In Your Wildest Dreams (18 page)

He studied her unabashedly, his gaze making her even hotter. "So pretty,
chère,"
he whispered, slowly lifting his brown eyes to hers.

She felt lost. Free. Trapped. Confused but wild, and growing hungrier with each passing second. "Kiss me there," she murmured. It was an accident—words never meant to leave her lips.

But Jake didn't hesitate. Stepping up close again, he curled both hands over her breasts, massaging deeply as he delivered a long, slow kiss to her mouth—and then lower. Her neck. The hollow of her throat. The upper curve of plump, pale flesh. Then his tongue flicked over the dark pink tip.

She gasped and the juncture of her thighs spasm
n
ed. Her own thready breath was the only sound.

More. Please.
This time she held it inside, didn't beg, thank goodness—but it was almost as if he'd read her thoughts anyway, because his warm mouth closed over her distended nipple, his tongue swirling around it in wet, intoxicating circles.

Thank God she had the wall to lean against or she'd surely be on the floor by now. She moaned and sighed, drinking in the pleasures from his mouth and hands, still caressing her breasts, molding, shaping, making her crazy with the hot joy of it.
God, yes.

When he switched his ministrations to the other breast, licking and teasing with tongue and teeth, a tiny bite that seemed to reach all the way into her panties made her cry out. She held his head there, ran her hands through his thick hair, and peered down to find him looking back, his tongue raking across the moistened peak as his brown gaze seared her.

She wanted desperately to look away because his eyes made her so wild inside, made her simply want to rip his clothes off, push him to the bed, do everything she'd ever dreamed of—and
never
dreamed of. Her wildest dreams had never been as wild as
he
turned her.

But control, control. You have to keep at least a little control.
She'd never felt comfortable giving that up— especially when it came to sex.

Just when she was sure there was nothing he could do to make her any more deeply aroused, he bent even lower to kiss the smooth plane of her stomach. Her whole body seemed to flutter at the light assault.

And before she could think, he was dropping to his knees, slowly skimming his hands down the fabric that covered her hips. He gazed up, heat rushing from his eyes as his hands closed around the backs of her legs.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Want to kiss you
here
now,
chère,"
he rasped, then lowered a chaste, tiny kiss to the black filmy fabric that lay across the juncture of her thighs.

Chapter 11

S
he gasped at the pure pleasure radiating through her. "Oh ..." she breathed.

His gaze rose to meet hers as his hands
s
li
d
up the backs of her thighs, to her bottom, taking the soft black fabric with him.

"I never
..."
she whispered without meaning to.

"Never what,
beb
?"
His voice was a deep purr from below.

Never felt such hot wanting. Never felt so on the edge of truly letting go.

He blinked, peering up at her. "Surely you've been kissed here before."

She nodded. "Yes, but
..."
It was never like this.

"But what?" he asked, lowering another soft kiss through the dress.

An unstoppable shiver rushed through her, leaving her unable to answer. Why had she even started talking at all? Words seemed ridiculously inadequate in summing up the intense heat surrounding them. He still looked up at her, waiting for a reply, but she only shook her head,

beseeching him with her eyes to go on. And just in case he didn't get the message, she eased one high-heeled foot to the side, parting her legs a bit farther.
Kiss me again.

His eyes seemed to deepen a shade before he lowered them back to the part of her body so close to his mouth. His hands slid from her rear around to her knees, pausing just long enough to gather the fabric in front and push it up, higher, higher, until he held it bunched at her waist. She couldn't stop the trembling that assaulted her, but he seemed undaunted.

"Want to make you feel so good,
chère."
His voice fell over her as dark and soft as a shadow just before he kissed the front of her black silk panties,
openmouthed
, deep and passionate, as if it were a part of her that could kiss him back. Warm pressure and heat—his tongue—permeated her most sensitive spot, and without planning it, she began to grind against him. Maybe she
could
kiss him back—this way.

She closed her eyes, melting, thrusting—softly, softly. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her for support, then found her fingers curling, clawing at the slick wallpaper, reaching for purchase as she sank deeper into his ministrations.

She heard her own whimper as his fingers curved over the top edge of her panties.
Yes. Take them off me.

Grabbing onto one side with both hands, he gave a rough tug and the thin elastic band snapped, leaving the underwear to fall away.

"Oh!" She drew in her breath.

Too much. This was too much. Too much pleasure, too much abandon.

Damn it, no—it was happening again, her body tensing sharply. And like everything else with this man, it was beyond her control.

Her legs snapped together tight as she tried desperately to quell the hungry sensations inside her. "I can't," she blurted out.

Still kneeling before her, he raised his gaze. "What?"

One glimpse of the disbelief in his sexy eyes and she couldn't continue to look at him. She tried to close her legs still tighter, but it wasn't possible. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, "so sorry. But I can't."

"You can't," he repeated, somber, bewildered.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I just
..."
She shook her head. Maybe she should tell him about Curtis. She didn't officially consider him her boyfriend, but maybe that's what this was about, some kind of guilt. God knew it would be easier if she had some sort of concrete reason to give him. Yet even without speaking the words, it sounded like a he to her. "I'm sorry," she said again.

