did this conversation take place?"

"Outside the club, at the last fund-raiser."

"You drank quite a bit that night, as I recall."

Anthony hung his head. "Yes, sir. I did."

Joseph didn't allow himself an outward reaction. He didn't allow himself  to worry about this breach in his plans. Whatever an obviously drunken,  babbling Anthony had said most likely hadn't made sense, or else had  been forgotten by the man from Miami.

He picked up his briefcase and headed to the door. "Don't think anymore about it. I'm sure it was forgotten."

Anthony rushed ahead to hold open the door. "I'm sure it was."

Joseph glanced back before he left the office. "Keep your mouth shut from now on."

"Of course, sir. You can count on me, sir."

The fear in his eyes reminded Joseph of Vanessa. Simply because she was  the opposite. She met commands with defiance. And damned if he didn't  admire that.

She'd never babbled, much less apologized for doing so. He didn't like  her slaving away at that bakery. He'd wanted so much more for her, but  with the latest mess he'd fallen into, he could somehow appreciate her  need to mold, create, sell, then dust the flour from her hands.

"Good night, Patricia," he said to his secretary before he walked down  the hall. As he passed employees, he nodded, though his mind was already  on the task ahead.

It would mean asking his daughter for another favor. She would help him.  She was generous without fault, and he wished he could say that trait  had come from him. Mostly, he was unsure how his wife would feel about  his request.                       
       
           



       

They'd agreed their daughter's career choice wasn't ideal some time ago,  but he hadn't considered Vanessa's stubbornness. Familiar feelings for  him. He'd carried on a century-long tradition himself and understood the  need to prove oneself worthy. Didn't she deserve the same  consideration?

Besides, hadn't Elise just used Vanessa's services when her regular  caterer had canceled? She wouldn't dare question his right to do the  same.

Though it was Wednesday.

Once he'd settled into his car, he called Vanessa.