No Rules(75)

It made sense. She’d imagined herself lying back on her bed, completely trusting her partner to touch only where she wanted him to, when she was ready for it. It wasn’t the sort of mental picture that made her all hot and bothered, but it was certainly what the doctor had prescribed: nonthreatening.

She’d found that man in her last boyfriend, Gene. They’d clicked instantly as friends. As a lover he’d been very cooperative and sweet, even stopping once in the middle of sex when neither one of them was getting anywhere. They decided to call it off in favor of pizza and a movie. Gene had even refused to let her feel bad, saying if she was a failure that made him a failure, too, and he preferred to think they just weren’t as highly sexed as some other people. How much more nonthreatening could a guy get?

Secretly, she’d wondered if Gene might be denying his true sexuality, but his family was so rabidly homophobic that she didn’t have the heart to suggest he try dating a man instead. So they’d decided to just be friends, something they were both good at, and to leave mind-blowing sex to people who knew what they were doing. Which obviously didn’t include her.

Except, maybe it did. Donovan made her wonder if Gene had been wrong. Or rather, her response to his kisses and his touch made her wonder. He wasn’t gentle, and she was sure he didn’t meet Dr. Epstein’s definition of nonthreatening, but oh my God, did she ever respond to him. She had no idea why. Neither was she about to question it. Because never in her life had she been so close to coming apart in a man’s arms as she’d been when he’d backed her into that dresser in Chicago and slipped his hands under her shirt and his tongue inside her mouth. And again here in Luxor, with her bare breasts pressed against his chest and his mouth attached to hers, her mind had gone spinning into space and her body had nearly gone up in flames on the spot. She had actually ached for more, and if he hadn’t been bleeding all over the couch just ten minutes before, she would have gladly taken it.

He looked okay now. She gave him a critical glance as they left the restaurant. “How’s your side? Does it hurt?”

His eyes burned into hers. “Not a bit.”

Oh, my. Her heart tripped over itself at his words. It wasn’t so much a lie as a promise that he didn’t care if his stitches popped open and blood spurted out; it wasn’t going to stop him from getting her naked and having his way with her.

That alone should make her freak out and shut down entirely. She knew he would not be asking permission to touch her or kiss her or, please God, thrust deeply into her. If she didn’t come right out and tell him no, he’d take her. He’d bend her body to his will. Ride her hard. Do her. Every phrase she thought of sent delicious tingles through her.

Something had changed drastically. She didn’t know if it was due to being in a foreign country where everything looked, sounded, and tasted strange, or if losing her father had freed her from some self-imposed inhibition. She only knew that Tyler Donovan turned her on like no one else ever had. Like she’d feared no one ever would. She meant to see exactly how much.

She had no doubt he wanted the same thing. For different reasons, of course, because he didn’t strike her as a man who had ever worried about whether he’d be able to perform. In fact, as they neared their house, he seemed more like a man whose stiff stride indicated a serious source of discomfort beneath his thobe, one that demanded immediate relief.

She went ahead of him up the long flight of stairs to their door, conscious of him close behind her. At the small landing in front of their door she stepped aside to allow him to unlock it. Their arms brushed, a slight, nonsexual contact that sent shivers of anticipation up to her shoulder and across the back of her neck. She was so ready for this.

He pulled the door open and she stepped out of the way as it swung out on the small landing, then followed him through the door.

She didn’t make it into the apartment.

Two steps ahead of her, Donovan stopped abruptly. His head jerked one way, then the other. With a suddenness that surprised her, he ducked and pivoted on one foot. In one whirling motion he dodged the thrust of a man’s arm—an arm that wielded a flashing blade—and slammed into her. With a startled, “Oof,” she flew backward, landing on her ass on the floor outside the door.

Donovan’s arm reached past her, above her head. The door slammed in her face.





Chapter Fourteen

On the other side of the door Jess heard a rapid succession of dull thuds. The door shuddered as if someone bounced off it, hard.

She tried to stand but only managed to get to her hands and knees. Hanging her head, she clutched her sore chest and gasped for breath. She’d had the wind knocked out of her once before when she’d been thrown off a horse, and the impact with Donovan’s back was just as bad. Despite the scuffling, grunting, and pounding on the other side of the door, it took several seconds before she could haul air back into her shocked lungs and stand. Staggering, her breath rasping, she grasped the doorknob and pushed.