She had never slow-danced.
The world around her seemed to fade as he placed one hand at her hip, held her hand with the other, and eased her against his body.
A harsh gasp tore from her at the contact of her nipples through her dress, against his hard male chest. Even through the layers of clothing the stroke of sensation was violent, electric.
“I don’t dance often,” she tried to cover her reaction to him even as she fought to make sense of it.
“Neither do I.”
The hand at her lower back urged her closer without demanding it. Risa flowed into him, her fingers curling against his shoulder at the feel of his erection pressing against her belly, the feel of the warmth of his body surrounding her.
Her eyes closed and her head settled against his chest. Slowly, she forced herself to relax, let herself feel what it was like to be a woman, rather than a frightened child.
The fear was still there, waiting to attack. But oh God, this was…pleasant. More than pleasant, actually. It was comforting even as it made her feel more sensitive, more alive, than ever before.
One broad male hand stroked her back; the other held her hand against his chest, so close to the side of her breast. If she moved just right, she could feel his fingers stroking against the needy mound.
She didn’t want the song to end. She didn’t want the night to end. She wanted to become trapped in this moment, to relish the feel of his body against hers.
“You move like a fantasy,” he whispered at her ear. “As graceful and fluid as a doe.”
She wanted to believe him, and she couldn’t, but the words stroked the pain and fear inside her.
Neither of them spoke then. Risa let herself be caught in the moment, let herself relax and flow against him, let her body move with his, closer, warmer, until her arms were around his neck, his wrapped around her back, holding her closer. His head was bent, his cheek against the top of her head. She could feel him wrapped around her, holding her, and there was no fear.
She could do this.
She lifted her head and stared up at him. “We don’t have to stay here,” she whispered. He might not be able to hear her, but she watched his eyes, saw the flare of heat in the darkened color, and knew he understood.
“Are you sure?” His lips moved; his expression shifted for just a second, a hint of male hunger showing through the normally still set of his face.
“I’m sure.” She was already shaking inside.
His hand ran up her back, a whisper of sensation against the silk material covering her, then across her bare arm until he had her hand in his and drew back.
“We’ll need to let our friends know we’re leaving,” he warned her gently.
Risa nodded. Yes, she would have to face her friends and their concern.
“Very well.” With his free hand he tucked her hair behind her ear again and allowed his thumb to caress her jaw. “We’ll leave now.”
ORION WATCHED the couple as they moved from the dance floor, carefully controlling the frown that would have creased his forehead. It wouldn’t do to show interest in them. At the moment he was allowing a particularly slutty little brunette to run her fingers up his thigh and pretending interest. But he kept his peripheral vision on the man and woman.
He knew that man; he knew he did. He never ever forgot a face or the name that went to it, but in this case he couldn’t put the face and the name together. How odd?
Plastic surgery? he wondered. That had to be it. Otherwise, he’d have instantly recognized the man who led Risa Clay from the dance floor.
He wanted to grimace at the thought that her companion had that look of a man who intended to fuck the woman he was with.
Even with makeup and the very appealing little slip dress, the girl wasn’t particularly pretty. She wasn’t as ugly as she had been as a teenager, but she wasn’t exactly attractive, either. There was just a quality to her that offended his refined senses.
What was it about that girl that just bothered him? he wondered. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes slightly tilted. The odd pale blue color of her eyes showed up more with the artificial highlights in her hair.
She cleaned up okay, but he still couldn’t find it in him to forget how very ugly she had once been.
He had hoped he wouldn’t receive the job to kill her. He remembered, eight years before when she had first been kidnapped, her face had been in the papers. He’d grimaced then. Two years later when Jansen Clay’s death had been announced, he’d had that vague premonition of what was coming.
It was a shame. His employer should have been more picky in his friends and the women he fucked. If he hadn’t been with Jansen that night to take his pick of the girls, then he wouldn’t have been stuck with only one choice, the Clay girl.
He’d done her, though. He’d pushed her face to the floor of the cargo plane and in front of her father, he’d pushed her skirts to her hips and rammed into her.
He’d been furious, he’d told Orion. The girl had been so pumped on Whore’s Dust, his employer had been certain she wouldn’t remember the event. But it appeared she had remembered parts of it, and he had learned she could be remembering more. It wouldn’t do for her to remember who had raped her.
Orion was going to have to kill her. Damn, it would be so much easier to just put a bullet in her brain, but he just couldn’t bring himself to kill her in such a manner. He was proud of each job he took and if he didn’t bleed her, then no one would believe he had been the one to do her.
Pity. But it couldn’t be helped.
She lived alone. That was a pleasant plus. He could slip into her apartment, gag her, and kill her in her own home. He didn’t get to do that very often. He’d definitely have to put her facedown, though. There was just something about that face that he couldn’t tolerate. Those eyes. She would be a particularly interesting test for him. He’d never had to kill a woman who made him as uneasy as this one did.
CHAPTER 4
HER GRANDMOTHER had always said she was stubborn, but Risa had never believed her. As she stepped into Micah’s hotel room, she wondered if perhaps her grandmother Abigail wasn’t right. Maybe she was too stubborn.
