The Yearning (2 page)

“Sorry.” He ran his thumb over his mouth to tame his smile. “I have no affiliation with the IRS.”

“FBI?”

His expression gave nothing away.

Anxious, she continued to guess. “CIA?” No response. “DOD?” He didn’t even blink. “FHA?” He regarded her with increasing amusement. She decided to play into it. “MTV? DVD? JD? CD—”

“Enough.” He put up his hand, his shoulders shaking with more laughter. “Before you go through every acronym you know, I will tell you this much—I used to be with the US Marshals Service, all right?”

Jasmine nodded, worried his consulting work required him to carry a gun. What would it do to tonight’s plan? She took in his length, searching for a weapon. Not seeing one, she noted a scar near his tattoo. The line of puckered, pink skin looked frail and vulnerable on his sinewy arm. She lowered her fingertips to the uneven surface. The muscle beneath it jumped. Compassion, rather than an indecent urge, weakened her voice. “Is this from a bullet?” Her head lifted. “Did someone try to kill you? Is that why you left the Marshals Service and went into consulting?”

His expression clouded, cautioning her not to pursue the subject. As she took back her hand, he grabbed the Dos Equis and finished a fourth of it. She bit her lower lip, expecting he’d excuse himself and leave because of her foolish questions.

Instead, he cocked one brow. “How about we talk about you?”

She couldn’t. He’d never know the real Jasmine. If she and her sisters were unable to locate Desiree and beg her to remove the curse, it was unlikely she’d survive. Each day she became more obsessed and exhausted. With fear gripping her, she nodded. “Sure. I watched that redhead hitting on you. I admired your restraint.”

He lowered his head and shook it. “You’re still talking about me.”

“I can’t help it. Few men would have acted as you did.”

“Then they’re fools.” He raised his face. “That kid’s barely out of puberty and had too much to drink. Tomorrow, she’ll regret it”

“Or blog about it.”

He smiled. “True.”

“What did she say that made you frown? I know, I know,” she added quickly, “I’m still talking about you, but I’m well past puberty, thirty-one, in fact, and I won’t apologize for being interested.”

His dark eyes glittered in the low light. Mischief filled his voice. “You’re a whole thirty-one? Man. A regular old lady.”

“Sometimes I feel that way.”

His brows arched slightly.

“Not now,” she added, hating herself for letting down her guard, frantic to lighten the mood. “Give me a few minutes and I might feel thirty again.”

Smiling, he passed the beer to her. “Let’s not get crazy.”

“Agreed. So, what did she say to you?”

“She asked if I’d like to take on a foursome.”

Jasmine’s tongue stopped circling the edge of the bottle. She wasn’t certain what to think or say. Stalling, she finished a small sip of the beer. Its bubbles tickled her mouth and throat, rasping her voice. “Wow.” She crossed her legs. The edge of her shoe brushed the outside seam of his jeans. She didn’t move her foot away, driven by the curse and her own interest in him to remain. “So, that’s why you frowned? You don’t like kinky sex?”

He retrieved the beer, his fingers purposely touching hers. “Not with her or her friends, I don’t. But that’s not why I frowned. She told me she and the others had always wanted to do it with an Indian.”

Jasmine stopped running her foot down his leg. Her voice rang with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. What a stupid thing for her to say.”

“I think she meant it as a compliment.”

Without thinking, she glanced at his fly, the meaty bulge straining the denim. Wanting shuddered through her. Moisture streamed from her sheath. “I’m sure she did.”

He laughed.

Her head jerked up. “What?” Humiliation heated her throat and cheeks. “Are you putting me on?”

“I was about to ask you the same.”

Why? Alarmed, she tried to recall what she’d revealed about herself so far. Telling him her name couldn’t have given away too much. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would know she and her sisters owned a local dress design business. “I wouldn’t. I’m not.” She forced herself to calm down. Her foot stroked his jeans again. “If you don’t mind my curiosity, what’s your ancestry?”

“I don’t mind at all.” Deepening attraction sparkled in his eyes. “I’m Seminole on my mother’s side. English and a bit of Irish on my father’s. So how about you? What’s your heritage?”

“I’m a mixture of a lot of stuff.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Too many nationalities to count. Do your parents and siblings live in the Keys?”

