Sure as Hell (5 page)

So instead of demanding, she let her head fall back on the pillow, then shivered as his fingers traced over her body, forming slow sensuous circles around her navel, then tracing down, down, down to tease her between her legs.

She gasped as his finger slipped inside her, but the sound barely escaped, blocked by the pressure of his mouth on her lips. His tongue thrust deep inside her even as his finger mimicked the same rhythm and stroked her intimately. She lifted her hips, silently demanding more of him. She clung to his back, her fingernails digging into his flesh.

He broke the kiss, but didn’t stop stroking her. Her body hummed, a tight wire ready to snap, as his mouth closed over her breast. His tongue danced around her nipple and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that this man would be the death of her—an amazing feat, considering her immortality.

He nipped at her, teeth and lips teasing her, and sending a hot coil racing through her to find his fingers, still exploring her secrets. He stroked her in small circles, tensing and tempting and—

Oh, sweet Hades!

She couldn’t take it. Had to have him. Had to have release.

And so she reached for him, her fingers twining in that silky black hair. She tugged him toward her, then nipped at his chin, his neck. And then, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she shifted her weight, and shifted him as well, rolling him over until she straddled him.

He grinned, slow and satisfied. And completely unperturbed that she’d taken advantage of the situation.

She pressed a kiss to the dimple revealed by his smile, then followed that with another to his chin, his neck, his chest.

She stroked lazy circles on his chest, her fingers twisting in the smattering of chest hair. Enough to be masculine, and yet not too much. He hit, as always, the perfect blend.

In fact, so far nothing about this man had urged her off her first impression—perfect.

And, so help her, she was ready for a taste of perfection.

She cast one simmering glance toward his face and saw the need building there. Good. Slowly, she trailed her kisses lower and lower, delighting in the way his body shimmered and stuttered as he fought the building passion. Her fingers teased and stroked, but her mouth tasted and tormented, taking him close to the edge, then back again, and silently daring him to demand more.

And his body
did
demand—bucking and tightening and thrumming with a heat that she could feel and touch and smell. But his lips never begged. Never gave a hint of the sweet agony he was suffering. And, ultimately, that she was suffering, too.

“Damn you,” she said, as she eased herself up and over him. And then, when she knew by the tiny smile that played on his lips that he understood the reason for the curse, she impaled herself on him.

Oh, sweet fires of Hades
.

Had she ever experienced such delight? They moved together, and Lucia was certain that, somehow, she was going to lose herself. That she was going to come free of this body that she’d known for so many years and simply end up a bit of vapor in the sky, burned up by the heat that they were generating together.

A dangerous heat, and one she couldn’t let stop. It built and built as they moved together, bodies damp from the sweat of exertion, limbs gliding and twining. Now, she thought. Now, now, now!

She exploded in his arms, the tremors continuing as he milked her orgasm, pulling her further than she’d gone—and then bringing her back, gently, to rest in his arms as they watched the moonlight streak in through the window that overlooked the sea.

“I—” She started to speak, but he hushed her with a gentle finger to her lips, and she closed her mouth gratefully. Minutes had passed, but she was still sated, languid. And the thought of not moving—of not speaking—of simply remaining in his arms held such sweet delight.

That, however, wasn’t his plan. A fact that became apparent as he slid off the bed, taking the covers they’d loosened in their erotic fever with him. She started to protest—she didn’t want him to leave—when the point became moot. He gathered her close, then carried her bride-like across the room and into the bathroom. A bath had already been drawn, and now he gently settled her into the bubble bath, the hot water still flowing so that the water was kept at a perfect temperature.

Rose petals decorated the floor, leading up to the oversized, sunken tub. And the entire thing was surrounded by candles, each already lit.

How had she not noticed this before?

That, of course, was easy. She’d let down her guard. She’d entered the suite with him, and she’d never once examined it, a behavior totally contrary to her well-honed survival skills. Even an innocent liaison can turn dangerous, especially in her profession. And yet she’d never even hesitated in this man’s arms.

The thought sent a shiver running through her, but she wasn’t sure it was fear. It was . . . she didn’t know. And at the moment, she couldn’t quite think, because suddenly he was in the tub as well. He settled himself behind her, then leaned her against him, her back against his chest.

“I’m glad you lost the wager,” he said.

“Did I lose? It really doesn’t feel that way.”

He licked the back of her ear. “Good.”

“Are we—”

“Shhh. We’re bathing. Let me bathe you.”

And because she’d never in her life had anyone ask to bathe her, Lucia nodded, then closed her eyes and lost herself to the sweet sensation of the soapy sponge against her bare back.

The attention was undeniably erotic, yet at the same time it was somehow sweet. And it was that sweetness that piqued her senses.

She’d always liked sex fast and hard—and this man had more than delivered. No emotional entanglements for a girl like her. But lately, soft thoughts had been entering her head. Her hesitation to undertake her past jobs. The tug at her heart when the baron had shown her his family pictures. And now this sense of sweetness as a man she barely knew rubbed her back with gentle touches. And during their lovemaking there’d been a gentleness under the heated passion. An emotion that made the act more than simply coupling. It made it special. And damned if she didn’t like that, too.

She was a study in contradictions and the direction of her thoughts scared her. Right now was not the time for distractions. She had her purpose, and she needed to follow through quickly and efficiently.

She said a silent thank-you that he’d be gone tomorrow. That knowledge alone quelled her fears. Yes, her reaction to him was uncomfortable and strange. But what did it matter? He’d be gone soon enough. And she could get on with her plan.