She had made herself go this far, and now that she had, her body was rioting with nerves. She didn’t know this man. She knew nothing about him.
Well, next to nothing. Morganna, Raven, and Emily had imparted some information. He was thirty-two, born to Israeli immigrants, six two, tough. Their husbands respected him. He was clean as of his latest Navy-regulated blood tests. Morganna had stated that Clint believed he was kind. He was good with animals and children.
Hell, it was more than Risa knew about the men her friends were married to.
“Would you like a drink?” She jerked, startled as his hands touched her shoulders, but only to draw her wrap from the death grip she had on it as it lay over her shoulders.
She let the material slide over her arms as she shook her head.
“No, thank you,” she finally breathed out. She didn’t drink often. It had a curiously heated effect on her. It made her want things, things she didn’t understand, touches she had only read about or seen in movies.
“Are you certain this is what you want, Risa?” he asked then, his warm breath caressing the side of her neck as he bent his head to hers. “It’s not too late to turn back. We can go to the bar and talk. I could drive you home.”
She stiffened in sudden self-consciousness. “If you’d prefer not to.” She moved to turn, to take her wrap, to let him off easy. God, had the lights of the club somehow hidden how plain she truly was?
“Prefer not to? I don’t think so.” His hand moved hers to his leg, pressed her palm against the tight muscle of his thigh.
Risa stared down at her hand, noticing how much larger his was as he held her palm against his muscular leg.
Curiosity overtook her. Curiosity and the electric slide of arousal that seemed to build inside her until she wondered that sparks weren’t ref
lecting between them.
“I don’t know how.”
A finger pressed against her lips as he halted her words. “There’s nothing either of us needs to know,” he said softly as she continued to stare down at their hands. “Whatever you wish is yours. If you don’t wish, then you have only to say so and I’ll stop. Agreed?”
She licked her lips nervously and lifted her head. Her attention was caught and held by his lips. His lower lip was a touch fuller, more sensual, than the upper lip. On him, it looked good, sexy.
Her lips parted. “Would you kiss me?”
She felt as though she was begging, but she was helpless against the temptation, against the needs rioting through her body.
“I dream of kissing you,” he whispered, his hand curving around her neck, his fingers heated against her flesh as she let herself accept the lie for now.
He couldn’t have dreamed of kissing her, but she liked the sound of it. It soothed something inside her, and heated another part of her.
She watched as his lips lowered, watched as she felt his breath against her, then the heated rough velvet touch of lips against her own.
Risa inhaled roughly at the static surge of sensation that raced across her lips. She jerked back involuntarily, her hands flying to his chest, palms flat as she blinked back at him in surprise.
His lips tilted into a gentle grin.
“Should we try it again?” he asked softly. “Perhaps next time neither of us will be caught off-guard by the pleasure.”
That was pleasure?
His hand tightened on her neck.
“Watch me, just like that,” his dark voice crooned. “Your eyes wide, your gaze dark because I please you. I want very much to please you, Risa.”
He did? Oh God, was this really pleasure? Could she bear much more of it if it was?
“Easy,” he whispered. “Soft and easy.”
Soft and easy. His lips settled against hers as they parted, a whimper of surging hunger escaping her throat as his head tilted, his hand tightening at her neck as her lashes fluttered closed and she let the waves of pleasure wash through her.
His tongue licked at her lips, then slid past them, just a little as he teased the tip of hers. Her lips parted further for him, her tongue reaching out as she trembled in his grasp.
Oh God, what was he doing to her? Her heart was thundering in her chest, but his was racing just as hard beneath her hands. A hard pounding rhythm that sank into her palms and filled her with wonder.
It was incredible. This kiss. His lips were heated and dominant, determined. They mastered hers, led her through a sexy, sultry dance that had her lifting to her tiptoes to get closer, to sink into him, to sate herself against the hunger surging inside her now.
Her hands slid up his chest, around his neck. Her head fell against his arm and she let the sensations inside her surge over her.
Lips and tongues met and meshed. Liquid fire raced through her veins, pounded into her sex. Her clit was throbbing with such aching need that she found herself pressing into him desperately, rubbing herself against the hard ridge of his cock as his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer.
Mewling cries of need were barely forced back. Many slipped free. She was a pleading mess of sensations that she had no idea how to handle.
She fought to breathe and couldn’t, and didn’t care. She tried to lift closer, to press her nipples tighter into the warmth of his chest, to grind her clit harder against his erection. She didn’t know if she could stand the rapidly whirling sensations tearing through her now. They were unlike anything she had ever known; even that distant memory of flames burning her from the inside out didn’t compare to this.
“Micah.” She tore her lips from his, only to have his hand move to the side of her neck once more to hold her still. His lips were back on hers, his kiss as hungry and desperate as the sensual needs pouring through her body.
“Easy,” he groaned, finally tearing his lips from hers, his big body tense and suddenly harder than ever before. “Hell, Risa, you make a man lose his head.”
