Emergency Attraction (Love Emergency) Page 4

  His fast, reckless mouth moved up her throat while maddeningly careful fingers stroked between her thighs. His touch lit up every cell in her body. His kisses set her on fire until she glowed white-hot. The intensity in his stormy green eyes quickened her heart. Made her feel wild and invincible. She sank her hands into his hair—thick and soft and in need of a trim—dug her knees into the fleece blanket she’d brought to cushion them from the packed earth within the curtain of the willow, and plastered her trembling body against his lean, hard, surprisingly powerful one.

  “Please,” she whispered. She was his in every way except this, and time was running out. To urge him on, she snuck her hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around a part of him she’d explored to her heart’s content with her hands, lips, and mouth over the last few weeks. The thick, hard length pulsed in her grip—reassuring and intimidating at the same time.

  He groaned, and raised his head to look at her. A flush tinged his cheeks and did fluttery things to her stomach. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Sin…”

  Whatever he was going to say faded into the humid evening air as she dragged her fist up, tugging velvety skin over a core of smooth steel. His flush deepened. His eyelids battled gravity for a moment, but ultimately his long, dark lashes fell, casting shadowy wings across his cheeks. Another, deeper groan rumbled up from his chest. “Uh-oh. Baby girl’s found her favorite toy.”

  So true. She loved touching him—everywhere—but especially here. How could she resist such a fascinating set of contradictions? Strong, but vulnerable. Hard, but fragile.

  Big.

  Maybe bigger than anything nature intended for her to accommodate? The imposing shaft surged to new dimensions as she stroked, and her courage flagged a little.

  As if he read her mind, he cupped her head and tipped her face to his. Labored breaths fanned her cheek. The strength in his hands, the sheer power of his body might have scared her, because she was about to put herself at the mercy of all that strength and power, but the way he banked it for her, and looked at her as if she was the most important thing in the world, chased away the fear.

  He swept hair back from her sweaty temples and held her gaze. “You can play with me all night. Just like this. I guarantee it will be the best birthday of my life.” Lips caressed her temple, and one of his hands swept down their bodies to cover her fist where it held him. “It already is.”

  The glint of the infinity symbol on his wrist caught her eye. She’d shaped the platinum wire herself and woven it into the black leather bracelet—a birthday present she’d made especially for him. She’d cut her thumb on a pointy sliver of wire in the process. The pain had been a fleeting thing, and worth enduring in order to give him something so heartfelt. The rest of his gift fell into the same category—one moment of pain to give him something special. Something she could only give once, and she needed to give it to him. Now. Besides, at this point, the torture of holding back far outweighed anything physical she might have to withstand.

  “Your birthday is about to get better.” Clinging to her bravery, she tightened her grip and angled his hard-on so it pointed her way. Before he could recover from the move, she lowered herself.

  The wide, smooth head of his dick slid around for a second, feeling big and unwieldy in the comparatively small crevice she was trying to guide him through, but then, miraculously, she found the target, and pushed him in as far as she could before her tight muscles begged her to stop. She bit her lip to stifle a moan.

  “Oh, Jesus.” His hand flew to her hip, fingers digging into her skin. The other maintained a hold on the base of his cock. “Let me…let me…”

  “Don’t move,” she managed, and heard the waver in her voice over the rush of blood in her ears. She barely felt his other hand move to support her trembling thigh. The stinging pain between her legs demanded all of her attention. She switched from holding him, to holding herself, her fingers forming a wide “v” around the place where their bodies connected.

  Eyes closed, she gritted her teeth, and lowered herself a little more. The ache intensified to something impossible to get beyond. Tears burned. A million frozen needles pricked her skin, making her shiver, leaving her cold everywhere except the one spot where scalding heat refused to abate. “Are—are you in?”

  “Baby girl, I’m about halfway there.” His thumb swept over her trembling lip. “You’re hurting.”

  Stoicism abandoned her. She nodded. “Bad.”

