A MAN CALLED BLUE (16 page)

"Spectacular," Blue groaned in her ear, his breathing rough and irregular. He pulled her close, cradling her head on his shoulder. His heart had the beat of a jungle drum sending a distress signal.

Limp, every muscle used and slack,
and
faintly embarrassed at her unchecked response, Simone mustered enough strength to twist her head and look at him. When their eyes met, she watched him try to smile, but he looked as though he was in too much pain to pull it off. Her embarrassment slipped away, replaced by a sense of mission. She kissed his throat and nibbled his ear. "It's past time you got into something more comfortable."

This time he smiled. "God, I hope that was a double entendre." He sat up and started working out the studs in his shirt. Simone pushed his hands away.

"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "My job." She pushed him back onto the bed and quickly disposed of the tiny studs while he watched her, continually running a warm hand along her shoulder and arm as if he couldn't bear not to touch her. When she slipped his belt buckle and started to unzip him, he stayed her hand."Easy," he mumbled closing his eyes, holding her hand in his fist for a moment before letting it go to finish her task.

Simone worked at his clothes and studied him. Blue was a confident, proudly sensuous man. Parting the sides of his shirt, she bared his chest, exploring with her fingers and nails his straight silky chestnut hair and his board flat abdomen, taut and muscled. She bent to kiss him lightly, wind her fingers in his hair, now wild and formless against the satin spread. She raised her head to admire his aroused sex, fully erect and straining hard against his—she smiled—purple briefs. He caught the smile and returned it.

"Did you expect politically correct underwear?" He stroked her cheek.

"I expected exactly what I found," she said, quietly looking into his eyes. "Something special."

He frowned and made a thing of glancing down at himself. "Looks like standard equipment to me."

"I wasn't talking about this." Simone cradled his full weight, then stroked the heel of her palm along his erection from base to tip. His head fell back, and he shuddered before lifting himself toward her touch. At his reaction, her own breathing stalled lung-deep and silken shivers skipped over her spine. She stroked him again and, in one smooth motion, he rolled up and over her.

"Whatever you're talking about, mind if it waits? I'm kind of tense right now." He grinned crookedly and kissed her below the ear, his breath a torch against her skin. She reached for him, but he evaded her, standing to strip off his loosened clothes. He discarded them quickly and efficiently, started back to the bed, then stopped.

"Damn." He strode to the bathroom and came back with a foil packet.

Simone watched him walk toward her, his lean body enhanced by the upright proof of his masculinity, high and proud between his legs. Her mouth went dry, and before he could lie beside her, she reached for the packet.

"Let me," she said, reaching to touch him. His eyes flinty and dark, he handed her the packet. She moved to the edge of the bed and he gripped her shoulders. She kissed him, nuzzled him until he groaned, and opened the packet.

* * *

Blue stared fixedly at the woman working intimately with his inflamed body. He'd always been a relaxed, patient lover, but her touch tested his will as never before. What he wanted was to be an animal, a rutting sex-mad animal. What he wanted was in. He straightened his back, taking power from its rigidity. He couldn't believe he was standing here, on legs like dying rubber trees, being caressed by Simone as if he were a god. He closed his eyes as the unloved, but necessary, latex encased him. Then she cupped him, lifting his weight to squeeze gently in her palm.

His mind emptied and roared simultaneously—and he was hers. Damn it! She may not want him, but he was hers. He lifted her face and bent to kiss her.
And I always will be,
he vowed silently.

Everywhere his hands touched, she opened to him, giving, her soft moans prodding him on. She set no limits and he accepted none. In seconds his skin turned inside out, every nerve raw and fired with need. Her moisture dewed the ebony patch between her thighs. He nuzzled it before sliding up, lifting his weight from her small body and sinking slowly and deeply into her heat. He watched her eyelids flutter to a close, heard her breath catch.

Her nails swept down his back, clawed his buttocks. He pulled out, entering her again, savoring, teasing them both. Simone opened her eyes, smiled languorously and arched to him provocatively. "Oh, Blue..." she whispered.

The sound of his name on her lips ripped his frayed willpower. Sealing his hips to hers, he clenched his teeth and thrust home, throwing his head back until every cord in his neck stretched and engorged. With the last of his control, he held himself still and deep within her, his body quivering and taut as his tiger lifted to him, again and again, her heated sheath constricting, pulsing along his length. He burned. His brain fogged, but he found her rhythm, stayed with it until she moaned and reached higher, then higher yet, their bodies thrumming in an agony of mysterious pursuit.

At her ragged cry, he exhaled roughly, painfully—and thrust hard. Lifting her to take every aching inch of him, he groaned in a climax more elemental force than physical release. Stunned, Blue realized that with Simone, for the first time in his life, he'd known sex with love. It was a revelation. One he'd waited thirty-eight years for. One that would change him forever.

He pulled her close. Their bodies, slick with perspiration, began to cool where they didn't touch. Blue made a fast trip to the bathroom. Sex—and latex—came with responsibilities.

Back in bed, he pulled her into his arms. Still shaken by a wash of new feelings, he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to tell her he loved her. Hell, he wanted to shout it. A quieter voice deterred him.
Not in bed, right after lovemaking, idiot.
He agreed with the quieter voice. Simone deserved better, sunlight and roses, or maybe moonlight and orchids, or maybe...

"Blue?" Simone's hand snaked across his chest to rest on his shoulder.

"Uh-huh?" Pushing his disordered thoughts to one side, he turned to kiss her hair.

"Have you always enjoyed yourself so much?"

"You mean sex?"

"I guess," she answered, sounding uncertain.

"Yes—and no." He lifted himself up on one elbow and drew a finger down between her breasts. "Never as much as tonight, with you," he said, knowing his words were overused and tired and didn't come close to expressing what he felt.

