A Little Wild (20 page)

She nodded. In the darkness, her lips parted. He groaned, drinking in the sight of her full mouth, relishing the sensation of her erect nipples poking his chest through his dress shirt.

“Do you trust me?” He maintained an undemanding tone.

“Yes.”

“I’m letting go of your hand now, and I want you to take off my tie. Will you do that?”

Moistening her lips, she nodded.

He released her hand. Her fingers shook as she worked the tie free.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No.” Her gaze dipped. “Excited.”

“Join the club.”

The tie undone, she pulled. The silk whisked out from beneath his shirt collar. She bunched it into a ball.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Hand it over.”

Chin rising, she passed him the tie. “You’ll get yours, you know.”

He smiled at the intimation that she wanted many more nights with him.

“Put your hands behind your back.” His throat tightened as, once more, she dutifully followed orders.

He loved a compliant woman.

Moving quickly, he reached behind her and positioned her palms together where her ass curved in a smooth arc, then he loosely knotted his tie around her wrists. As he finished, a sultry sigh drifted from her mouth.

Zach gazed at his sexy captive. With her hair in a wavy crown atop her head, she looked both elegant and regal. Her bound hands drew her shoulders back and thrust her tits forward.

Not so elegant a look, but he wasn’t complaining.

He drifted his gaze lower. A smidgen of dampness darkened the satin covering her left breast—the one he’d tasted through the slippery fabric. He couldn’t enjoy the unique sensation again without mussing her to the point where someone might notice once they left their haven.

Instead, kissing her mouth, he plucked the nipple through the satin with his fingers. Rolling the tip, he squeezed to the music of her soft moans.

Her lips parted, deepening the kiss. He sucked her tongue into his mouth.

No more talk. No games. It was time to quench the fire driving them both.

Raising his other hand, he rolled both nipples until she whimpered. He lifted her dress and pushed aside the thong. Her trimmed curls followed a bikini line she must have spruced up tonight, if the softness of her skin was any indication.

Sexual need pulsed in him.

He parted her folds. She was
so
wet
.

He pushed in a finger, pulled it back, then thrust home. Her mouth tore from his. She gasped, helpless to do anything but sag against the closet wall and take what he offered.

Or she could object and he’d stop.

Except she wasn’t objecting.

Fusing their mouths again, he slowly slipped another finger into her hot pussy. Her inner muscles contracted then slackened to accommodate the relentless thrusting action. Her slickness spurred him on, and he drove into her again and again. The pad below his thumb massaged her swollen clit with each bump of his hand.

Her mouth fell away. Her head lolled as seductively as he’d imagined, and he kissed her neck where the smooth curve met her collarbone.

Her whimpers escalated into erotic noises that could soon have them discovered. Cupping her chin, he turned her face to his and drank her cries as she bucked against his other hand.

Her pussy tightened, clenched, pulsed around him.

When the tremors subsided, he withdrew his fingers and repositioned the thong.

Stepping back, he retrieved the champagne flute from the cardboard boxes. He dipped his musk-slippery fingers into the expensive wine.

Removed them.

Slowly sucked the tangy mixture of Tess’s honey-rich essence and French champagne from his fingers.

Still bound, she watched him. Her gaze widened in the darkness wrapping them in privacy. He lifted a finger to her mouth and painted her lips with her essence, then licked the musky flavor off her mouth with several tiny laps of his tongue.

She moaned, drawing his tongue fully into her mouth, her hips straining for his erection. Luring, beckoning, torturing—nearly breaking him in two with the need to take her.
Now.

To make her his. Forever.

With formidable effort, he drew back. They wouldn’t make love tonight. He had a thing for anticipation, and he intended to savor every moment she was willing to share with him.

But, damn, she made it difficult.

He set aside the champagne flute.

“Now that we’ve dispensed with the preliminaries, we can discuss the nitty-gritty,” he murmured.

“Which is?”

“Our first date.” He grinned.

Ethan didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore. Here he sat in Vancouver’s most sophisticated steakhouse with beautiful, accomplished Allison Maynard as his date—and he was thoroughly bored.

“…confirming that Très Belle is on target for our third quarter,” the willowy blonde said. “With the designs coming in from Paris and Milan next week, I’m confident we’ll outrace the competition for the rest of the year.”