“My parents and siblings?”

She realized how stupid the question sounded, but she had to know if anyone would miss him. For days, she and her sisters had discussed keeping a man prisoner at their house, a safer means of appeasing her cravings than frequenting bars and clubs. A crazy, desperate plan Jasmine still wasn’t certain she could go through with. “I’m interested, okay?”

He appeared to be mulling over his response as he put his bottle on the bar. “I’m going to tell you a secret, but I need your word first that you’ll keep it.”

Her heart stuttered. What did he intend to confess? “Of course.”

Misgiving rose in his eyes. He drew in a ragged breath. “There are no siblings. My parents didn’t have any kids after me. Could be I was so wonderful they didn’t think they could get that lucky again, or I was such a disappointment they were afraid to try.”

She laughed and scolded. “You are putting me on.”

“Only a little.” He returned her smile. “But if you must know, Dad lived in the Keys all his life. He passed two years ago from emphysema. Smoked three packs a day right up to his last hacking breath. A few months later, Mom moved to Georgia to live with her twin sister. From what I’ve heard, they still fight every day. Now, no more questions about me. I want to hear about you.”

Steeled for the inevitable, Jasmine nodded, knowing she’d have to lie, hoping she could pull it off. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you like to dance?”

Her stomach unknotted. Looking over, she saw the band returning, urged on by the unruly crowd. The first husky notes of the sax quieted the audience. At their table, Violet and Lily watched with increasing anxiety. Jasmine smoothed her hair, the signal they’d agreed on, telling them this man appeared safe. She smiled at Mike, liking and trusting him already, hoping it wasn’t misplaced. “Yes, I do. But I have to confess, I don’t know any fancy steps.”

“Those are the worst kind. So, we’ll keep it simple.” He pushed off his stool and offered his hand.

A jolt of warmth from his touch relieved her doubt. She put her purse’s dainty chain on her shoulder and slid her fingers over his.

On the bluesy strains of the song, Mike wound his arms around Jasmine’s waist, drawing her into him.

She ran her hands up his shoulders, her fingers caressing his nape, her ripe breasts and peaked nipples nestling against the solid planes of his chest.

His lids slipped down on a hard sigh as her succulent body tormented him. He hadn’t had sex in months. He’d never been the type of man to have a devoted girlfriend, which kept his private life uncomplicated and left all the trouble for work.

On the next easy sway, Jasmine tugged the leather cord tying his hair and worked her fingers through the freed strands to stroke his scalp.

Liquid heat oiled his body, loosening his shoulders and limbs. Grunting in approval, he eased her into his stiffened cock and buried his face in her shoulder-length mane. Her delicate perfume reminded him of a garden’s subtle aromas beneath the morning sun. He found it unbelievably provocative, even though it didn’t match the rest of her packaging.

She’d dressed for sex tonight, and yet beneath her smoldering gaze he’d caught unexpected vulnerability, perhaps fear. It convinced him she wasn’t a pricey call girl. So given her obvious angst, why was she doing this? Because she craved excitement and wanted to fuck someone outside her ordinary world? With minimum risk, of course. That had to be her reason for asking so many questions and dodging all of his. She was checking him out to make certain he posed no threat to her physically and that their bed-play would be shameless fun, not dangerous.

The singer reached a high note, holding it. The sax wailed in the background. Applause and appreciative whistles erupted from the audience.

Mike turned until he and Jasmine completed a half-circle. At the basic move, her breath spilled out in what sounded like wonder, telling him tonight might be her first foray into the club scene and casual sex. Despite her suggestive attire, she seemed as out of place here as some of his witnesses had in their new lives under his protection.

Individuals he had saved, but at what cost?

He frowned at his memories of a past he never discussed with anyone. So why had he told her about being with the service? Because he wanted her to trust him? A stupid decision. It made her too curious.

Did someone try to kill you? she’d asked.

Once more, unwanted images flashed through his brain, brutal and accusing. The bullet meant for his witness, hitting him instead. Staggering back in shock and falling to the ground. The gangbanger’s remorseless stare as he pointed his .357, intending to finish him off. The endless seconds as he expected death. Everything going too fast or too slow, robbing him of the ability to think, but not to react.

