He was a little off the mark, as far as compliments went, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were hungry.
Maybe he didn’t love her, but he wanted her.
He must have understood that she needed more convincing. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you,” he said, covering her mouth with his and proceeding to convince her with some very tantalizing movements of his tongue. He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “If you don’t let me fuck you again, I’ll die.”
She laughed at his overstatement, but he took himself very seriously, and went about seducing her as if his life depended on it. He sank to a cushioned lounge chair, pulled her onto his lap, and had her all but purring in minutes.
He touched her and she shuddered. She unbuttoned his pants and touched him, too, stroking lightly until he took her hand away.
“Come here,” he said, leaning back in the reclining chair. Sliding his body under hers, he urged her forward until she was straddling his chest, her belly level with his mouth. Her robe gaped open, baring her from the waist down.
She cast a worried glance for watchful neighbors, who would surely be able to guess what they were doing. Seeing none, she felt totally exposed, nonetheless.
And unbearably excited.
Bending his head to her, he traced the rim of her belly button with his tongue. When she sucked in a breath, he glanced up at her, the corner of his mouth quirking into a slight smile. Reaching underneath her robe, he cupped her bottom and brought her up to him.
She twisted her fingers through his hair, gasping as he slipped his tongue inside her.
With a helpless moan, she surrendered, moving her hips, pressing herself to his mouth. When his tongue found her clitoris, the whole world fell away. She came in a shuddering rush, collapsing against him, brilliant orange sunbursts and white-hot flashes dancing behind her eyes. She could literally hear the crescendo ringing in her ears.
Or maybe it was just waves, crashing on the rocks below.
She drifted back to earth, chest heaving, and realized she’d just screamed down the rooftops in broad daylight. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she said, climbing off him.
“For what?”
She stared at his face. Her scent was probably all over him. “For mounting your head. Smothering you. Going crazy.”
He laughed. “You think I didn’t like it? My mission in life is to make you go crazy.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You can mount any part of me, anytime.”
She looked down. He was painfully erect, oozing with arousal. She bent her head to lick the pearly drop from the tip. When she took him fully into her mouth, he moaned, and a moment later, she had him quaking with pleasure. “Baby…”
Making a soothing sound, low in her throat, she stayed right where she was.
“No,” he said. “I want to be inside you.”
“Do you have a condom?” she asked, because he was breathing hard, struggling with himself.
“In my pocket,” he ground out.
She pulled his jeans down his legs and searched the pockets, doing the honors once again. Letting the robe fall off her shoulders, she climbed astride, easing herself down on him. As soon as he was buried to the hilt, she leaned forward and kissed him very softly on the lips. “I like you here,” she said, tracing the crescent-shaped scar above his hard, beautiful mouth. She could feel his stomach quivering, and every inch of him, thick and pulsing within.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
“Okay,” she breathed, clenching her inner muscles.
Groaning, he took her hips in his hands and rode her on him, hard and fast, up and down, back and forth, his movements wild, uninhibited, uncontrolled.
Panting, she pushed him back against the cushions, bracing her palms on his chest and reestablishing control. Matching the pace he set, she rode him desperately, raking her nails down his torso and squeezing his pectoral muscles, slipping her fingers into his mouth for him to suck.
When he licked the pad of his own thumb and placed it against her clitoris, she was so wet and sensitive that one touch sent her skyrocketing.
Gripping her hips tightly, he came, too, a hoarse cry wrenching from his throat in the moment of release.
For a long time, she lay sprawled across his chest, replete.
“I love you,” she murmured against his neck. His body tensed under hers as those words penetrated the sensual fog surrounding them. She lifted her head, wide-eyed and suddenly alert. “I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly.
He brought her head down to his chest. “I know,” he said, stroking her back. His words were almost swallowed by the sound of the surf pounding on the shore below, and the heavy thudding of his heartbeat, a frantic rhythm that matched her own.
CHAPTER 15
“Somebody’s here,” she said, placing a hand on his hip.
“Just Carly and James,” he murmured against the back of her neck, smoothing his palm over her stomach.
“No,” she whispered, sidling away from him. “Two men. Coming upstairs.” She cocked her head, listening. “Do you have a gun?”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “What?”
“Go in the bathroom,” she ordered, jumping up from the bed. Not waiting to see if he complied, she searched the room for a ready weapon. Knowing she had only seconds to spare, she jerked one of the upper drawers from his dresser, shook its contents onto the floor, and stood beside the door, stark naked, ready to brain someone with it.
Ben gaped at her incredulously.
“Get out of the line of fire,” she whispered, motioning him with her free hand. “You don’t have a gun, but these guys do. I can tell by the way they’re moving.”
Instead of leaving her to her own devices, he planted his back against the wall beside her, and when Special Agent Colby Mitchell kicked in the door, Ben jumped.
Sonny didn’t.
She swung the mahogany drawer up, hitting Mitchell under the forearms and causing him to discharge his weapon into the ceiling. A cloud of plaster rained down on them. Although she’d banked her strength as soon as she recognized him, the impact must have been excruciating, for Mitchell fell to his knees.
She was on his back, with control of his gun, in the blink of an eye.
“Drop it,” a voice said from behind her.
A bead of cold sweat ran down her spine. She trained the weapon on the back of Mitchell’s head and cast a glance over her shoulder.
Grant was pointing his service revolver at Ben.
Underneath her, Mitchell began to shift. She never should have looked back. In that moment of distraction, he gained the upper hand. He rolled over her, crushing her underneath him, knocking the air from her lungs and smashing the back of her head against the hardwood floor. Disconcerted, she tried to put the gun between them, but Mitchell plucked it from her hands like he was taking candy from a baby.
Damn. He’d been practicing.
She was down, but not out, so she managed to get enough leverage to aim a hard right at his left eye. He moved at the last second, and her fist glanced off his cheek, opening up the skin. Facial wounds were gushers, and she was pleased to have drawn first blood, although a blow to the eye socket would have been more effective.
In retaliation, Mitchell backhanded her across the face so hard she saw dark flashes.
“Are you done?” he asked.
She bared her teeth. “Get off me, you ape.”
At the open doorway, Grant lowered his weapon. “Are you Benjamin Lyndon Fortune?”
Ben placed a hand over his heart, as if to make sure it was still beating. “Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Special Agent in Charge Leland Grant and this is Special Agent Colby Mitchell. We need to take you in for questioning.”