One Wild Night with Her Enemy Page 5

  I want this. I want him. It doesn’t matter if I muck it up.

  The liberating thought loosened her tongue to tangle with his. Fire spiked in her sex and at every point where their bodies touched as she gave herself permission to fail, for the first time in her life.

  He dragged his sodden jacket off her shoulders and dropped it on the hall floor. Grasping her waist, he lifted her, his mouth leaving hers to growl, ‘Wrap your legs around me.’

  Again she did as she was told, clinging to his broad shoulders as he marched them both across the living area and up the open staircase.

  The rain pounded the glass in undulating waves, like the tsunami of sensation battering her body. Hunger surged as they reached the mezzanine level.

  A flash of lightning outside revealed a staggering view of the inlet below them and the storm-tossed forest. The trees bowed and buckled against the wind. The turbulent weather and the magnificent sight of nature reaching its nadir was almost as dramatic as the clatter of her heartbeat.

  She usually hated the dark. A silly lay-over from childhood which had always embarrassed her. But the usual anxiety failed to materialise now, as her excitement spiked.

  He barged backwards into a room off the landing and shouted. ‘Lights on!’

  The sudden glare illuminated a stunning if sparsely furnished room, dominated by a view of the ocean and the distant sprinkle of lights along the Oregon shoreline miles away. Then Cassie caught sight of her reflection in the dark glass. She buried her face against his neck to hide her burning blush. With her clothes and hair drenched, she was a total mess.

  But the moment of panicked vanity lasted less than a second when he murmured, ‘Lower...’ and the lights dipped to a shadowy glow.

  He put her down, still holding her waist. Her legs wobbled, unsteady, unsure. But then his mouth returned to hers—firm, commanding, uncompromising—telling her in no uncertain terms how much he wanted this. How much he wanted her.

  He took control, his hands exploring her curves, and exploiting the dazzle of sensation across her chilled skin. She followed his lead, threading her fingers into his wet hair, loving the feel of his hard body against hers.

  Thank goodness someone knew what he was doing.

  He broke away and his questing fingers paused. He stared at her, his face shadowed by the soft light but fierce with need, and she felt a residual flicker of panic. Had he already figured out what a fraud she was?

  ‘How the hell do I get you out of this thing?’ he asked.

  The frustration in his voice had a laugh popping out alongside her relief. ‘Here,’ she said, and lifted her arm to locate the tab.

  But before she could lower the zip he took charge again. ‘No, let me. I’ve been dreaming of peeling you out of this all night.’

  She nodded and let go, exhilarated by the sharp concentration on his face as he eased the zip down. He skimmed his fingertips over her shoulders to push the dress’s straps off. The flash of hunger and desire that darkened his expression only vindicated her more.

  No hesitations, Cassie. No regrets.

  The gold lamé, heavy with water, dropped down and snagged at her waist, leaving her breasts bare.

  ‘No bra...’

  He groaned, the sound deep and feral. She crossed her arms over her nakedness instinctively.

  ‘Don’t...’ he murmured, the word half-command, half-plea.

  Taking her wrists gently in his, he lifted her arms free, his gaze branding her. Her nipples—already pebbled from the cold—squeezed into painful peaks. He swore, and circled his thumb over one, then the other. ‘Belle...’

  She shuddered, her emotion as powerful as her desire when his gaze locked on hers. Naked need echoed deep in her sex.

  ‘You cold, cher?’ he asked, the gruff question making it sound as if he were having trouble speaking English.

  She shook her head, speech deserting her completely.

  If this is just a one-night stand, why does it feel so intense?

  Cradling her heavy breasts, so sensitive now that she couldn’t stop shivering, he sent her a lazy smile, but fierce passion filled his eyes.

  ‘Let’s warm you up anyhow,’ he said.

  Then he bent his head and captured one engorged peak between firm lips.

  She sobbed, her fingers sinking into his hair to drag him closer, and to keep her knees from buckling as he drew the nipple deep into his mouth. Heat cascaded through her, flooding into her core, the sensation becoming overwhelming as he feasted on the swollen flesh.

  He suckled strongly, one breast then the other, until she was weak and aching with need, every point on her body desperate for something more.

  At last he released her from the torture and shoved the sodden dress the rest of the way to the floor.

  Kneeling, he bent his dark head to touch her belly. Then he eased off first one sandal, then the other. He skimmed his thumb over the raw spot where the leather had rubbed her heel.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said.

  But she couldn’t feel the pain any more...had stopped noticing it hours ago.

  Then he hooked his fingers into her lace panties and eased the damp scrap of material down her legs.

  Holding on to his shoulder, she stepped out of her underwear, naked now, while he was still fully clothed.

  She’d never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, before in her life. But as he stood up the yearning only pulsed harder in her sex. Her head barely reached his collarbone.

  ‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ she managed, folding her arms over her breasts, still damp from his lips.

  He nodded, his eyes glassy with desire, then ripped his shirt loose from his trousers, dragged it over his head without unbuttoning it to reveal the sculpted beauty of his naked chest. The strong lines bunched as he moved. The tanned skin was marked by several small scars, and the black ink which ringed his collarbone was not barbed wire, she realised, but a tangle of thorns.

