California Girl (17 page)

“Watch the news and Mighty Cat, and I’ll be quick.” Her
heart suffered an erratic beat when Elliot fixed his smoldering gaze in her
direction. She about had another attack when he rose to take the cat from her.
Even without his boots, he towered over her. The brush of his big hand against
her bare shoulder as he removed the cat stimulated far more than her starving
libido.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” Amusement and a
sexy confidence laced his voice. Or was that her overheated imagination? He
retrieved the cat but didn’t immediately retreat to the bed.

Oh, gad. She’d wanted a bookish, harmless professorial type
for her first lover, and what had she done? Turned him into Clint Eastwood.
This close, she could even see the stubble of his beard. He was no longer a
storybook fantasy but a real man, with very male expectations.

So what? She had some very female expectations of her own.

Still wearing her boots, she didn’t have to stretch far to
plant a kiss on his bristly jaw. “You smell like charcoal smoke.” She darted
into the bathroom before he could react.

She probably smelled like smoke, too. She’d persuaded Elliot
into a steak-and-seafood restaurant, one that cooked the meat right in front of
them. The steak had been scrumptious. Elliot had chosen grilled salmon, but
he’d finished off her steak when she couldn’t. She was corrupting him one food
at a time.

She sang in the shower, washed her hair, and scrubbed with
the last of her scented shower wash until her skin tingled, the scent of
ylang-ylang filled the air, and steam fogged the mirror. She didn’t really want
to see what she was doing anyway. She simply wanted to let it happen. She
stretched her arms skyward and her breasts lifted in anticipation.

This suite wasn’t as impressive as the prior night’s, but
terry-cloth robes hung on the back of the door. Still moist from the shower,
Alys wrapped up in the generous folds of a robe, then blew her hair dry. She
doubted that she looked sexy, but then, she never had. Clean and available
would have to do. And eager.

Elliot lay sprawled across the bed, his shoulders propped up
on pillows while he watched the news with the cat sleeping curled on his flat
belly. At Alys’s appearance, his heavy-lidded eyes widened, and an appreciative
smile settled on his lips.

“You look like one of those sexy ads in magazines. I wish I
had showered first.”

Caught off guard at the image of her petite, unremarkable
self as sexy, Alys didn’t have a quick reply. She watched Elliot place the
sleeping kitten on the covers and swing from the bed in a single easy movement.
He’d unfastened the top snaps of his shirt, and she had a glimpse of bronzed
skin and dark curls before he kissed the top of her head, eclipsing the view.
He stepped into the steamy bathroom and closed the door.

Breathe, Alys
. She took deep, cleansing
breaths, and was almost steady by the time room service brought the wine.

Fred had introduced her to wine. She’d never developed much
of a taste for it, and after he’d become ill, alcohol hadn’t been part of their
regimen. But she thought wine might be one of those things she needed to learn
about, especially if she planned to live in California.

Besides, she needed the fortification right now, and wine
seemed to be the sophisticated thing to do on her first foray into Sex and the
Single Girl.

She had the waiter uncork the bottle. Pouring a glass, she
wandered about the suite, trying to decide where she ought to be sitting when
Elliot emerged from the shower. She brushed a leaf of the orchid, checking to
see if any new life had emerged.

Did she disrobe and wait naked in the bed?

She might be assertive, but she wasn’t that evolved yet.

Why was she so damned nervous? Women did this all the time
on television and in books. Sex was a basic human process after all. Unless she
intended to remain celibate the rest of her life, she had to overcome
this—what? Fear? She wasn’t afraid. She was just balking like a nervous bride
on her wedding night.

Damn Mame for putting that wedding image into her head.

This first time, she would let Elliot lead the way. He had
to be more experienced than she, and he was incredibly perceptive. She couldn’t
have chosen a better partner if she’d tried.

Sitting up against the bed headboard, wineglass in hand, she
flicked on the TV and let Purple prowl over her legs.

Elliot finally emerged, his hair still damp and curling from
the shower. His jaw glistened from a recent shave, and the fragrance of some
expensive lotion entered with him. But it was his robe falling to mid-shin,
revealing long, narrow feet and muscled calves, that was simply too intimate.

