Highly Charged! (5 page)

“I saw you in your house.” An uncomfortable heat crawled up her back and lingered on her neck. “It was an accident. You didn't have the blinds closed and I happened to be trimming the honeysuckle vines under the locust tree when all of a sudden—there you were.”

An ill-timed smile got away from her.

But damn it, that moment was a happy memory and it had been a total accident. Maybe now wasn't the time to admit she'd purposely left the locust untrimmed to
space it out over the days that followed, quite possibly coinciding with his shower time.

He seemed to have enough to process right now. And she didn't have as much bad-girl chutzpah as Chloe Lissander had.

“You
spied
on me. That feels like an invasion of privacy.” His face was inscrutable and she wondered if anger lurked beneath the surface. “An invasion of space.”

She cringed. Guilt nipped.

“I hadn't really thought about it that way, but yes, I guess so.”

“I think I'm going to return the favor.”

Before she could reason out what
that
meant, he stepped forward, nudging one knee between her thighs.

With a yelp of surprise, she grabbed his upper arms, steadying herself while she reshuffled her feet.

“I don't know that—”

“I do.”

They were the last words he spoke before he lowered his mouth to hers.

N
IKKI HAD WRITTEN A DOCTORAL
dissertation on Chloe Lissander's erotica. In seventy-five pages, she'd catalogued the emotional nuances underlying well-known pieces of explicit literature, highlighting sex as a multilayered metaphor for different kinds of intimacies.

But a year's worth of research and twelve pages of footnotes hadn't prepared her for the blatant eroticism of Brad Riddock's kiss.

As they stood together in the darkened den, his body engulfed hers. The steel bands of his arms locked her against the heat of his chest. Their hips aligned. Legs interwove. Somehow, her arms had wrapped around his neck, utterly compliant before her brain even had time to process what was happening.

His body touched hers in so many places, she couldn't begin to absorb it all. The raw heat of him singed her senses. The clean scent of his skin ignited a rush of longing so strong she could scarcely stand, her knees as liquid and pliable as the rest of her.

But most of all, she noticed his kiss.

His tongue stroked a path along her lower lip as if he had all the time in the world. Slow. Seductive.

Nikki swayed on her feet, caught off guard. She had dreamed about this man before she knew him, pictured him doing sweetly wicked things to her body as a pleasurable diversion before she fell asleep at night. But no amount of imagination could have anticipated the way her blood simmered in her veins at his touch, every nerve ending jumping to life.

He smoothed his palms down her spine, pressing her closer one vertebra at a time until her stomach met the rigid length of his arousal. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel the pulse leap at the base of her throat. Her body molded to his as her desire increased, higher and higher still in a wave of heat that had her breasts swelling between them.

An appreciative growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her sensitive breasts then deeper, right through her. The sound revved her in all the right places, firing a sharp ache between her thighs…

“Wait.” She pulled away. Breathless.

Brad loomed over her, all taut power and male strength. His eyes focused on her mouth, as if he was waiting for a signal to go in for the kill. To ravish her thoroughly and leave her begging for more.

Which was exactly what would happen if she didn't pull herself together.

“What are we doing?” she whispered to herself as much as him, untwining her arms from around his neck.

He blinked, as if he'd only just realized she'd pulled back. But then, leisurely, he released her.

He skimmed his hands slowly, slowly away, leaving a trail of tingling skin in his wake.

“I believe—” he lifted a finger to her lower lip and brushed one last touch along the soft fullness “—we were teaching you a lesson about invasion of privacy. Or invasion of space, maybe.”

“
That
was my lesson?” Tough to sound indignant while panting with lust, but she made a credible effort. “What happened to ‘two wrongs don't make a right'?”

She resisted the urge to take one more step back. Not because she was so anxious to escape his touch, but because she didn't trust herself around such tangible temptation.

He sank down to the futon mattress, lowering his muscular bulk so that he was eye level with her navel. And what vivid imaginings that position conjured for her. Now, she didn't just
step
back from him. This time, she all but scurried to return to the antique chair.

“Don't even try to tell me that was wrong.” He leaned his elbows onto his knees.

While the posture was relaxed, the words were anything but.

She suspected he would kiss her all over again if she didn't agree the connection had been very, very right.

