Chapter 13
Alana chattered about her grandmother as they made their way to the house. He heard the affection in her voice and under that, a tinge of nervousness. Knowing she was nervous aroused him more than the touch of her hand in his.
Though he wanted to fling her over his shoulder and carry her straight to the closest bed, he told himself he could wait. He wanted to bring her slow, soul-spinning pleasure. He wanted to see the look in her eyes as he took her to that place that women loved to go.
What he didn’t want to cop to was the pleasure of simply being in her company and the warm feeling running through him as he listened to her stories about her early years on the ranch.
Her tumbled combination of bravado and insecurity triggered conflicting and uncomfortable emotions.
The hardest emotion to swallow was how much he liked her.
The depth of his feeling sharpened the edge of his wariness. She was a loose cannon, he reminded himself—a likable, beautiful, intriguing loose cannon. Liking her so much would make it harder to hold to his resolve and keep their affair in the safe, casual zone where he knew it should stay. When she mentioned that Enzo was the olive oil consultant for the ranch and Matt realized the man was not a lover, the fading twinge of jealousy told him that keeping his feelings casual could be tougher than he’d calculated. He didn’t want to think about the many men who’d line up to be right where he was at that very moment.
When they reached the house, she led him to an upstairs study and excused herself to get the wine. Matt saw the corner of an ornate bed frame in the adjoining room. He could only assume it was her bedroom.
“I’m afraid I’ve pushed the cork into the bottle,” she said when she returned. “I knew there was a reason I like champagne. That never happens with bubbly.”
She set the bottle on a desk and used her finger to push the cork down in an attempt to open a passage for the wine.
“Let me help,” Matt said as he crossed to her. What he thought he could do, he didn’t know, but anything was better than sitting in the ornate upholstered chair halfway across the room.
“I think I’ve got it, I—”
She stopped as he brushed up against her side. Her hair had fallen away from her neck, exposing creamy skin. He watched her pulse quicken and bent and traced the curve of her neck with his lips. She froze.
“Matt, I think—”
He closed his lips over hers, smothering whatever she was going to say. The last thing either of them needed to do right then was think. He took the bottle from her hands and set it on the desk. Then he ran his hands up under her shirt. Her bare skin was soft and hot under his fingertips. Unable to hold back, he crushed her against him. The honey-sweet taste of her entered him like a drug he’d been pretending he didn’t need.
Their kisses were frenzied as they moved into the bedroom, him stripping off her shirt and her wriggling out of her jeans. He managed to pull a condom from his wallet and unzip his jeans, lower them over his hips, and slip on the condom. When he reached to stroke her between her legs, to slip his finger to her sweet spot and bring her pleasure, she pulled his hand away and told him she’d die if she had to wait a moment longer. He was a man who liked to have clear permission from a woman, and that was about the clearest message he’d ever heard. He tumbled her across the bed and pinned her hands up over her head. The look in her eyes as he entered her with a swift thrust pierced him. He tried to pull back, to go slow, but she begged him not to. As she came, he took her gasps into his mouth. He couldn’t hold off. The guttural growl that came from his throat as he released into her was like no sound he’d ever made.
Panting, he pulled out of her. He’d drilled her when he’d meant to do anything but.
Gasping, he lay beside her and pulled her to him, molding her body against his, and stayed still until he could breathe easily. Until he could think.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice rumbled; he didn’t like it. “I didn’t mean to be rough, Alana.”
He rolled off the bed, pulled his briefs and jeans up his thighs and disposed of the condom.
“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice had a drowsy after-sex purr that made him hard again just hearing it. “I knew it’d be like this with you.”
“Like what?”
She raised her brows and a half smile curved her lips. “Bone shattering.”
“Is that a compliment?” He wasn’t fishing for a compliment. His performance hardly qualified. But he couldn’t deny the raw power they’d shared. He wanted to know—to know how it was for her.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe’s not my style, but if that was maybe sex, I can go with it.” He could more than go with it—he felt that he was channeling all the pent-up erotic energy of a lifetime into these moments with her.