  “Want to stop?”

  The clipped words told her the offer cost him. She blinked her eyes open and took in his tense jaw, the little notch between his brows, and his gaze locked on her face. “Does it feel good to you?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No… Fuck.” He dropped his chin to his chest, and groaned. “God yes. Being inside you feels like heaven.”

  All her emotions threatened to break loose. Holding them back inflicted a different type of pain.

  The torture of holding back.

  She’d put herself between a rock and a hard place, and there was only one way out. “Okay.” She sniffed back tears and held him tighter to stop the shakes rattling her. “Okay. You do it. You’ve done this before.”

  “I’ve had sex before. I haven’t done this before. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just do it fast.”

  “Sinclair…”

  “Please?” Her teeth chattered over the word. “I trust you—”

  He drew her back, and kissed her, hard. Then her world tipped on its axis, and she landed flat on her back on the blanket in a move controlled solely and exclusively by him. He kept right on kissing her while he hitched her leg up to his waist. The position, and simple physics, accomplished the deed in one searing second. He sank deep, tearing past her body’s fragile resistance, swallowing her gasp as if by sealing his lips to hers he could absorb the hurt. When her cry subsided to a whimper, and the pain subsided—thank you God—to something hot and…itchy, he relinquished her mouth and trailed his lips over her cheek to kiss away tears she hadn’t realized had snuck from beneath her closed eyes.

  She forced them open, and drank in every beautiful plane and angle of his face, from the slope of his forehead, to the subtle hollows under his cheekbones, to his chiseled chin. “Happy birthday, Shane.” Then she followed a need too consuming to fight and rocked her hips.

  A shudder wracked his body. His pupils expanded, turning his eyes dark as they stared into hers. “I love you, Sinclair,” he whispered.

  The dam on her own emotions broke, and she let the words that had been building for the last three weeks tumble from her lips. “I love you, too. I love you…I love you…”

  Even as she locked her arms around his shoulders and held on with everything she had, she couldn’t protect the moment. Harsh light began to filter through the network of leaves above her. It burned through everything, like film caught in a projector, obliterating the sheltering tree, the warm night, and Shane.

  Dread poured into her gut, heavy and sickening, as the light separated into shapes, and then the shapes fell into focus. Serious faces peered down at her from behind white surgical masks. New pain struck, low, unrelenting, and terrifying.

  She tried to cry out, but her voice was a cloud—insubstantial and beyond her reach. Everything around her kaleidoscoped, and when the whirling stopped, she was lying in a hospital bed while her father—the man who had patiently assembled a thousand Barbie accessories for her and Savannah, coached their softball teams, and given her a silver chain and heart bracelet on her last birthday because he wanted to be the first man to give her jewelry—stared at her with a look of fury and desperation on his face she’d never seen before, and never wanted to see again.

  “My sixteen-year-old daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and some fucking criminal is walking around scot-free. Give me his name, Sinclair. Give me his name or I swear to God, you’re going to be grounded for real. No phone, no computer, no nothing…”

 
The churn of tires on gravel threw her out of the dream. She jerked upright in her chair, dragging in air like a drowning woman, scanning her surroundings through a blur of tears to reassure herself she was in the here and now.

  The old boards of the barn she called home stared back at her, steady and reassuring. They’d withstood more than a century of challenges and done what they were supposed to do. Accepting the silent inspiration they offered, she wiped her face, pushed back from her worn-but-sturdy pine table, and headed to the door. She could handle half a dozen encounters with Shane Maguire.

  She stepped outside, lowered her black sunglasses over her tired eyes, and slid the heavy barn door closed behind her. Shane killed his engine a moment before it clattered into place, making the noise sound all the more profound and final in the sudden silence. She turned in time to watch him climb down from the Range Rover. A civilized white button-down only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and skimmed the trim lines of his torso before disappearing into tailored gray suit pants. With the shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms, his light-blue tie loosened, and two buttons at his throat hanging open, he looked like he’d just taken over the world and was ready for the next conquest. Then his focus landed on her, and his mouth curled up at one corner. He didn’t say a word, but every step he took to close the distance between them told her he had his next conquest in sight.