Instinctively, he had used his power to push the gangbanger’s gun aside with the bullet striking and killing Tommy, his friend and partner of four years. Like a fucking coward, he’d saved himself with his telekinetic gift, an unwanted talent he’d kept hidden from others. Since Tommy, it lay dormant. Never again would he call on it or work for the service. A week after the assault, he’d resigned over his superiors’ objections.

Frowning, he shook off his memories. Tonight, guilt wouldn’t deny him what enjoyment and comfort Jasmine could bring.

He turned her in another tight circle. She lowered her mouth to his neck. Her tongue found his galloping pulse, wandering over it, loving it as she drove her slender fingers through his hair.

His rod thickened in gratitude, prompting a pleased growl. Whatever reservations she’d had about him seemed to have passed. Raising his hands, he cradled the sides of her head, his fingers sinking into her lush hair. He stopped dancing and eased back. Her blue-green eyes blurred with expectation. Moisture sparkled on her plump lower lip. His hoarse voice betrayed the hold she had on him. “I want to know about you.”

Her lids slid down. Long, dark lashes rested on her cheeks. Taking a full breath, she opened her eyes slowly. Her gaze beckoned. She asked again, “What do you want to know?”

In answer, he slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue burrowed inside. Sheltering heat greeted him, along with the taste of beer and female submission. It took all of his will not to moan like an oversexed teen.

Around them, couples continued to dance, their lethargic steps complementing the club’s surreal lighting and haunting music. The singer’s sad voice rode the keyboard’s muted melody, inviting closeness.

Mike accepted. His exploring kiss was unhurried. He relished the sharp feel of Jasmine’s bottom teeth, the inside of her satiny cheeks. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his back.

Palms flattened, she pulled him closer so he couldn’t escape.

He wasn’t about to try. To prove it, he angled his mouth for heightened penetration.

Following his lead, her lips parted even more. She alternately suckled and curled her tongue around his, offering a raw, unguarded response.

His reserve broke. He deepened their kiss, his passion savage, relentless. The other sounds drifted away. He became conscious of her strained breathing and his. Their chests knocked into each other’s. Cupping the back of her head in his palm, he slipped his other arm around her waist, his fingers dangling above her cushiony buttocks.

She yielded, her body willing against his, her reaction undeniable.

It made him even greedier. Seconds trickled by. His thoughts muddied, not allowing anything to register except the tight, wet sanctuary of her mouth, the aching solace of her body, each supple curve and rounded swell. He didn’t know how long he was lost in their kiss, but when he finally pulled his mouth free, the music faded.

Chest heaving, he stared. Her features were more elegant than he first thought, her almond eyes, straight nose and full mouth finely shaped beneath the skillfully applied makeup. Longing softened her face, along with the same vulnerability, stirring him as few things had. He wanted to strip her of the unnecessary cosmetics, the titillating clothes, to see and to know the real woman beneath.

The applause subsided. Several couples left the dance floor, arms slipped around each other’s waists. As the band began their new piece, the keyboardist ran her fingers up and down her instrument, setting the mood.

Jasmine’s gaze remained on him, absorbed, as if everyone else had left. “Do you have to leave?”

Even if he did, the disappointment in her voice would have persuaded him to stay and promise more than he could ever deliver. He shook his head.

She watched the ends of his hair glide over his shoulders. “Then you don’t have to work early tomorrow?”

Unlike her last questions, he welcomed these. They told him what she wanted, but hadn’t yet asked. “I don’t have anything planned for the next couple of days or nights.” He touched his mouth to her ear. Trembling, she moved into him. Wrapped in her oddly innocent temptation, he murmured, “How about you? Do you have to work early tomorrow?”

Her hand went to his right pec, branding it with her heat. Several of his muscles leapt, liking it.

“No.” She paused to clear her throat. Her voice remained gravelly. “I’m on vacation this week.”

Hearing the invitation in her words, he straightened.

She trailed a tapered nail down his torso to his belt, circling the buckle as she tilted her face to his. Sin filled her eyes.

Resolved to give her what she’d come for and what he now demanded, he took her hand and led her from the dance floor toward the back exit.