She stood and took hold of his collar in her fisted hands. “Take this off. I’m naked and you’re not.” She slipped her fingers inside his shirt. “I want to see this body.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, inhaling as her fingers traced circles around his nipples. Then she fingered his jeans and undid the button at the waist. Her hair fell in a rippling curtain as she bent and pulled the zipper down. He was hard again, and his erection strained against the thin cotton of his briefs. She ran her tongue over the hood of his shaft, and his wetness soaked through the cotton to meet the warm, slick trail of her circling tongue. She pulled the elastic band of his briefs down just an inch and closed her lips around him.
“No, Alana.” He roped his fingers in her hair and tried to tug her away.
“Yes,” she said, resisting him. He released some of the pressure so he wouldn’t pull too hard at her hair, but he liked the tension of him pulling and her fighting to lick him.
She closed her mouth around his shaft. He moaned as she moved her lips up and down driving ball-tightening pleasure deep.
Without warning, she stopped. She pushed into his belly with her head and nudged him onto the bed.
“Off.”
She pulled off his shoes and then tugged at his jeans. A wicked smile lit her eyes. No woman on earth could possibly look as foxy as Alana did at that moment. Her mouth was slick with moisture from sucking him, her hair fell in tendrils around her neck and her crossed arms accentuated the lush curves of her unbelievable breasts.
She waved her hand. “Take it off. All of it.”
He heard the toying, dominating tone and the invitation under it. He suspected she was a woman accustomed to being in control, but two could play at that game.
He stood, removed his jeans and kicked them across the room.
He sat on the edge of the bed and with a swift motion, pulled her across his lap, her belly and breasts against his thighs and her lush bottom in full view. She wriggled in protest, but he held her firmly face down across his legs.
He stroked his palm across the curve of her ass and then tracked a finger down until he reached the slick, wet warmth of her. She moaned as he used his thumb to circle the hard, pulsing flesh of her most sensitive spot.
“Tell me you want it, Alana. Say it.”
He slid two of his fingers into her and found the nubbed texture of her G-spot. She gasped and writhed on his lap, her hands gripping the bedspread beside her, fisting as a wave of pleasure took her. His erection throbbed against her belly, and he took in a steadying breath. Nothing in his life had been more erotic than seeing Alana lost in bliss. But the heady power of the giving and taking of control pushed him to his edge. If he was going to make this last, if he was going to pleasure her as he’d dreamed, he couldn’t let himself get lost in his own pleasure.
“Say it,” he teased as he slid his fingers slowly in and out of her and made her writhe.
“I want you.” Her breathless surrender was as much of a turn-on as was the sensual beauty of her body.
“How, baby? How do you want me?”
“For God’s sake, Matt,”—she struggled to haul in a breath—“any way. Please, pleas
e, please.”
He drew his finger out, and she gasped.
“That’s not good enough.” He spanked his palm playfully across the round flesh of her ass. Not hard, just right. Just enough to make her cry out with surprised pleasure.
“Tell me, Alana. How do you want it?”
He raised his hand again and brought it down on her other ass cheek, gently, firmly, but with the unmistakable sting of his intention. He felt her muscles coiling, preparing to take back control. He held her, keeping her from moving anywhere on her own.
Without waiting for her to say anything, he flipped her over and pressed her up and across the bed. He used his forearms to spread her legs and pin her, then lowered his mouth, slipping his tongue between the silky curls of her sex, tasting her readiness, savoring her salty wetness, reveling in the moans of pleasure as she bucked against him. He thrust his finger deep into her while he slowly circled his tongue and sucked at her pink tenderness.
She screamed, and her hips rose up against his mouth as pleasure racked through her.
“Matt. I want you. Inside me.” She reached for him, but he pushed her arms back, kept her pinned on the bed.
Between her salty, sweet, ball-rocking taste and the sound of her moan as he licked and suckled her again, he was having a hard time not giving in to her. But control was a strong tool in his kit.
“Now. Now, Matt. Please.”
“No, baby. Not until you tell me how you want me.”
He licked her again, and she tried to wriggle out from under him. She was no match for his strength.
“Tell me, Alana.” He held her pinned.
“From behind,” she gasped.
Thank God. Just watching her writhe with pleasure, seeing her breasts sway when he looked up toward her face, was enough to make him come. If she’d waited another minute, it would have been over. As she lay across the bed catching her breath, he unwrapped his last condom and slipped it on. Then he flipped her and gripped her hips, pulling her ass up against him. Yeah, just like that.
