Part 10 (1/2)
”No! For Christ's sake, no, I'm not married. What kind of guy do you think I am?”
He seemed truly shocked and offended, but she wasn't going to let it throw her.
”Fine, that's good. So what is it then?”
His look became guarded, and she knew she had him-she just didn't know what she had him on. A different approach was called for. Somehow she knew he wouldn't be pressured or nagged into telling her what he was up to, and she really wasn't one for nagging anyway.
She leaned in, running her hand over the muscles of his forearm, finding her way into the crook of his neck where she planted a few wet kisses, feeling the pulse at the base of his throat beat more strongly. Whispering in his ear, she reminded him of the things he'd said to her on the beach-his secrets, his fantasies-and asked him to spend the night with her so she could make a few of them come true.
How was a guy supposed to resist an offer like that? Logan felt his entire body go up in flames at her whispered suggestions, and went rock-hard when her hand drifted from his arm to his thigh. He had work to do, he had arrangements to make-he needed to get on board that boat, to find out what had happened to Mel-so why was he finding it almost impossible to think about his work with Sarah's scent surrounding him? Suddenly he didn't seem to want anything but her touch, and to be inside her, sleeping next to her....
His mind reared back, protesting-he'd just met this woman, and he was letting her distract him from a goal he'd spent months pursuing. He was letting his little head lead the way, and that wasn't like him. He owed Mel-she'd been his friend, and he had to stay on track so he could clear her reputation. Maybe even find her, though his gut told him that wasn't going to happen. If Mel was alive, she would have contacted him if she could; he believed that.
But even thinking about the case couldn't dampen his response to Sarah's seduction. He tried to ignore the way her tongue darted out and tasted his skin-he was going to have a h.e.l.l of a time getting up from this table-but he had to try to concentrate on what was important. He liked Sarah, but he had to keep things controlled, mostly himself.
”I-I, uh, I'm just a little tired. Remember I didn't sleep much last night, and it's been a um, busy day.”
She laughed huskily by his cheek, not about to give up. ”We slept into the afternoon. I'm wide-awake.” She drew back, leveling him a seductive look that nearly knocked him off his seat. ”And I want you. I want to spend the night with you.”
Then she added the one word that really killed him, knowing her as he did. Her eyes locked to his, she simply said, ”Please.”
Sarah realized both things were true-she did want him, and she did want to spend the night with him, more so than she had imagined-but she also wanted to see if she could break through this mystery of why he always dumped her at the doorstep like a princess about to turn into a pumpkin. She didn't even mind doing a little light pleading-it didn't feel wrong. In fact, she knew it would touch him. And from the look on his face, it had.
She wanted to know that whatever it was he did at night, he was willing to give it up for her. Or she wanted to know what it was.
He was hiding something, obviously. She looked around, glad to see that they were more or less alone, the other couples milling about near the food at the center of the garden. She slid her hand up his thigh, pressing against the erection that was hard to miss. She was obviously having an effect on him and that pleased her.
”Let's go back to the room. Yours, mine, I don't care. I don't want to be alone tonight.”
He groaned into her neck, straining against her, and sighed his resignation. ”Yours.” The word emerged as a groan as he found her mouth in a hot kiss, and she responded victoriously. Whatever he'd been doing with his nights, it couldn't be all that important.
They stood and made their way around the edge of the garden and to the back stairs that led up to the second floor, to her room. Sarah's heart beat like mad as she pushed the door open, pulling him in behind her quickly and stifling the urge to giggle. She hadn't brought a man back to her room in at least seven years. She hadn't had the urge to giggle for longer than that.
The giggle turned into a laugh as she danced backward, feeling turned-on and powerful, giddy with the prospect of the night before them, the fact that he had come back with her, had chosen her over anything else.
He stood still, looming and masculine, watching her in the dimly lit room, seeming out of place in the more femininely decorated s.p.a.ce. She crooked her finger.
”I want to help you make a few fantasies come true tonight, Mr. Sullivan.”
She heard his sharply drawn breath as he stepped forward. ”Do you now?”
She unb.u.t.toned the blouse she was wearing, sliding it slowly from her shoulders.
”But since we're on my turf, I'm the boss. You just do as you're told.” Her tone was playful but demanding-she held her stance as he stood still by the side of the bed.
”What if I don't agree to those terms?”
She s.h.i.+mmied out of the short skirt, standing before him in a matching black thong and bra. ”Then I guess I'll just have to convince you to see things my way.”
The sounds of the party still going on down in the garden lifted up through the screens, and she s.h.i.+vered as she felt the cool breeze waft through the window. It felt like rain was in the air; an early-summer storm was brewing. Maybe that was responsible for the electricity she was feeling.
”And how are you going to do that?”
She stepped closer. ”I have my methods.”
He stood with his hands by his sides and she stopped directly in front of him, just a breath away from touching him.
”You have too many clothes on.” She reached out, sliding her hands underneath the summer-weight sweater he wore, pus.h.i.+ng it up and over his head. He didn't resist, not that she'd expected him to. Leaning forward, she lowered her mouth to drag her tongue over one of his flat, brown nipples. Looking down she saw he'd bunched his hands into fists, but didn't move otherwise. She drew back and smiled at him, touching the thin, white scar on his shoulder.
”What happened?”
He looked down, as if he'd forgotten the mark was even there. ”Got in a fight when I was a teenager. Rough times, short temper. The other kid had a knife.”
She leaned in, licking along the scar, murmuring sweet nothings.
”You taste good.”
”Anything to please.”
”Really? Anything?”
His eyes, seeming almost black in the low light of the room, fixed on hers and he nodded. She stepped back.
”Take the rest off for me.”
He slanted a smile, releasing his belt and unzipping his khakis, removing them in slow, strong, masculine movements. She took a deep breath, signaling to him to continue, and he did, removing his briefs and socks until he stood there naked and completely aroused, waiting for her next command.
”Do you trust me?”
He nodded and looked much more confident than she felt. She'd never done anything like this before, never had this much control, with the responsibility of trust placed firmly on her shoulders. She'd never realized how delicate it was, to hold someone else's fantasy in your hands, to make it come true. It meant something to her that he was willing to trust her, and she was going to make sure he didn't regret it.
”Come here.”
He did, and she pulled a padded wooden chair from where it stood by the wall, and indicated to him to sit. He did.
”Put your hands down by the sides.”
He hesitated just for a second, then did as she said, and she left him for a moment, rifling through one of her drawers, and pulled out two pairs of hose. Efficiently, quietly, she bound his hands and ankles to the chair. When she rose to stand in front of him, she thought she detected a slight apprehension in his gaze, and the unexpected feeling a rush of power and arousal stunned her.
”Are you comfortable?”
”Not entirely.”
”What hurts?”