“Maybe not in a literal sense.” She didn't think trotting out any of her dissertation theories on sexual chemistry as metaphor would be appreciated at this particular moment. Even though she could make a great case for his kiss as domination—the emotional equivalent of a demand for attention.

Affection?

No. She couldn't afford to apply literary thinking to
her personal life. That would only confuse a situation that should remain perfectly clear. Hands off the military man who was just passing through her life.

“Not in any sense.” He rose to his feet and her heartbeat quickened automatically. But he didn't come closer. Instead, he disappeared into the darkened hall and returned holding one of Chloe's books.

Secret Games.

Before she could ask what he was up to, he cracked open the copy that must have come from the display cabinet in the kitchen. She realized she was rubbing a finger over her just-kissed lips and quickly knotted her hands in her lap.

“You said you were a student of Chloe's work, right?” He kept flipping through pages as he spoke, sauntering closer until he stood a few feet from her chair.

Good thing she'd threaded her fingers together so she couldn't reach out and touch at will.

“Yes. I didn't realize you were, too.” She couldn't imagine what he searched for in the book that some critics had panned as “pornography for the high-brow,” and others lauded as “Kama Sutra for a new era.”

“Here.” He pointed at the text, as if to mark his place. “‘Why should we plead propriety like a defense when we both want to tear off our clothes? Is it not enough proof of compatibility that just one stroke of the tongue—a thoroughly French kiss—has the power to—'”

“Point made.” She leapt from her seat to cut him off, recalling exactly where the passage went from there.

“There are just a few more lines.” He studied her from over the top of the book, clearly amused.

“I'm quite familiar with them.” While she was no
prude by any stretch, she wasn't sure her overheated libido could handle hearing Brad read about a tongue stroke inspiring imagined, phantom licks along a throbbing sex. Just the thought of it made her feel light-headed. “And any discussion of phantom licks is more than I can handle on a first date. Er—not that this is a date.”

Flustered, she clamped her mouth shut.

Brad closed the book. If he was tempted to grin at her discomfort, he did a good job of hiding it.

“I would like to have a date with you.” He stared at her with serious eyes, his expression thoughtful.

The hot rush of hormones made it difficult for her to process his words.

“I—” As a woman who made her living teaching the written word, she found it surprising to feel speechless. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “We shouldn't date based on physical attraction. No matter what the book says.”

Down that path lay heartache, especially with a man dedicated to a job on the other side of the world.

“So you wrote a dissertation on Ms. Lissander's work and you don't buy in to it?” He laid the book on the mantelpiece beside her collection of commemorative shot glasses from each state in the U.S. She'd been shuffled through all fifty before her sixteenth birthday. Sometimes her parents had driven her great distances to find the next friend or relative willing to take her in for a month or two.

Brad's assertion hurt for reasons he couldn't possibly understand. Chloe Lissander had survived a childhood far darker than anything Nikki had endured. Yet she'd emerged from it a bold and full-blown character with a
big heart to match. She'd lit up rooms when she entered. She'd sized up people quickly and shrewdly, recognizing their foibles but always seeing room for beauty.

And Chloe had loved so deeply and fully. Fearlessly. Nikki admired her so much.

“In theory, yes, I buy in to her ideas. In personal practice? Chloe's approach to life is a lot to live up to.” She didn't know what else to say, feeling unaccountably prickly and possibly a little disappointed in herself. “I guess I'm just not there yet.”

When he didn't respond right away, she forged back into the silence to smooth over the awkward moment.

“I'm surprised you're so familiar with her work.”

He shrugged, straightening a glass in the elevated back row so the words
Rhode Island
could be seen more easily.

“She gave me one of her books one day after I helped her trim some branches on that hickory tree in back.” He gestured, but she knew the one he meant. “She told me to ‘read and learn' so I could improve my love life.”

Nikki smiled, picturing Chloe's audacious claim. “She wanted to be sure everyone experienced the world as vividly—as passionately—as she did.”

“I was too busy to pick it up for a few months, but when I did—holy cow.” He rubbed his chest as if the message of the book had just socked him there. “I was floored at the story and damn intrigued to think an elderly woman could write about anonymous sex as a life-changing experience. It was just so damn unexpected from the sweet little old lady next door, even if she did flirt with me all the time.”