No wonder he had trouble in the yoga classes he took in the off-season—downward dog was the perfect pose for rockin’ great sex. There’d been days in class he’d had to close his eyes, shut out the sight of women who were there only to work out, and concentrate on stats in order to banish thoughts of sex from his mind.
But he didn’t have to do that now. His eyes were wide open and his focus was solely on Alana’s body.
He slid one palm down her belly and stroked her sex, rolling the pearl-hard peak with his fingers and tweaking her nipple with his other hand until she cried out.
“You promised,” she moaned.
He’d promised all right. He pushed into her until there was no space between her body and his. Her muscles contracted around him as she came.
She lowered her shoulders to the bed, and he held her hips, watching as he slid in and out, her gorgeous ass meeting his body, slapping pleasure into him with every thrust. He got lost in the pleasure, lost in the rhythm. God, she felt so good. So warm and wet. So damned tight around him...
He opened his eyes when she shuddered against him, not knowing he’d closed them. Seeing her lost in another orgasm, he unleashed the energy screaming for release. His own orgasm blasted through him, and he fought not to black out. Now he was the astonished one, the one no longer in control. The surge of energy pouring through him as he came shocked him. Had he known such an overwhelming power existed, he might have feared it.
Alana turned slightly, and Matt eased her to the bed until they were both on their sides, him spooning her from behind. Her breaths matched his, ragged at first and then slowly easing into a quieter rhythm. She reached back and found his hand, twined her fingers in his and pulled their joined hands to a spot just under her breast.
He closed his eyes, intending to get up in a moment. But he was boneless. He’d rest just a minute...
“I’d love a shower.”
Matt heard the whispered words through a warm darkness.
“A nice hot shower.”
Alana.
She pulled his fingers, still wrapped in hers, to her lips. She licked and nibbled, drawing one finger into her mouth.
Matt’s eyes shot open. He was in Alana’s bed. Wrapped around Alana’s body.
And she was shivering.
Damn, he’d blacked out or fallen asleep or whatever long enough that she’d grown chilled.
She sucked hard on his finger, and he groaned.
A shower was exactly what he wanted.
In the huge tiled shower they kissed and soaped each other’s bodies. He was exquisitely aware of the power of touch. His fingers tingled when he stroked her. His skin sizzled where she touched him.
He took the soap from her and pressed her against the marble tile. He palmed the soap and used the edge of the bar to rub between her legs, felt it strike just so against her hardening nub.
He held her, balanced in his arms, and met her lips with a deep, hungry kiss. When she stopped shuddering, he set her on her feet. She slid to the floor of the shower, heedless of the water raining down onto her face, and used her hands on him until his body pulsed with a screaming gush of release that more than surprised him.
He leaned both hands against the shower wall to hold himself up.
Sex with Alana was like walking through a door into a land he thought he knew but now realized he’d never explored. A power arced between them when she met him in a deep place he rarely visited.
He turned, watched her turn the water off. Watched her step from the shower, grinning at him over her shoulder.
There’d been times when he’d feared the power of his body, of his mind, but Alana met him on a different playing field, whether she meant to or not. She met him in his soul. And he didn’t know if he should fear their connection and its strength or run toward it.
That connection shook him. He’d never imagined anyone entering that private space, not like she had. He couldn’t deny the power, but he wasn’t sure he liked the edginess that came with it. It was foreign territory. Experience, practice, discipline—none of those tools would serve him there.
He followed her from the shower and pulled a towel from a hook. Neither of them spoke as he slowly stroked the water from her toned legs, the delicious curve of her hips, the round firmness of her breasts. He dragged the towel up her spine and pulled her against his chest, the pebbled contraction of her nipples betraying her arousal. She pulled away and tugged the towel from his hands.
“Turn around,” she said in a near whisper.
Maybe she felt the same spell-like web enveloping her. He turned and found himself facing the floor-to-ceiling mirror along one wall. She rose on her tiptoes, using the towel to dry his shoulders, then his chest. She tracked the towel down his arm and dried his hand, finger by finger. The intimacy unsettled him, and the gentleness of her movement, the slight quiver of her smile, had his heart racing.