He studied her, and while he searched his brain for an original line, something
not
used by every man since the first of their kind bobbed up from the primordial soup, she chewed her lower lip.

Oh, hell, I'll worry about originality later. The lady looked far too serious.

He touched her mouth with his index finger and was rewarded with a tentative smile.

"Everything seems to come so easy for you, so effortlessly," she said.

"Not everything. It took me two weeks of nonstop charm to get you in bed with me," he teased.

"If that was charm, Blue, you're in dire need of a booster shot," she said drily.

He laughed and circled her nipple with his finger. She closed her eyes and swallowed. He liked that.

"So. Who exactly is Lily?" she asked suddenly.

His hand stopped, and he threw himself back on the bed, throwing one arm over his eyes. "It's always the same. Hot man. Willing woman. Terrific sex—and
she
brings up the guy's wife and kids."

Simone bolted to a sitting position. "Wife and kids?" Her voice rose to an incredulous squeak.

He pinned her to the bed. "Jealous?"

"Try outraged, you, you—" She struggled against his hold. He tightened it.

"Joke, Tiger, joke." He nibbled her earlobe.

She glared at him. "Bad joke," she huffed.

"Yeah? Aren't you the lady who believes in uncomplicated sex, no strings, no ties, no possibility whatever for long-term trouble," he goaded. "I would think a safe old geezer with a wife and kids would be perfect for you."

"Careful, your charm is leaking." She gave him a quelling look before settling back into his arms. "Besides, I'm happy with the geezer I'm in bed with."

"I aim to please."

"More like you're pleased to aim, the way I see it."

He chuckled.

"So, who is Lily?" she repeated.

"My agent."

"Your agent?"

He nodded and her hair tickled his chin. He smoothed it back.

"What do you need an agent for?"

"I write. Sometimes. Not often enough, if you were to listen to Lily."

"You write?"

He tweaked her nose. "Is there an echo in here?" He leaned back and settled her head on his chest. "Yes. I write. Among other things. I still do some consulting for small businesses looking for start-up help, but after I finished the East European consulting job you were so impressed with, I bought my lady. She and I tracked a few sunsets, and during the day, I poked away at a screenplay set in—where else—eastern Europe."

"The old dream you mentioned. The one that took you and Nolan to New York after graduation." She dragged her fingers lightly through his chest hair while he nuzzled her ear.
Lord, the woman smelled good.
He inhaled deep.

"What was your screenplay about?" she asked.

"Bad guys and good guys."

"How original."

He felt her smile against his chest. "Uh-huh," he muttered, fast losing interest in the subject. "Lily called it a financial thriller. It sold and I started another one—which is not going as quickly as the impatient Lily would like. So, she has decided to make my life miserable by nagging me about it at every opportunity," he said without rancor.

"Don't you want to write it?"

"Sure, and I will, but right now, I'm trying to buy an island."

"For you or
Three Wishes
?"

He was inordinately pleased she'd remembered the name of his boat, but then everything about this woman pleased him. When his only answer was a smile, she smiled back.

"Tell me about your island," she said.

Blue squelched a sigh, forcing it inward. Simone was determined to talk, and while he manfully tried to rise to the occasion, all he did was rise manfully.

"Moonlight Island," he answered. "She's in the San Juans, a few miles off Lopez Island to the north. I've lusted after her for years. If I'm lucky, in a couple of weeks, she'll be mine."

"Will you live there?"

"Most of the time, with occasional trips to Seattle and points south." He lifted her chin. "Maybe
a lot
of time in Seattle, if I'm lucky." Blue knew Seattle was corporate headquarters for Anjana. Simone frowned and pulled her chin from his grasp.

"We'll see," she said noncommittally.

She looked decidedly uncomfortable at his reference to seeing her after London. It was as though a veil dropped over her features, blurring lines, making them unreadable.

Josephine.

Unless he missed his guess, she'd joined them in bed. By the look on Simone's face, she might as well have been sitting on the damned bedpost. Blue didn't like the company, and he figured he knew how to get rid of it. He leaned over and kissed Simone, soft and long. When he lifted his mouth, he trapped her face between his hands. "I take it from that blasé response of yours that you're still of the opinion you can live without me," he murmured huskily. "So I guess I have some proving to do."

He kissed her again, deeper, fighting to keep his wits when her tongue sought and found his. When he lifted his head, she smiled softly. "I guess you do," she whispered, pulling his mouth back to hers.

"Might take a while," he warned gruffly, his senses now rapt in the plush texture of her lower lip, a lip he held gently between his teeth.

"Take all the time you need," she sighed, then kissed him until he groaned. He lifted his head and they stared at each other, dazed.

"You have any idea what we were talking about?" he asked grinning.

"Not a clue," she answered breathily. "But I think there's a time limit, so we'd best get started." And they did.

* * *

The heat puzzled Simone, so did the weight. Something warm and heavy rested at her waist. Blue's arm. She smiled and snuggled her behind into him. He made a strange hissing sound through his teeth, and she snuggled deeper. He tightened his grip on her before moving his hand to her thigh, running it palm wide, fingers spread, from her knee to her hip. He let it rest there and nuzzled her nape.

"Good morning," he said in a voice heavy with sleep. She'd woke him.

"Good morning," she answered, while thinking grand, great, and superlative were more accurate than plain old good. She turned toward him, expecting his eyes to be closed. They weren't. Again she was stunned by their vivid color. She smiled. It had to be the girls who'd called him little Tommy Bluebell, she decided, running a finger over his stubbled jaw. He pulled her hand away and kissed its palm.

"Must feel like fifty-grit sandpaper," he muttered, not releasing her hand until she pulled it away.