Alys panicked. Her wineglass froze at her lips, her heart
threatened to leap through her chest, and she stopped breathing.

Elliot seemed blithely unaware of her paralysis. He poured a
glass of wine, removed Purple from the covers, flicked off the TV, and settled
down beside her, hip to hip. “You smell delicious.”

It was apparently the right thing to say. Inhaling the
intoxicating scent of clean male, she relaxed, and her lips unlocked. “Like a
raspberry cream pastry?”

His chortle was low and incredibly sexy. “Contrary to
popular belief, my fixation is not on food. The image I’m getting is of exotic
incense and tropical flowers.”

“I should change perfumes.” She drained her glass and set it
on the bed table. “I’m feeling more like Ivory soap and lavender.”

Actually,
she was feeling more like sex on fire. She’d been without sex
way
too long. With Elliot this close, she could feel the
pressure of his hip, see the small scar beside his mouth begging to be kissed,
and she longed to rub her toes along his bare leg. Her mind fogged before she
could imagine further than that.

He set his glass aside, too. “We don’t have to do this.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and lowered his
face close, so she didn’t take him too seriously. She’d stopped thinking by the
time his lips lingered over hers.

“I’m not sure we can stop.” She wasn’t a breathless kind of
woman, but she’d almost stopped breathing again. She could see moisture still
beading along his hairline, and if she got brave enough to meet his eyes—

She lifted her gaze to his and fell irrevocably into their
dark, hungry depths.

“Anything is possible. Just not very probable.” His lips
closed firmly over hers.

Heat and moisture. Exotic scent and raw male musk. Wine and
mouthwash and a vague flavor of charcoal. Alys sank beneath the pressure of
Elliot’s greater size, wallowing deeper in the pillows, into the soft, plush
covers, letting his body blind her to everything except sensation.

His
deft hand slipped beneath her robe to circle her breast. His uncalloused
fingers rubbed the sensitive tip, and Alys moaned. She’d been parched for this
simple human contact. She wanted this to go on forever. She wanted
more
.

“You sound like Purple purring.” He repeated the caress,
adding extra attention to her aching nipple. “Let me know if I do something you
don’t like.”

“What is not to like?” she murmured, unfastening the tie of
his robe by instinct since her brain had left the building. With another purr
of pleasure, she rubbed her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Elliot
Roth had abs and pecs of steel.

He didn’t use his mellow, mind-melting radio-show voice to
reply. Instead, he placed a knee on either side of her hips, trapping her
beneath him, then leaned down to suckle her breast.

It was too much at once. Surrounded by his weight and size,
imploding beneath waves of pleasure, Alys uttered a muffled scream.

Purple leaped to her defense.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” Swatting at the back of his neck, Elliot
rolled away, grappling for the attack kitten.

The cool rush of air over warm skin warned that her robe was
open, but Alys was more intent on rescuing Elliot. She’d rather get back to
where they’d been than practice modesty. Purple leaped from her hands and dived
for the table, knocking over Elliot’s half-empty wineglass before diving for
the floor and hiding under the sofa skirt.

Lying flat on his back, Elliot recovered quickly. He caught
Alys’s waist and held her posed over him. “Forget the cat,” he growled. “I’m
not done here.” He cast her robe aside and pulled her down so his mouth could
fasten over her breast again.

Not wanting to be cat-attacked, Alys bit back her scream
this time, forcing it down until the scream turned to liquid pleasure spilling
through her to pool between her legs—where Elliot’s erection rubbed.

If he’d been a sailboat, she would be riding the main mast.
He was definitely long everywhere.

“Oh, my, Elliot—” She tried to speak through gasps, but his
mouth and tongue were doing things that she shouldn’t even contemplate in the
privacy of her bed at midnight, much less with all the lamps on and with a
strange man beside her . . . beneath her actually.

“Don’t ask me to stop now.” His voice rumbled deep in his
chest as he moved from one breast to the other.