Chewing his crab-cake appetizer, Ethan nodded at appropriate intervals as Allison raved about her small chain of high-end lingerie stores. Her scarlet-painted lips pursed in preparation for slicking the cocktail sauce off another jumbo shrimp. She flaunted an enthusiasm that brought to mind Xaviera Hollander’s phallic-shaped lipstick tube in the girlie magazines of Ethan’s youth—and even that didn’t interest him.

Now maybe if Allison were dark-haired.

A piece of crab cake lodged in his throat. He washed down the tidbit with a swallow of zinfandel.
Get real.

Zach had nailed the problem—Ethan needed to let off some steam. However, his old stand-by of staging a practical joke on his father or brother required a level of creative thinking that had long since abandoned him. Lately, the only time he broached creative—in his sex dreams—the nameless brunette from Whole Latte Lovin’ played a starring role.

Not even the woman’s strange behavior in Stanley Park five days ago had eradicated her from his thoughts. True to his vow, Ethan hadn’t visited the coffeehouse since. And he craved their macchiatos like mad.

He was infatuated.

With the coffee or the woman?

“Ethan?”

He gazed at Allison. “Sorry. You were saying?”

She sighed. “Do you think it’s too soon to expand Très Belle to Calgary and Edmonton?”

“I might not be the best guy to ask about lingerie,” he hedged so she wouldn’t guess how little attention he’d devoted to their conversation.

“Why not?” She smirked. “Haven’t seen any in a while?”

Ethan laughed. She was right. He hadn’t had sex in months. He’d told himself over and over that concentrating on business now would allow him more freedom later. This winter, next spring, two years down the line.

Maybe he’d finally stretched the definition of “later” too far. He’d asked Allison to dinner to cure him of his fascination with the brunette. They’d yet to receive their entrées and his mind wandered worse than a hyperactive eight-year-old’s without his ADD medication.

“Blahblahblahblahblah.” Allison’s conversation smeared into one long word. “Blather-blather, blahblah. Blah.”

“Yep. Uh-huh.” Another bite of crab cake.

“Blahblah. Blahblahblah. Blah! Blah! Blahblahblah!”

Ethan peered at her.

“Fuck, Ethan, that’s it!” Allison’s classy cloth napkin slapped onto the table.

He put down his fork. “I’m sorry, Anna.” Awww,
fuck
! “
Allison
. I’m sorry I haven’t been more attentive. I have a lot on my mind.”

Her beautiful features screwed together. “
Anna?
Who the hell is Anna?”

He splayed his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m no Anna. And I’m damn fed up with your blank stares and mumbling. Men don’t ignore
me
, Ethan Halliday.” She climbed out of the booth, eyes blazing.

“People are looking,” Ethan cautioned as several heads turned.

Her hand jerked. “Let them. When you called the other day, I thought finally he’s showing interest. It’s not like I haven’t been sending you signals for weeks.”

“You have?”

“We’re both busy and committed to our careers. What would a little dinner and some good sex hurt? I seriously need to get laid, Ethan. I’ve wasted the last seven weeks thinking I might get what I want from you.”

“You tell him, honey,” a woman commented from the nearby tables.

Ethan suspected a ruddy tinge darkened his face—his skin burned to his bones. “Allison, please sit and we’ll talk. I’ll say it again, I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be tomorrow morning when you wake up alone.” She whirled around and stormed from the restaurant, nearly clipping a server wielding their steaks.

The server arrived, and Ethan pushed aside his appetizer. He’d ordered two filets, and he would eat them. Hopefully, the public humiliation would help him realize he was stuck in a rut deeper than the San Andreas Fault. He must be if he hadn’t caught on to gorgeous Allison Maynard’s hinting.

He needed something radical to shake him up. And he had a sinking feeling he knew what—or who–that something was.

Saturday night, Tess was a bundle of nerves—pure adolescent silliness. She and Zach had eaten dinner together before. First, at Northview with Sydney and Teddy, then the pizza at her place. Neither of those meals had qualified as an actual date, though, no matter what she’d allowed Chloe to believe. The golf dinner had been about building Tess’s client list. Despite her and Zach’s panty-melting couch romp, last Sunday had revolved around revamping his business plan.