She wrapped the towel around him and tucked one edge under the other to secure it to his waist. She glided into her bedroom, where she pulled on a robe, her every move a study in simple seduction. He watched from the doorway as she retrieved the wine from her desk in the study. At her bedside table she poured out a glass and motioned him to join her.
As she handed him the glass, her fingertips brushed his. She poured another glass, not looking at him as she drew in a couple of long, deep sips. Her hair fell in waves around her bare shoulders, and the light cast by the lamp at her bedside lit her from behind.
He sipped his wine and watched as she sat down on the bed and settled back against the pillows. No wonder Alex asked her to do the ad for the symphony—any fool with a camera could capture her beauty. It was right there for the world to see.
With a sigh she tucked her legs under her. When she looked up at him from under her lashes, he saw not only her stunning beauty, but beneath it her vulnerability, a side she hid from the world under the layers of glamor and studied manners.
/> He wanted to pull her into his arms and wrap protection around her, keep her safe, to shield her from all the projections that the world foisted on beautiful women.
Projection.
He knew what it was like to get caught in a cultural projection. Most fans were great; they got that under the performance and the money and the hype, players were people. But then there were those who saw only their own fantasy, and God help him whenever he was around one of those fans after he pierced a hole in their hard-held obsession. On his good days he felt compassion for them—holding a fantasy like that took a lot of energy, and he knew there must be something terrifically painful beneath it that they needed to keep at bay.
And looking at Alana and feeling how much he wanted her, even though he knew he shouldn’t, he realized he sure as hell didn’t want to start projecting his fantasies onto her. Sharing a fantasy was one thing; projecting one onto someone else was another matter entirely.
“You’re a million miles away,” Alana said as she reached to place her glass on the bedside table.
Some part of him clamored that he be honest, reveal the effect she had on him, give voice to the fire coursing through his veins. But the playful look in her eyes and the tilt of her head as she waited for him to answer and the ping of warning that shot through him made him think better of sharing such unformed, intimate thoughts.
He sat on the side of the bed and fingered one of the soft tendrils that framed her face. “I’m just taking you in.”
Though he’d tried for an easy tone, a level tone, he heard the emotional power behind his reply. From the way her eyes went wide, she did too. These were no calm waters they were swimming in, no matter how either of them tried to deny it. The impulse for honesty surged again. As he searched for words to tell her how amazing he found her, his phone rang.
He crossed to where he’d tossed his jeans and pulled the phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. His sister.
“Not Sophie,” he said as he clicked off the phone. “It’s nice to know she’s safely tucked away down in your kids’ camp.”
He watched her guard slam into place, quick and solid, like a porcupine throwing up its protective quills and backing into its lair.
“You’ve heard of funeral sex?” Alana said as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “This must’ve been memorial sex.” She laughed, but there was no joy in it. “It’s nice to have sex with no strings.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“So thank you,” she said in a tone that should have been light but sounded forced. “We’re so completely wrong for each other’s lives that there’s no worry.”
She didn’t laugh, and he realized she was serious.
“We can’t have problems if it’s only temporary.”
She sat up straighter against the pillows. Matt tried to read the expression her eyes, but she was clearly more expert than he at hiding emotions.
“I mean I’m obviously not mother material and you’ve got your hands full. You don’t have to fuss with courting me and all that. It’s sort of freeing, isn’t it?”
Well... damn. He’d just been delivered the female version of wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. She could’ve just as easily said: Good sex, dude, thanks. Now scram.
After their mind-blowing evening, her unexpected and bald statement of what she thought of the sex made him feel used, even tricked. Even a bit queasy.
He pulled on his clothes, stalling as he searched for an appropriate response.
What had he expected?
He’d been in the same frame of mind when he drove to the ranch that evening—he’d planned to enjoy a couple of hot nights with her and then get back to reality. She was just going along with the unspoken game plan.
But he hadn’t counted on having his world rocked, first by the sex that went way beyond sex and then by her honest indifference.
He’d made another mental mistake, this time making connections where there weren’t any. And he sure as hell couldn’t blame her. They’d both known it could only be sex. Changing the ground rules would only cause them trouble.
Still, it was damned funny how life could take a turn in the course of only a few hours.
Only after he’d said a rather tense goodnight and sat in the darkness of his car, he realized it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t funny at all.