In the Bad Boy's Bed Page 2

  He lifted his hands to my hair and removed a few of the pins I'd missed. "What do you want to know?"

  His gentle touch, his closeness, his smile, his smell, his voice sent me on pleasure overload. I melted like a chocolate kiss in the microwave. A purr started in my heart and headed toward my throat.

  "Hmm . . . ." The purr stuck in my throat and I swallowed hard to make room for words. "How about I ask you ten questions—any questions I want. You can either answer or pass. But you can only pass twice."

  He stretched out on the blanket beside me, propping himself up on his elbow, his head in his hand. "Then I get to ask you ten questions?"

  "Right." Seeing his long, hard body laid out before me made me want to play another game, but Ten Questions was certainly safer. "OK, let's start with something easy, like . . . what's your favorite food."

  "Steak. Medium rare. You?"

  "Is that your question for me? I mean, you don't have to ask the same one I do."

  "Yes, that's my question. Are you passing?"

  "No."

  He grinned. "Then answer the question."

  "OK, don't get bossy." I smiled at him to show I was teasing. "You and I have something in common. My favorite food is filet mignon, but I like mine well done with a merlot reduction and sprinkled with English stilton – slivers not crumbles. My turn. Do you carry a switchblade?"

  "Why? Do you need one?"

  "No, I don't need one. I was just curious."

  "Do I look like a guy who'd carry a switchblade?"

  I shrugged. "That wasn't my question. My question was—"

  "Yes."

  I about choked on my tongue. He carried a switchblade. With that the darkness became darker. Our spot became more secluded. He became more dangerous. My body tingled all over, from fear, from excitement, from the way he looked at me when he admitted to carrying a switchblade. How his face seemed to go hard.

  "Why?" I asked, my voice low, almost a whisper.

  He sat up, faced me. "It's not your turn."

  "Can I see it?" Yeah, strange guy I don't know. I'm not in enough danger, so why don't you take out a deadly weapon, too? That way I'll really be in trouble.

  He moved to his knees, reached his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a shiny object of about five inches long. He held it in his hand and the blade sliced out the front of the small, coffin-shaped handle. I jumped at the sound of the muted click. God, why did I invite this into our bubble?

  "Can I hold it?"

  He pushed a button and the knife retreated into its box. He moved to sit beside me, put the knife in my hand.

  The weight of the weapon in my hand sent an icy wind through me. I looked at Nick, found his eyes sparkling with laughter as he watched my curiosity play out. I took a breath. "Which button do I push to open it?"

  He helped me hold the knife correctly and showed me what I'd asked. Again the knife shot out, moonlight dancing on the steel point and edges. I turned it in my hand, letting the light play across the blade. It was a work of art.

  I looked at him again, stared into his eyes. Our heads were bent together and I felt his breath on my cheek. It smelled like peppermint. "Have you used it?"

  "You mean, have I stabbed anybody?"

  I nodded, holding onto his gaze for dear life. He reached his hand down to mine, lifted the knife from my hand, and retracted the knife.

  "Pass." He stood on his knees again and shoved the knife back into his pocket.

  The air changed once the knife was sheathed and Nick had shifted away from me slightly. It was as if we had spiraled away somewhere to another plane, but were back. I could again hear the water lapping the shore, sounds of various night creatures surrounding us, a car engine coming toward us, and the flash of headlights. Then, a door opened.

  "Next question," Nick said.

  "Shh!" I whispered.

  Shuffling footsteps crunched on branches several feet from us. Someone had gotten out of the vehicle and was coming toward us.

  "Annnn-ge-laaa! Where are you?"

  Nick started to stand, but I pulled him back down beside me and held him tight.

  Staring into his eyes, I shook my head.

  "Annngelaaa . . . C'mon, get back in the car. I'm sorry I hit you. I won't do it again. I promise."

  Nick looked down at me the same time I looked up at him. The moonlight showed narrowed eyes, mouth a tight line on his face, muscles of his body tensed.