Nikki watched as Brad reordered the glasses on
the mantelpiece in east-to-west order. So methodical. No wonder the Navy liked his skills in explosive situations.

“Her diaries are just as sexy as the fiction.” Although maybe once she recovered all of the original diaries, they would have a different tone than the edited material. Nikki knew names had been changed and some events downplayed or omitted in the diaries that had been published in Chloe's lifetime. She'd been very protective of her family and friends. Was that why her family resented their lack of control over the eccentric author's estate? Maybe they didn't want to be eviscerated in print for all eternity.

“But you'd rather not discuss them in a personal sense.” He repeated her protest from earlier, as if seeking clarification on the topic now that she wasn't as hot and bothered.

Which made her review her thoughts on their kiss and his request for a date. She still felt like getting involved would be hazardous to her heart. But now guilt tweaked her conscience since she knew Chloe would have called her a coward for not embracing life.

Passion.

“Maybe, for tonight at least, it would be safer to get some rest instead.” The room seemed cooler now that the heat of their kiss had died down, the mild spring breeze drifting gently through from an open window. Or maybe she just felt a chill because she'd been reminded what a muddle her life was in on a personal level. She'd achieved so much professionally, but hadn't bothered to figure out who she was in her private life. She had problems with commitment thanks to her family situation,
but she'd always assumed she would explore that secret sensual side one day. Her interest in erotica had clued her in to that sexy streak, but her personal fears had kept her from exploring it in real life.

On paper, of course, had been another matter. Her dissertation had raised more than a few eyebrows around campus.

“It was a damn long day,” he agreed, putting one hand on his hip and twisting his shoulder backward as if to work out a kink.

The move put a vast array of muscles on display, rippling under the fabric of his T-shirt. Reminding her she'd stifled her sensual side for far too long.

“Thank you for staying here tonight.” She would sleep better knowing a trained military man was looking out for her.

As long as she didn't let erotic dreams of Brad keep her awake.

“No problem. But I've got to be honest. My ulterior motive is that date. And definitely another kiss.”

He edged past her toward the futon before stripping off his T-shirt and tossing it on the mattress.

Her eyes widened at the sight of so much bronzed bare skin. The V of the muscles in his back tapering down to narrow hips. Time to leave before she weakened.

Her mouth was too dry to say goodnight as she slipped from the room to find her own bed. Alone. One thing was certain though. Her hope of a good night's sleep was busted.

 

B
RAD LISTENED TO
N
IKKI'S
speedy retreating footsteps, knowing he'd probably pushed too hard, too fast. But
with only two weeks left before he went back overseas, he couldn't afford to let things take their natural course with her. If he didn't pursue her now, she could be dating some other guy by the time he returned four months later. Stripping down to his boxers, he thought about sliding between the sheets and taking a shot at sleep. His muscles were tight from hard work so different from what he'd been doing. And his head was full of Nikki instead of bombs and regrets. Both those things should help him get some real rest that wasn't interrupted by crap dreams.

But Nikki might be a little
too
much on his mind. He'd intended to make her admit an attraction when he pulled out that Chloe Lissander book. But there had been a noticeable effect on him, too. He couldn't just dole out comments about throbbing sex around her and expect to walk away relaxed.

Far from it.

He scanned the room for a distraction and his gaze landed on the collection of matching book spines with Chloe's name. Her diaries.

Not the erotica that had helped ramp up the night in the first place. But the published and edited tales of her real sex life that apparently only told half the story. Snagging one of them from the shelf, he figured he might as well learn more about the woman who'd inspired Nikki to tackle the project of renovating the aging house.

Besides, what if the writing contained a clue about who was harassing her? He should know the major players in Chloe's life. He felt protective of Nikki. Responsible for her. Maybe it was just an inflated reaction after what had happened in Iraq—the need to save somebody
to ease memories of the ones he hadn't been able to protect.

Tension tightened his shoulders as he forced his eyes down the page in front of him—the date established the writing from the spring of 1943. Maybe this would help him take his mind off Nikki enough to rest. Retreating when he had had been wise, because the sooner Nikki felt safe, the sooner she'd be able to relax with him. Trust him.