She didn’t think she could stop. Wine and sex had usurped
her wits. She thought her ovaries might actually be throbbing in anticipation.
A lot of other parts certainly were.

“Condom,” she gasped through the haze of lust.

“Got it.” He rolled her back to the bed and groped for the
table drawer, shedding his robe at the same time.

Taking
advantage, Alys stared. He was long and lean and—Alys gulped in admiration and
excitement—well endowed. Hung, as the books said. Elliot Roth could grace
Playgirl
magazine without shame.

“I hope those are extra large,” she murmured while he opened
the package.

He looked startled, then a lazy smile spread across his
face. “Supers,” he assured her, returning to his appointed task by kissing her
long and hard.

And so he was—super. Extra-super-duper. Magnificent. Leaving
no stone unturned, no erogenous zone untouched. He must have researched sex as
thoroughly as hearts and nutrition. Alys clenched her teeth to prevent crying
out as his agile tongue licked her swollen clitoris. She definitely did not
need Purple interrupting.

“To the moon, Alys,” he murmured between her legs before
applying one final, magical tongue stroke.

And she flew. Over the moon, into the stars.

She hadn’t found her way back before he entered her,
thrusting high and deep and sending her into orbit all over again.

* * *

Engulfed by feminine scents, pillowy breasts, and tight,
massaging muscles, Elliot delayed his pleasure as long as he could, but it
wasn’t nearly long enough. Everything about Alys welcomed him. For the first
time in his life, he’d found a home. Soft arms clung to his back, enticing
cries beckoned, and feminine heat and moisture rose to greet him in such a way
that every primal instinct clamored to claim her.

Uncomfortable with an uncivilized side he hadn’t known he
possessed, Elliot tried to curb his urges and slow down, but nature held the
reins. With Alys’s sweet heat urging him on, he thrust harder, faster, and spun
out of control, taking her with more force than he’d known was in him. She
writhed and bit back cries, heightening his need to go harder, faster. When he
pushed her over the edge a third time, he couldn’t hold back, and he almost
collapsed from the sudden rush of his release.

Instead of holding steady and rolling off to prevent
crushing her slender body with his weight as he would normally do, Elliot
sprawled across her, relishing the soft mattress of Alys’s breasts while he
gasped for breath. Losing control like that should have frightened him back to
civilized behavior. Instead, it was akin to shooting him up with adrenaline. He
craved a repeat of the experience, and his body was already gearing up for
more.

She wound her fingers through his hair and murmured
incoherent phrases against his ear. He must have dozed off because he woke to
the damned cat kneading his buttocks with its paws.

“I think I’ll kill Mame,” he muttered ruthlessly, rolling
over in hopes of smothering the animal.

No such luck. The kitten leaped free and curled up between
them, licking its furry, evil smile.

Alys’s startled look melted into one of understanding as she
followed his wrathful gaze. She scratched behind the kitten’s ears, and gently
lifted it to the floor. “I don’t think it’s possible to train cats like dogs.”

He didn’t want to hear about cats or dogs. He wanted to
luxuriate in the ecstasy of her arms again, sink into oblivion, admire her
charms, take her to the heights all over. He wanted her.

And he couldn’t have her. She was headed to New Mexico and
he was headed back to his looming deadline and multitude of responsibilities.

A dull, throbbing pain washed up his chest and settled under
his ribs, and he fell back against the pillows.

On top of all she’d suffered, Alys Seagraves didn’t deserve
to be tied to another man with a fatal flaw. His father had died at thirty-five
of hereditary heart disease. How much longer could diet and exercise prolong
his life?

Not long enough.

Elliot woke to an empty bed and a tent of covers over his
hips. Given his solitary life, this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. But the
tantalizing fragrance of woman and sex lingered on the sheets, and the sound of
the shower running and a soft voice singing reminded him that this morning, he
wasn’t alone. A surprising surge of satisfaction flooded through him.

He didn’t devote a lot of thought to his motives but threw
off the covers and climbed out of bed. He supposed if he really thought about
it, his own mortality drove him onward. If he had only months or a few years to
live, why shouldn’t he enjoy what was freely offered?