  "He hit you?" His whispered tone screamed anger.

  I didn't answer, just increased the hold my fingers had on the front of his T-shirt and tucked my head into his chest. Right now, where his body met mine was the safest spot on the Earth.

  "Son-of-a-bitch." Nick's low curse rumbled through my body. He moved to disentangle from my arms and get up.

  I tackled him to the ground and held him down with my body.

  "No, Nick," I pleaded in his ear, our cheeks pressed tightly together. "Please. Please, just stay with me."

  Rustling noises, not twenty feet away, met our ears, and I held my breath.

  "Babe, I had a coffee, so I'm sober now. C'mon, it's late. I gotta get you home. Your parents are going to be pissed."

  Sean wasn't a patient person, especially when he'd been drinking, so it wasn't long before he became irritated at the effort of having to search for me.

  "Dammit, bitch! You can just fucking walk home, then!" His eruption filled the night, and its malice flowed down on me like hot ash.

  Seconds later, his door slammed shut. The car spun out in the dirt, then peeled out when it hit asphalt, heading the opposite direction from where Nick and I lay together on the blanket.

  The crisis past, the here and now drifted back into focus. I inhaled a gulp of silent, sweet air and noticed pleasant sensations shoveling out the fear and settling into its place.

  The sexy clean scent of Nick in my nostrils. His hard body beneath mine. The comforting weight of his arms around me.

  I raised my head from his chest, and our eyes met. He rolled us over so that he was on top of me.

  "Where did he hit you?" He still whispered, though there was no reason to.

  "My cheek," I answered in the same tone.

  He lowered his head and gently rubbed his lips against my cheek then kissed all along my jaw and near my ear. Tingles of pleasure danced up and down my skin.

  "Better?"

  "It was the other side," I said, breathless.

  He smiled, and gave the other side of my face the same sweet attention.

  "How about now?"

  I cupped his face in my palm and rubbed his cheek with my thumb. "Better. But he also got my mouth."

  Nick moved closer then paused over me. I couldn't wait any longer. I reached up and pressed my lips to his. The pain of my cut lip all but vanished.

  The kiss provided the right blend of spices to unleash our hunger, and I didn't want to stop until that hunger was satisfied. I kissed him again, making it last longer. The tip of his tongue teased inside my lips before delving in deeper to stroke my tongue. They danced and twirled, encouraging the rest of our bodies to join in the rhythm.

  His hand slid over my breast. He explored it cautiously, as if he expected to encounter a yield sign or stop sign. But I wouldn't be giving him one tonight. There wasn't a part of me that didn't want the touch of his fingers, his palms, his mouth.

  "Put your hands on me Nick. Touch me everywhere."

  He groaned and sat up.

  I sat up too, confused by his reaction. Embarrassed by his refusal.

  "It's OK if you don't want to. I just thought—" I couldn't finish. My tongue was thick in my mouth, making it impossible to speak. "Sorry," I said and started to stand up.

  He held my hands to stop me. "Angel, I do want to. But you need to be sure that you do. Because, if we keep going . . . if I touch you . . . there won't be any stopping."

  Holding his gaze, I placed his hand on my breast, keeping it there with my hand.

 
; "Let's keep going."

  The pleasure of his touch shot through me like his switchblade shot through the thick air, and I closed my eyes at the overwhelming and dizzying need spinning in my head.

  He put his fingers to work on the row of tiny silk buttons down the front of my dress. Unfortunately, they didn't lead anywhere; after the first three, they were just for show.

  "No, the zipper . . . there's a zipper." My mouth left his just long enough to deliver the command in a urgent, rough with need tone.

  "Thank, God," he whispered. "I was about to take the switchblade to those buttons."

  Nerves triggered a little giggle that pushed past my lips. "It's in the back."

  His hands moved to my back, sliding up and down, feeling for the zipper. I lifted my hair so he could easily unzip. My dress fell away, baring my back to the night air and to his kisses, which started low and moved up to my neck. Chills washed over me, cooling my skin and hardening my nipples.