  Clear, green eyes took in her long, black V-neck sweater and leggings. Yes, her favorite sapphire teardrops dangled from her ears—the ones she knew set off her eyes—but she was a jewelry designer, for Christ’s sake, and she’d be naked without at least one statement piece. She certainly hadn’t dressed up for him, and if he didn’t like it, he could just turn tail and be on his way, because she was damn tired. Two overheated, uncomfortable nights spent tossing in her bed, fighting off old memories, and new memories—it was his fault she couldn’t sit at her kitchen table for five quiet minutes without falling asleep.

  Irritation propelled her down the slight slope of her yard toward the drive. He met her halfway. Before he could say a word, she cut him off. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  …

  “Been thinking about sleeping with me, Sinclair?”

  Because he couldn’t resist touching her, even with do-not-touch coming off her in waves, he slid her dark glasses up to the top of her head. The move disturbed her earrings. The dangling gems swung back and forth, sparkling in the afternoon light. She shivered, and he had a quick, dirty fantasy about making those eye-catching earrings dance to the rhythm of his body driving into hers, accompanied by the music of her husky voice breaking over his name.

  “No.” Eyes even bluer than the sapphires regarded him. “I’m thinking about not sleeping with you. And I have to be home by eight, so if this outing is an attempt at seduction, you’re wasting your time.”

  He risked another brush of the earring, letting his fingertip skim her earlobe this time. “Our outing is my attempt to get reacquainted with my hometown. I can’t be blamed if you find me seductive.”

  “I don’t.” She stepped out of his reach and put her sunglasses back on. “Not in the least.”

  “Well, then”—he gestured toward his SUV—“you have nothing to worry about, do you?”

  Ready to prove the point to both of them, she swept past and headed to the Range Rover. He beat her there and opened the door for her. The stern look she shot him pulled a genuine laugh from his chest. “What? Holding the door constitutes seduction? If that’s true, I attempted to bag an eighty-year-old woman at city hall this afternoon.”

  She climbed into the Rover, but not before he saw her lips twitch. “Shot down by a senior citizen?”

  “Apparently.” Satisfied he’d defused her mood, at least enough to get the small laugh, he shut the door and walked around the front of the car to the driver’s seat. Once he got in, he paused to remove his tie. While he folded it, he eyed the barn. Weathered boards sat on a ballast stone and mortar base. One no doubt built by hand over a century ago.

  “Rustic.”

  The dry observation earned him another laugh. He tucked his tie into the compartment between the seats and watched as she cast the old structure a fond look. “A couple years ago, Mrs. Pinkerton overheard me talking real estate with Mayor Campbell’s wife. I mentioned I was looking for a place off the beaten track, with more privacy and personality than one of the cookie-cutter condos springing up around town. I needed lots of room, and light, as I wanted to include my workshop under the same roof. She jokingly suggested this place, but as soon as I saw it, I stopped laughing. I loved the potential of all the raw, open space, and the lack of pretense. It was built to be useful, and by God, I could use it. I went back to Mrs. Pinkerton and asked if she was serious. When it comes to money, she always is, so we worked out a deal.”

  “How much did she pay you to take a dilapidated barn off her hands?”

  “Ha. Ha. You are funny. Needless to say, the price was right, which helped because it left me some cash for improvements.”

  “Improvements? I’m looking at the improved version?”

  “Not fully. It’s a work in progress, but I’ve done a few things, here and there—turned the loft openings into windows and added skylights. I’ve got more planned, but nothing that changes the fundamental character much. Not to get too new age-y about things, but the creative energy of the place is good.”

  “Yeah?” He inspected the barn again. “Is creative energy another way to say lack of plumbing?”

  “Don’t judge, princess. I have hot running water, flush toilets, and everything.”