Tonight, however, was about
them
. Solely. No pretending.

Her sandals removed and her sundress swathing her crossed legs beneath the polished Japanese pine table, she scoped out the traditional décor of the tatami room in Tanaka’s. Now that Zach wasn’t a paying client, being seen in public as his potential date didn’t carry the same professional taboo. But she still appreciated his thoughtfulness at securing the private room on short notice, not to mention asking Rob to let them use the restaurant’s back entrance. She loved the sinful way all this sneaking around made her feel. Like last night at the art gallery…

A sensual ripple gripped her. Needing to distract herself from mooning over the previous night’s events, she watched Zach dip his ceramic spoon into the last of his miso soup. The memories assailed her regardless. The afterglow of her orgasm had warmed her long after their separate escapes from the under-stairs closet. It was a wonder she’d survived the evening without blushing furiously every time somebody had glanced at her.

His head lifted. “You don’t like the soup?”

“It’s very tasty.” She sipped a spoonful. “I’m just saving room for the sushi.”

“Talk about great timing. It’s here.” His gaze moved to a shadow-figure at the tatami room’s rice-paper door. A light rap rattled on the bamboo cross-frame. At Zach’s murmur of acquiescence, their kimono-clad waitress slid open the door. She placed the plates of sushi and yakitori on the table, then retrieved the soup bowls and left. The door closed again.

Mouth watering, Tess snapped apart her chopsticks.

Zach didn’t touch his set. “Mind if I use my fingers?”

“What’s the matter, Halliday? Cat got your dexterity?”

“I’m mighty dexterous with chopsticks, I assure you. I just prefer the feeling of the sticky sushi rice on my fingers. It’s a texture thing, you know.”

The man made “sticky” and “sushi” sound X-rated. And the way his mouth wrapped around “texture”—particularly the “tex” part—scattered erotic vibrations along her nerve endings.

She drew in a slow breath intended to dissipate her tension. It didn’t work very well, though. Heat pooled between her legs, and her nipples stiffened.

It was going to be a
long
wait until she got what she wanted—the natural follow-up to last night. She wanted Zach to feel every bit as marvelous and decadent as she’d felt then.

“By all means, use your fingers,” she murmured. “In fact, I think tonight you should do…whatever comes natural.” She smiled.

An expression of enjoyable discomfort crossed his face. He shifted on his woven mat. Had his jeans grown tighter?

She curved her hair behind her ears so it wouldn’t fall into her food. She picked up a tuna roll with her chopsticks, dipped the roll in soy sauce and lifted the delicacy to her mouth. The salty seaweed sparkled on her taste buds. For her second roll, she added a dab of hot wasabi then doused the flames with a swallow of smooth Kirin beer.

Zach chose a rice-studded shrimp roll with his fingers. When he finished eating, a grain of sticky rice clung to his thumb. He licked it off.

Tess pouted.
No fair.
She’d wanted to do that for him.

“Care to share?” she asked. “I’d love to taste…your rolls.”

He chuckled. “Want me to use chopsticks?”

“No.” Her voice flowed as soft and warm as the sensation flooding her body.

He groaned. “The things you do to me.” He indicated his plate. “Wasabi?”

“Please.” The dulcet strains of a Japanese guitar drifted from concealed speakers. The combination of the soothing music and the primitive nature of their sitting positions—thighs open to each other beneath the table, shins crossed, feet shoeless—cloaked them in a cozy intimacy she’d never experienced with another man.

Every sense she possessed zeroed in on Zach. It was almost as if his soul had stolen into hers and held her hostage. She dared not imagine the exquisite sensation of finally having him deep inside her.

Using chopsticks, he decorated another roll with the hot green horseradish. Placing aside the utensils, he dipped the roll in sauce with his fingers and brought it to her mouth.

Careful not to knick his skin, she bit into the roll. A rice grain stuck to his thumb. She flicked out her tongue to catch it. “Mmm.”

His sultry gaze followed her movements. “Should I eat the rest?” His voice rumbled like something—preferably lust—had wedged in his throat.

Swallowing, she nodded. While he finished the roll, she prepared another. She positioned it at his lips. Their gazes locked. His hand curved around her wrist—protective and possessive.