  He turned me around to face him and slowly pulled my dress down to reveal my nearly nude front. He looked at my body for a long few seconds as if he were worshiping it . . . or having a difficult time deciding where to start. His rounded his hands over my shoulders and gently, lightly, ran them along the length of my arms. He leaned forward and kissed me, building the fire higher.

  Didn't he know I was already ready for him? Had been for two years, since the first time I saw him?

  I grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and tugged it up. I had it up as far as his chest when he pulled it off and flung it aside. I reached for the button on his jeans and he leaned back a bit to give me easier access. My fingers fumbled a bit before they could pry the button from its hole, but as a reward for my persistence, the zipper slid down easily. His white boxers shone like a beacon in the moonlight.

  Still Nick paused and looked at me as if asking, are you sure? In answer, I placed his fingers on the front clasp of my bra. A flick of his fingers took the bra off. In little time, I wore nothing but moonlight and Nick Donnelly's branding kisses and touches.

  Chapter Two

  With his head resting on my chest and the warmth of his breath drying the sex sheen, I didn't worry over the fact that I had shared the most intimate act two people can share with someone who was little more than a stranger. I didn't worry about the consequences of my impulsive action. The extreme peace and utter satisfaction each of us had given the other filled me, pushing out all other feelings. Trailing my hands lightly up and down his back, I thought that if I could have kept him here, in this spot, forever, I would have.

  As if hearing my thoughts, he raised his face to mine and gazed into my eyes. Then he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me until I was again begging for him to make me his.

  The night tucked the edges of her dark, warm blanket around our cooling bodies, embracing us as we clung to each other, the sound of the river lapping the shore lulling us into a light daze. The mosquitoes forced us up. Amid silent, longing looks we helped each other dress. If I died at this moment, I could say that I had known the sweet taste of happiness. It was being with Nick Donnelly.

  * * * * *

  The wind twisted the ends of my hair up and my heart rode high in my throat as we traveled the dark streets of town on his motorcycle. Even though we took the long way home, all too soon we arrived at my house.

  Nick cut the engine a few houses from mine and coasted to the entrance of the driveway before braking. I got off the bike then climbed back on, facing him. Our arms around each other, we whispered, nuzzled, and kissed in the darkness.

  "Thank you for tonight," I murmured against his neck, unable to find the will or the strength to leave his arms.

  "My pleasure," he whispered back, and found my lips to plant a kiss.

  "I hope you . . . . It's important to me that you know that I don't normally do this sort of thing." I kissed him back.

  "What sort of thing—make out on a Kawasaki?" He sucked at my bottom lip, which no longer hurt.

  "Yeah . . . I'm a Harley chick."

  He chuckled at my lame joke.

  I shifted my face away from his searching lips and directed a serious look toward him.

  "What I mean is, I don't make love with guys I don't know. I mean, I've only been with . . . really, I'm not a . . . ." For some stupid reason, I felt tears burning my eyes. I lowered my head.

  "I know what you meant," he said, kissing my forehead, the top of my cheek, the corner of my eye, "and I know you're not."

  "How do you know?" My question was labored—he had moved on to nibbling the delicate dangling flesh of my earlobe, sending chills down my spine. "We don't know each other." I spoke slowly. It was hard work this talking thing when my brain was rushing signals of incoming hot pleasure to all parts of my body and blocking out all instructions such as breathing and talking.

  "Everything about you screams 'good girl'." His voice was low and as seductive as the feel of his lips traveling down my neck and across the strip of skin left bare from where the top few buttons of my dress were still open.

  My fingers curled in his hair to hold his head and searching mouth and tongue close to me.

  I didn't feel like the good girl with him. "Mmm. I can't get enough of you." My words danced out in a voice full of rapture.

  His lips found mine and he kissed me fully, sensuously. Then he pulled back, looked at me and cupped my face in his hands. Moonlight flickered in his eyes and answered the whisper I was hearing all through my body.