  He had other tattoos. One on his bicep of a bird of some kind, and a line of text in French—or probably French Cajun—arrowing into the dark line of hair which bisected his six-pack. But before she could read the words, or attempt a translation, he kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, ripped open his fly and shoved off his trousers and boxers.

  Her mind blurred as his magnificent erection—hard, thick and long—stood proud from the thicket of hair at his groin.

  Moisture flooded her sex and dried in her throat. She reached out to run her fingertip down the thick length.

  He made a tortured sound and the massive erection jerked against her touch. But then he grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away. ‘Don’t...’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, meeting his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to...’

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, his tone raw. ‘But we’ll have to take a rain-check on the foreplay.’

  A rain-check? There’s going to be a next time?

  Something that felt disturbingly like joy burst in her chest, but then he scooped her up and placed her onto the bed. She bounced on the coverlet, the tumultuous feeling only intensifying as the storm continued to rage outside, matching the thunder in her chest.

  He knelt over her, trapping her under his big body as he reached into the bedside table and located a foil packet. He tore it open with his teeth, and she watched him sheath himself with the protection.

  She braced herself, ready for him to plunge deep into her yearning sex, but instead he moved down, cradled her hips in strong hands and sank his face between her legs.

  He trailed his tongue up her inner thigh, sipping and licking, and she bucked off the bed.

  ‘Ahh...’ she cried, the sound as incoherent as her thoughts, her feelings.

  He parted her with his thumbs and blew on the molten bundle of nerves already throbbing painfully. Then he swirled his to
ngue through the slick folds.

  ‘Please...’ Her cries became louder, as she begged, so shocked by the pleasure battering her body she could hardly breathe. ‘Just...’

  ‘Just what, cher?’ He looked up, his smile as devastating as the crash of thunder outside. ‘You know you taste even better than you smell?’

  ‘I... Really?’ she asked, then realised how ridiculous she sounded when he gave a deep, husky laugh. But before she could become embarrassed he licked her again—right...there.

  She shuddered...sobbed. Then he closed his lips over the swollen nub and flicked his tongue across it. She bucked, writhed, desperate to escape the torture, but just as desperate to have it never end. He held her steady, held her open as he worked the tender nub. The wave gathered—strong, fast, too furious to bear.

  Everything inside her clenched tight, bearing down. She moaned, her body arching up, bowing back, straining, desperate. Then she flew apart. The orgasm shattered her, cascading through her body like the waves crashing onto the rocks below.

  She sank back to the bed, her body floating on a golden tide of afterglow.

  His face appeared above her. ‘Encore,’ he demanded.

  He angled her hips, his erection butting against her sex. And before she had a moment to brace herself he plunged home.

  She flinched, the penetration immense, the full, stretched feeling too much.

  He stopped, embedded to the hilt as she struggled to adjust.

  ‘So tight, cher...’ he murmured, the gruff tone tortured. ‘You okay?’

  She nodded, her sex pulsing around the thick intrusion, the slice of pain thankfully receding.

  ‘You’re not a virgin, are you, cher?’ he asked, and the frown was back, his tone rough with astonishment.

  She shook her head vigorously, suddenly desperate not to have him know the truth or this moment would take on a far greater significant than it already had.

  He waited, searching her face as he held her hips, and didn’t move.

  ‘Really, I’m not...it’s just been a while,’ she finally managed, hating the lie, but hating the miserable feeling of inadequacy that she remembered far too well from her childhood more.

  He nodded, and at last he began to move. But emotion scraped against her throat.

  The pleasure ignited again—a flicker, then a throb in the deepest recesses of her body. It built and built as he rocked his hips, finding a rhythm that propelled her with staggering speed back towards that terrifying edge.

  She clung to him as she had on the bike, her fingers slipping on his sweat-slicked skin. He grunted, growing huge inside the tight sheath. Her throat closed, and she felt the emotion gathering in her chest to form a fist, punching against her ribs.

  The pleasure turned to exquisite pain, hurtling towards her. So fierce, so furious, she couldn’t think any more. All she could do was feel... Until the wave rammed into her at last and he made her fly once more.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ash. Help! I slept with Luke last night! Luke Broussard of Broussard Tech. The guy I’m supposed to be checking out for Temple. What do I do now? I’m freaking out. You have to help me. You so owe me, Ms Don’t-Wear-a-Bra-with-That-Dress. xx

  LUKE PROPPED HIS shoulder against the kitchen doorframe and watched Cassandra furiously tapping with her thumbs and chewing on her bottom lip while she typed what looked like a novel into her cell phone. She kept pausing and looking into the middle distance, then tapping some more. But he could tell by the pucker on her brow that she wasn’t seeing the ocean beneath the cove, quiet now, and gilded by a bright new day after last night’s storm.

  His body tightened. As it had so many times during the night. He eased himself upright, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t want to alert her to his presence—not yet—only too aware of the storm in his gut which still hadn’t been tamed. And the storm in his chest which refused to go away.