And with her future.

‡
Chapter Five

D
ante woke up slowly
, the woman soft and warm in his arms. He had no desire to be anywhere else. No thoughts of moving, no plan to get on.

And yet that’s exactly what he had to do.

He closed his eyes, fighting the inevitable, and instead shifted closer, the heat of her body firing senses that by all rights should have been dulled from sheer exhaustion.

They weren’t. They weren’t dulled at all.

If anything, his body was ready to stand up, salute, and jump right back into the fray. And it took every ounce of willpower not to kiss her shoulder, roll her over, and do exactly that. He couldn’t, though. The bright green numbers on the digital clock made that perfectly clear. He had three hours to get dressed, get packed, and get to the airport.

He actually considered staying. Not for his father, of course, but for this woman. But he knew that wasn’t possible. No matter how much he might wish otherwise, the woman beside him was little more than an illusion. A sexy, hot, responsive illusion, but fantasy nonetheless.

His chest tightened with longing, because the truth was that he wanted her name. He wanted her name and her phone number and her address. He wanted to knock on her hotel room door, take her arm, and escort her down to a romantic dinner.

Last night with the anonymous vixen had been beyond incredible, but now he wanted more. He wanted real.

And damned if he couldn’t have it.

Best to just go as planned. Besides, if he stayed, he’d just get sucked into some damned power play with his father. Even more, though, he knew that the woman in his bed didn’t want the date. Didn’t want the romance.

Above all, she didn’t want to tell him her name.

They’d uttered no promises, and yet the rules were clear all the same. One night. No names.

And then he’d leave Monte Carlo.

As much as he now regretted that silent promise, he knew that he wouldn’t break it. He couldn’t.

With a sigh, he moved slowly, curling himself out from under her arm and sitting up. He bent forward, stretching as he tried to work up the enthusiasm to move to the shower.

A warm palm pressed against his bare back, and all semblance of motivation vanished. Staying here was fine; the bed was just fine.

“Hey.” A soft whisper from behind, accompanied by a subtle shift of the mattress. A quick brush of lips on the back of his ear, and soft hands snaking around his body to stroke his chest. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you,” he said, his body testifying to just how good a morning it was suddenly becoming.

“It is rather exceptional, isn’t it?” Her words were soft, laced with a tease, and punctuated by the fingers dancing over his bare skin.

“And getting better by the second.”

“You’re getting up. Taking a shower?”

“That was my plan.”

“You have a plane to catch,” she said. It was a simple statement, and yet Dante ripped it apart, trying to analyze nuances, tone. Did she want him to hurry and leave? To stay? He didn’t know. He knew only that he wanted to hold on to the fantasy that this woman wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“I do,” he finally said, which was completely inadequate, but the best he could do.

“When do you have to leave?”

A hint of invitation colored her voice, and Dante jumped all over that. “Why do you ask?”

Her hands slipped down, gliding beneath the satin sheets to stroke him. He was already hard as steel, and her little moan of pleasure when she discovered that fact simply made him harder. “Well, I’d hate to make you late, but . . .”

“I’ll make up the time somehow,” he assured her as he turned, leaning back so that he could see her face. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

One perfectly formed brow lifted. “Oh, really?”

He stood, then held out a hand. “Nothing like multitasking,” he said with a quick glance toward the bathroom and the eight showerheads that waited for them in the stall.

She grinned wickedly, then slid out of bed. “I’m a big fan of multitasking.”

The shower was amazing, even by the Moreau standards, and it was one of the reasons that Dante had wanted this suite. Large enough for even more than two people, with an overhead “rain” showerhead and rows of side heads on either side, the place was practical, decadent, and potentially erotic.

He turned the water on full blast, then adjusted the temperature. He stepped into the spray, the dual sets of heads pummeling his body from all sides.

He reached for her, but she shook her head. “Too rough,” she said.

“For you? I’m surprised.”

She grinned, then leaned past him, turning the ornate lever to shift the water from the side-facing heads to the overhead flow. The ceiling seemed to open up, and they were standing in a soft spring rain. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body close to his, her crotch nestled against his ready cock. “Now isn’t this better?”

“Most definitely,” he said, bending down for a long, slow kiss as the water sluiced over their bodies. Hands followed the trail of water, and when she reached past him to one of the many soap dispensers filled with fragrant cleansers, her breasts brushed gently against his skin, sending coils of heat ripping through him.

Her hands were slick, filled with lavender-scented soap, and she rubbed them on his chest, the minimal friction as erotic as a gentle kiss. Too gentle, though. Her touch was driving him crazy, and he pulled her close, crushing his mouth over hers. She responded instantly, and just as eagerly, her legs clinging to his body, then sliding down because of the damnably slick soap.

He grabbed her, lifting her as she hooked her legs around him, pulling her in tight as he slid into her sweet center. Hard and fast, yes, but he couldn’t wait any longer, and from the way her breath was coming in desperate gasps, he knew that she couldn’t, either.

They writhed together, bodies joined, skin slippery, steam billowing around them. Her hand splayed out, seeking purchase on the cut-stone wall of the shower, even as her back arched and she thrust herself against him. “Yes,” she cried. “Oh, please, yes”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t answer, simply let his body respond. And soon he felt her tighten around his, watched as a tremor shook her frame. She gasped, her head thrusting back until she was facing the gentle spray of water from above. He thrust again once, one hand clinging to a showerhead for support. He seemed to explode with sensation, and he thrust his own head back, the shower’s water seeming to dissolve into steam upon the inferno of heat they were generating.