  "Come home with me Angel," he said softly. "I'll spend the rest of the night making love to you."

  "And fulfilling my desires?"

  "Every one of 'em."

  "I bet you could," I said huskily.

  "Or have fun trying," he replied and sweetened the offer with another convincing kiss. His hands, which had been around my waist, dropped lower to rest on my thighs.

  They crept beneath my dress and slowly inched their way up my legs as he kissed me. My panties had been sacrificed to line the nests of the little critters that lived on the river bank, so Nick's wandering fingers had green-light access to the wetness between my legs.

  He brushed his thumbs lightly against me, pleasuring me, and I leaned into his touch. I drew in a quick breath when one thumb gently circled the sensitive spot standing at attention just above the entry.

  "You're not making it easy to say no." The words sounded like they came from a person groggy from sleep or drink.

  "Then say yes," he prompted and stopped his hands.

  Every nerve in my body screamed 'yes, yes, just don't stop!' but the small part of my brain that was not fogged over retained control of the unruly crowd. I leaned into him and hugged him.

  "I can't. My parents would kill me if I stayed out all night."

  "With me."

  "With anyone." I was quick to answer because I knew what he was implying.

  His hands retreated to a safer place around my waist, and he was quiet for a moment.

  "I can't change your mind?" he said finally, and kissed me.

  "Yeah, you could. Especially if you keep kissing me like that." We were both going to have swollen lips tomorrow.

  "I'd keep kissing you like that forever if there was a chance it would change your mind."

  "Nick, I told you . . . my parents . . . ."

  He sighed and scratched his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "Is that all that's keeping you from me?"

  His tone pushed me back a bit.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When we see each other at school, are you going to run into my arms and kiss me like you kissed me tonight, or are you going to look away and act like you don't know me?"

  His blunt questioning shot through my heart, knocking me out of his arms and off the bike. I knew myself. While I would want to choose his arms and kisses, what I would do was choose to look away. The separate worlds we lived in wouldn't allow anything else. But still I hesitated, not wanting to give my answer even while knowing it had
to be done.

  "That's what I thought," he said at my silence.

  I wanted to say something more, something to ensure the last moments of our magical night wouldn't simply disappear in the dark to be lost forever. Something like, carry me away on the back of your bike and make good on your vow to satisfy my every desire. But I couldn't bring myself to speak those words, so instead I said, reluctantly, the words that would be the beginning of the end of this night.

  "I better go inside."

  "Yeah, I guess you'd better."

  Before I had half turned to go in, Nick left the bike, grabbed my hand, and pulled me back to him. Sliding his arms around my waist, he clutched my body to his one last time. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tight, possessing him the way he possessed me.

  "Angel." He whispered my name and buried his head in my neck.

  "Nick," I said with a groan when I felt his teeth nipping my skin, "kiss me again."

  He didn't disappoint me. I hungrily took his feel, his touch, his kisses, and gave back in equal portions, causing the fire still burning inside me to flame. I pressed against his hardness but it only served to swell my hunger rather than calm it.

  Gently, reluctantly, and all too soon he broke the kiss and dipped his forehead to touch with mine. I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the sweetness of his mouth that still clung to them. His arms released their power hold on me but remained draped loosely around my hips, allowing me free passage whenever I wanted. In silence we stood, glued to each other. Now and then he dropped a kiss on my cheek, the bridge of my nose, my forehead, the corner of my eye, my chin, my lips. And I let him, encouraged him.

  I didn't want to move away from him or from these fresh new feelings that, now awakened, demanded attention – the kind of attention that only he could give. I was completely content, wrapped in our circle of warmth and passion. I knew that what we had shared could not last beyond the moment I left his arms, so I was going to wring out every last bit of pleasure I could.

  "Come with me, Angel," he beckoned again. "You know you want to."

  "Yes, I do want to, more than anything. But I can't."

  He hung his head for a minute then looked up but not directly at me.