He let her dress fall back down her thighs as he rose to his feet. Shutting his eyes, he ran his hands back through his hair and let out a heavy sigh of frustration. Feeling like the worst sort of tease, she remembered she was still half unclothed and began fumbling to grab up the front of her dress.

Casting only one last look of disappointment, he started for the door. "I'd better go." "Wait."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, to look over his shoulder. Like always, his eyes nearly buried her.

"Wh-what about Tina? Do you think you'll be able to find her now that we know her friend's name?"

He looked dumbfounded that she could be talking about
that
at a time like
this
—and at the moment she couldn't blame him. She asked too much of him.

They stood like that for a long, tense moment, until finally Jake gave his head a quick shake. T can't do this anymore."

He turned to go again and impulse made her rush forward. Still using one hand to hold her dress up in front, she latched onto his wrist with the other. "What do you mean?"

Shaking free from her grip, he took a step back, looking more dark and forbidding than usual. "I can't be near you, Stephanie, without wantin' you. And if I haven't been able to locate your sister by now, I seriously doubt a girl's name is gonna make a difference. I can't help you." He shook his head again. "I can't keep doin' this."

With that, he stalked out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him. The slam drove home for her how alone she suddenly was. She stared at it blankly, feeling as if she'd just lost
...
everything that mattered.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.
Ten minutes after Jake left, Stephanie's fear of sleeping with him had faded, but her desire remained in full swing, pulsing through her body like something trying to get out.
Idiot.

Pushing up from the bed, where she'd let herself collapse a moment after his departure, she stripped off her dress, changing quickly into a pair of blue jeans, a gray tank top she usually wore to the gym, and her comfortable leather sandals.

Locking the door behind her, she headed for the customer parking lot. Jake had once told her—only because she'd pried—that he lived in an old building on Burgundy.

That's all she knew about where to find him other than Sophia's. So if she had any chance of finding him
tonight,
she needed to beat him home, see him walking down the street. Finally, a use for the rental car she'd kept just in case her search for Tina led her beyond the immediate vicinity. Even driving, she'd still have to hurry, and still might not locate him.

She pulled out on Esplanade, heading toward the French Quarter. Passing Burgundy—a one-way going the wrong way—she turned onto Dauphine, speeding down several blocks before circling back to Jake's street again. That quickly, though, it seemed futile. Too many doorways. Too many balconies and windows and gates and shutters. He could be behind any of them. She briefly considered the phone book, but quickly concluded that a guy as secretive as Jake would be unlisted, even if just as a holdover from his days as a cop.

She crept up the street in the midsize sedan, studying the few people she spotted on the sidewalk, but none of them were Jake. Until, that is, she spied a man crossing toward an old blue pickup truck parked along the curb. Her stomach lurched at the sight of him.

She slowed to a stop, hoping he wouldn't realize it was her—although she wasn't sure why.

She'd been trying to tell herself she'd come to plead with him about not giving up on Tina, since he was the only person in this town willing to help. But the much bigger truth was that she'd come to apologize, because she was so sorry for what had happened back at her room, so sorry she'd said no. Something had compelled her to seek him out and make things right.

And yet now she hid within the safe confines of her rental car, just wanting to watch him, see what he did, where he went. He never gave her any answers about himself—maybe if she followed him, she'd finally learn more about him.

She flipped on her turn signal, as if waiting for his parking space, then watched the truck's taillights blink on before it rumbled away from the curb. Hanging back, she killed the turn signal and proceeded behind him.

She followed him up a maze of streets that led deeper into the city. Maybe this was childish, maybe it was downright stupid—but her heart beat faster wondering where he was going and what it would tell her about him. Within a few turns and stoplights, the blue pickup veered onto an expressway ramp, leading her onto Interstate 10.

Once on the open road, Jake drove fast and she struggled to keep up without him noticing. As they crossed the Mississippi, she found herself asking:
Where does a man like Jake Broussard go at a time like this?
To another woman, someone who wouldn't heat him up just to turn him down? Her stomach tightened at the thought. Why was sex so difficult for her? She wanted so desperately to explain it to him, but she didn't know the answer herself. She pressed on the gas a little heavier, lest she lose sight of the truck.

Soon they were on a more desolate, empty road and she was careful to stay back a reasonable distance, just barely keeping his taillights in view. The farther they got from the city, the darker the air became. She saw only the low-lying road directly in front of her. God, where on earth was he going?

If you had half a brain, you'd turn around and go back. Leave the man alone.

Yet she'd come so far, and to head back to New Orleans now would only leave her all the more curious and frustrated. Despite herself, she simply
...
wanted to be close to him, wanted to be wherever he was.

But an hour into the trip, she let out a huge sigh, thinking he might never get to where he was going. And dear God, what was that on the side of the road? She only caught a glimpse, but was fairly certain she'd just passed a small alligator.

Following more twists and turns, Stephanie found herself pursuing Jake down a two-lane road labeled Route 56 and knew instinctively she was in the heart of bayou country. For some reason, it made her heart beat painfully—it somehow seemed dangerous and a little eerie to be out here in the middle of a deserted area she knew nothing about. Keeping up with Jake had turned into a safety measure as much as anything else—she no longer even cared if he figured out she was following him.