  Jesus, how could she look even more stunning, with her tangled, sleep-mussed hair tumbling over her shoulders, her bare legs going on for miles under the T-shirt she must have snagged from his dresser while he was comatose?

  Heat bloomed in his gut and he tensed. By rights he should be well satisfied and still comatose. From the angle of the sun, filtering through the forest behind the house on the east side of the inlet, it wasn’t much past nine. But when he’d woken up, he’d reached for her and found her gone. And then he’d seen the spots of blood on the bed sheets. And he had wondered, just as he had suspected when he’d thrust heavily inside her last night and felt her flinch... Had she been a virgin after all?

  And, if so, why had she lied?

  Waking up with an erection was nothing new. But why did the possibility of her virginity make it seem more intense? She might be inexperienced, but she was a grown woman. How the hell she might have managed to stay untouched for so long, he had no idea, but it was her choice—he hadn’t pushed or pressured her—in fact he’d gone out of his way to do the opposite. She’d even accused him of being ‘gallant’ for the first time in his entire life.

  He hadn’t exploited her or taken anything from her she hadn’t been willing to give.

  And if she had been a virgin, it didn’t make him a bad guy.

  But, as he continued to watch her unobserved, something told him that for the first time in his life, with Cassandra James, all the usual rules didn’t apply. She’d changed them. And he didn’t like it. Because normally after a one-night booty call he’d be looking to find a way to get her out of his home without things getting too awkward. But instead all he could think about right now was walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, inhaling that glorious scent which had invaded his dreams last night and finding out if she’d picked him to be her first lover. And if she had, why had she?

  But how could he do that without making this even more intense and awkward? Even more weird? Why had he broken his own rules with her, bringing her here?

  Would she expect something from him now? Something more than pleasure? Even though he hoped he’d made it clear he couldn’t offer her more?

  He felt a strange contraction in his chest as he imagined her turning round and opening her arms to him with the same enthusiasm and spontaneity she’d shown last night.

  He frowned.

  How did she do that? How did she make him forget that this situation was now all kinds of screwed up? He couldn’t touch her again. It would only make him feel more invested.

  Whatever happened now, he needed to lay off her until he could get her off the island.

  Perhaps she was expecting him to ask again about her virginity—but he wasn’t falling into that trap.

  Why did it have to be a big deal? They were both adults. And the sex had been incredible. She’d been so responsive, so cute and sweet and hot and uninhibited. No reason to make this anything else than what it had always been intended to be. And if she brought it up—which she probably would eventually, because why else would she have kept her virginity a secret other than to use it at a later date—he’d tell her the truth: that her virginity was her business and had nothing to do with him.

  She finally stopped tapping on her phone and placed it on the countertop. The sharp click of metal against granite echoed in the silent room. But she continued to stare at her phone as if it might leap up and bite her. Kind of the way she’d stared at the bike helmet the night before, until she’d decided to take it.

  He cleared his throat, deciding it was time to stop thinking and start doing. He needed to get past the awkwardness so he could get her off his island.

  She spun round. A blush blazed across her cheeks and hunger fired through his gut on cue.

  He forced a smile to his lips. Relax, man. ‘Good morning, cher,’ he said.

  Her gaze dipped to his naked chest, then shot back up again as the blush climbed to her hairline. After everything they’d d
one last night, he wouldn’t have thought it was physically possible for her to continue to blush so readily. Unfortunately, it only confirmed what he already knew. Virgin or not, she had not been as experienced as she’d made out.

  He crossed the kitchen, then sank his hands into the pockets of his sweats in order to resist the powerful urge to cradle her cheeks and feel the heat from her skin seep into his palms.

  You’re not gonna jump her again. Remember?

  ‘How you doing?’ he asked, because she looked hesitant—in a way she hadn’t been last night.

  ‘I’m...great, thank you,’ she said, her bright tone brittle.

  He let it slide and fisted his fingers in his pants’ pockets to resist the powerful urge to touch.

  ‘The storm has passed,’ she said, turning to study the view as if her life depended on it.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, studying her instead. So they were going to talk about the weather. ‘Not too much damage done.’

  ‘Do they usually?’ she asked, her eyes widening as she turned back towards him. ‘Cause damage? The storms? It was so overwhelming last night. I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’

  He wondered if they were really talking about the weather, or something else entirely, as her blush continued to glow.

  ‘I’ll need to do a thorough check before I know for sure,’ he said.

  The splash of colour on her cheeks went scarlet.

  Nope, not talking about the weather at all.

  He braced himself, waiting for her to address the huge elephant in the room.

  But all she said was, ‘I see.’

  Her gaze skimmed over his bare chest again, and the heat in his gut blossomed. He tensed, but then his stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard in Washington State.

  At least this was one hunger he could satisfy.

  ‘You want some breakfast? I could make pancakes?’ he said, then frowned.

  When was the last time he had offered to cook a woman breakfast? Probably never. Especially when he was supposed to be trying to get rid of her.