  “All the comforts of home?” He didn’t bother hiding the curiosity in his voice, hoping she might invite him in and show him around. And not just for the obvious reason that the tour could end in her bedroom. Her words from yesterday still rang in his mind. I’m involved with life. My home, my family, my work. He wanted to know about her life, but asking her straight out to share would only backfire. Dark glasses and folded arms spoke volumes. She had her barriers in place. She might be civil as long as he didn’t do anything to threaten them, but she intended to keep him at a distance. Too bad for her he’d spent the last decade learning how to get around barriers, quickly and deftly, so the target never even realized defenses had been breached.

  “All the comforts I need, for now,” she conceded, “plus a very short commute down a flight of stairs to my studio.”

  Her body angled toward his, and he inwardly smiled. The conversation drew her in, whether she realized it or not. He lifted his hand from its perch along the seatback and touched her earring again. “Seems a little risky, keeping things like this lying around a barn.”

  Her perfume, or shampoo…something faintly floral…permeated the leathery new-car smell of the Rover. It made him want to drag her close and find out if the scent grew stronger when he buried his face in her long, unbound hair, or when he pressed kisses against the warm pulse at the base of throat. Or warm pulses in other places.

  “Skylights and windows weren’t my only improvements,” she said, cutting into his rogue thoughts. “I installed a two-thousand-pound, fireproof, bulletproof, tamper-resistant safe, plus a top-rated alarm system wired for every entry point, including the skylights. Don’t be fooled by appearances.” She tapped the window with her fingernail. “That barn is both sanctuary and fortress.”

  Sanctuary. Fortress. Interesting terms. Sanctuary suggested she wasn’t inviting him in anytime soon. He started the car and began backing down her narrow, unpaved drive. Fortress probably meant the building was secure enough for her insurance company, which wasn’t a bad standard, but all that aside, he still had a hard time reconciling the girl who’d grown up ensconced in the comfort of one of the best neighborhoods in Magnolia Grove with the woman who lived a good two miles from her nearest neighbor, in a building originally meant for livestock and storage. Then again, she’d always had a soft spot for rough-edged things in need of attention. He’
d qualified, once upon a time.

  “So, it’s livable?”

  “Depends on whom you ask,” she conceded, turning to check for cars as he approached the road and then giving him an “all clear” sign. “My mom keeps waiting for me to move into a ‘normal’ house, but she might change her tune once I’m done remodeling.”

  He pulled out onto the empty road and shifted to drive. “And where are you at with that?”

  “The waiting stage. I need the city planning commission to approve my permits.” The toe of her black boot—sexy, suede ankle boots today—bounced up and down, telegraphing her impatience with the process.

  “I commandeered an office at city hall for the duration of the project. Want me to check on the application next time I’m there? I might be able to grease the skids for you.”

  The offer hung in the air. He kept his eyes on the road, veering left to take the route that wound north, but he felt her regarding him. He could practically hear the thoughts forming in her head. Shane Maguire, notorious fuckup, now regularly interacted with city officials. The mayor had him on speed dial. He worked on the right side of the line nowadays, and he got shit done.

  “No worries,” she finally replied and looked out the window at the trees zipping past. “I filed the application a couple weeks ago, just missing the deadline to get on the agenda for this month’s meeting. There could be some back-and-forth with the plans. I doubt you’ll be around long enough to see them through the entire review process.”

  Probably not. His calendar showed him in Seattle as soon as he finished here, and then on to the next client, and the next. Travel was an integral part of his job, and he liked it that way.

  He didn’t, however, like dismissals, and he recognized one when he heard it. His pride fought back. “What makes you assume I’m not still thinking about sticking around?” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He was thinking about it. Rejecting the thought, but still…

  She continued staring straight ahead but pulled her mouth into an off-center frown. An immediate desire to sink his teeth into her upper lip shot through him. He could almost hear her little moan of pleasure. Almost feel her mouth go soft and seeking under his.