She did?
Her eyes opened, and for a second she almost believed him. His face was flushed from lust, his eyes gleaming back at her in hunger.
He wanted her. He couldn’t fake this. This wasn’t anger or depravity. It was simple hunger, for her.
Her hands fumbled at his shoulders before pushing beneath the edge of his jacket and pushing.
Surprise sparked in his eyes, but he let her push the material from his shoulders.
She licked her lips slowly, wanting his kiss again, but wanting something more as well.
Her hands slid back to his chest and moved to the buttons of his shirt. The first one fell free before she lifted her gaze to his.
“Whatever you want.” His voice was thick, rough.
She wanted his shirt off. She pushed the second button free as his head lowered, his lips moving along her shoulder to the sensitive line of her neck.
Risa trembled at the pleasure. The scrape of his teeth sent tremors tearing down her spine and sensation to attack her womb, convulsing it violently as she gasped in surprise.
It must be natural. He didn’t pause. His hands caressed her hips now, stroking the silk of her dress against her flesh and making her long for the touch of his hands.
She worked on the buttons, fingers fumbling, trembling, her neck arched, and she strained closer to the touch of his mouth against her shoulders.
“Take the shirt off and I get to take your dress off,” he warned her, and he meant it. She could hear the determination, the hunger, in his voice.
She wanted her dress off. She wanted to rub against him, feel his skin against hers. She wanted to know what it was like. How much more pleasure could she bear? How much of his touch could she stand without melting to the floor with the heat rising inside her.
Her fingers reached the band of his slacks and her fingers formed fists in the material to drag his shirt out of his pants. It was open now, falling away from his surprisingly broad chest. Soft, silky chest hairs were scattered over it and arrowed down his taut stomach.
Her fingers touched the silky stuff, curled, and ran down that dark line until they met his pants once again.
She could do as she wished, he’d said.
His head lifted from her shoulder as hers straightened, and she stared back at him as her fingers touched the buckle of his belt.
“Whatever you wish,” he whispered again. “Tonight, I’m all yours, Risa.”
Tonight, just for tonight. She could have this, no explanations, no knowledge of each other. This was what she needed. She didn’t have to face him in the morning; she could leave when it was over. She would never see him again. He would never know her shameful secrets.
Her fingers pulled at the buckle, loosened the leather, and left it free as they moved to the clasp and zipper.
This wasn’t so hard. She could do this.
His slacks came loose easily. Beneath were soft cotton briefs and straining thick, hard flesh. The backs of her fingers felt the heat of that flesh; her hand ached to touch it.
“Your turn.” His voice was a heavy growl.
She felt the hidden zipper at the back of her dress loosen and stilled. She watched him carefully as he eased the straps over her arms and pushed the material from her body.
It caught at her breasts, and she swore he swallowed tightly before pulling it over her straining nipples. The sensation of silk brushing against the tight nubs had her moaning. A sound she tried to cut off and couldn’t.
“Risa.” His hands smoothed down her arms as she felt a latent hunger burning inside him.
Her womb clenched, she felt her vagina tightening, the slick essence of need coating the bare lips as he stared down at her breasts.
“I want to touch you.” His groan was rougher now, filled with a primal power that sent a shiver down her back. “Sweet mercy. You make me shake with the need to touch you.”
She star
ed at him in wonder, wondering if he was lying, if they were just pretty words. Her mind and her heart doubted, but her body overruled it. The clash and clamor of demand shuddered through her as his hands cupped the swollen mounds.
Her knees weakened. How was she supposed to stand? The room felt as though it were spinning around her as weakness assailed her. She gripped his shoulders and watched, eyes wide as he palmed the flesh. His thumbs raked over her distended nipples and a surge of heat caught her unaware, causing her to stumble.
“You’re making me weak!” she cried out as he caught her against him.
His lips stole anything else she would say. Slanting across hers he kissed her with a power and a demand she was helpless to fight against. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her. A moan slipped past their kiss as she felt him lowering her to the bed, easing over her, his heavy, heated body encasing her in warmth.
“Risa, you make a man lose control,” he charged as he pulled back, his hand going to her breast once again, cupping it, shaping it with his palm. “I want to taste you here. I want to draw every ounce of sweet hunger from your body.”
She couldn’t protest. She wanted to protest. Violent pulses of sensation were charging through her body, drawing her tight, trembling through her as his head lowered.
She didn’t know what she expected. She’d read about this. She’d seen it in movies; she hadn’t expected this. Both hands encased her breast, plumped her nipple high; then his mouth covered it, sucked it in, and caused her to cry out with the turbulent surge of pleasure that seemed to tear through her womb.
“Micah. I can’t stand…” She arched; her head shook. She wanted him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop. His lips were drawing on her, electricity was tearing through her, and between her thighs fingers of electrical explosions tore through her clit, her vagina.
She was torn, terrified of herself now more than she was of the man.
“Easy, love.” He was breathing hard, his features flushed as his head lifted. His hand smoothed down her side as the other plumped her other breast now, preparing it for his mouth.