No Knight Needed (44 page)

She grinned at him. "Well, you've got some learnin' to do, Sarantos, if you're going to be living in this here town. Sunset appreciation is mandatory for all residents, and you'll be quizzed every morning at Wright's when you show up for your coffee." She held out her hand and beckoned with her fingers. "Up," she ordered.

Jason grinned at her bold command, and he immediately set his hand in hers. Electricity leapt through him as his skin touched hers, and she sucked in her breath at the contact. Wariness flashed in her eyes, and Jason sensed she was about to retreat.

No chance.

He wasn't missing this moment.

He immediately tightened his grip on hers and hauled himself up onto the rock beside her. The peak of the boulder was smaller than he'd expected, bringing them dangerously close to each other. For a moment, neither of them moved. He just stared down at her, and she gazed at him, her brown eyes wide and nervous. Her pulse was hammering in her throat, and he instinctively pressed his index finger on it, trying to ease it down. "Your heart is racing."

Those dark, expressive eyebrows of hers shot up, and she lifted her chin. "Beautiful sunsets get my adrenaline going."

"Do they?" They were so close to each other that he could feel the heat from her body. "Shouldn't they calm your soul and ease the stress from your body?" He moved closer, easing across the boulder. "Are you afraid of me, Astrid? I won't hurt you."

She blinked, and he saw doubt flicker across her face again. "Don't touch me," she whispered.

Instead of moving his fingers away from her throat, he traced her collarbone. Goosebumps popped up on her skin, and she sucked in her breath.

Awareness leapt through him at her transparent response, at the realization she was as affected by the touch as he was. Sudden desire blasted through him, raw, physical need that leapt straight to his loins. Jason froze, shocked by the pulse of physical need that shot through him. Son of a bitch. He hadn't responded to a woman in years.
Years.
"Jesus, Astrid," he whispered. "What is it about you?"

She shook her head once, her eyes so wide that he could read every nuance of her emotions. Unexpected, powerful desire, coupled with a fear so deep that it came from her soul. Excitement. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. "It's not me," she whispered. "It's you."

He spread his hand over the back of her neck, basking in the sensation of her skin beneath his palm. She felt so alive, vibrating with life, and yet at the same time, her skin was so delicate and soft that protectiveness surged through him. A need to be the strong male and take care of her, in the way that his former wife had never allowed him to do. His fingers tightened on her neck and he drew her closer. "No. It's both of us."

Astrid braced her palm on his chest, blocking him. "Don't," she said. "Please, don't."

"I can't help it." He couldn't tear her gaze off her eyes, off the myriad of expressions racing through them. He couldn't breathe. He felt like his soul was screaming with desperation, frantic for one chance, one moment, one kiss with this woman. As if the brush of her lips could save him from the free fall threatening to consume him. "I need to kiss you, Astrid. Now."

(Stand Alone Novella)

(Contemporary Holiday Romantic Comedy, Available Now)

Kyle tossed some bills into the Salvation Army bucket as they walked by, then he stopped. "I forgot. I need to get my mom a nightgown." He turned to go back to Macy's. "Come on."

Angie stopped "No way. I'm not risking my life for those crowds again."

He grinned, walked over to her, slung his arm around her neck to anchor her to his side, then started back into the store. "I'll protect you, my fair maiden."

Fair maiden? Okay, so being smashed up against Kyle might be sufficient justification to brave the crowds again. She sighed as she let him clear a path for them. What was she doing?

She was falling for him again, that's what she was doing.

She'd been so removed from him this week, trying hard to see him as an autocratic workaholic hated by the world. Yet it had taken only a few minutes of being out of the office and seeing his dimples to make her feet start tap dancing to songs of love.

No, not love.

Lust.

No way would she love him.

"Okay, here we go." He stopped next to a rack of flannel nightgowns. "Navy blue. Size extra large. Perfect."

Angie grabbed his hand as he went for the item. "Not so fast."

He lifted his brow. "You don't like it? It's conservative, practical. Perfect for my mom."

"Is she married?"

He frowned. "Yeah, to her second husband. Why? I'm not getting him the nightgown." He grinned at his own joke.

"Well, maybe you should."

"He's not a cross-dresser. I don't think he'd want it."

"No, he wouldn't want the flannel one, I agree." Angie strolled over toward the
other
side of the lingerie section, where lace, silk and spaghetti straps were in abundance. "He might, however, enjoy something from here." She picked up a pale blue nightie with a lace bodice and held it up. "This is what you should get your mom." She turned to show it to him, only to find him still standing at the flannel nightgowns, a look of horror on his face.

She waved it at him, and he shook his head and turned back to the rack of flannel nightgowns and started pawing desperately through the red plaid.

Angie started to laugh. And to think this was the man who claimed to know all about romance, at least to the point of being a love muse. She waved the sexy nightie cheerfully so that the silk fluttered. "Hey. Just because she's your mom doesn't mean she doesn't like being sexy. And I'm sure your stepdad would appreciate a little heat in the bedroom just as much as you would."

"Stop it!" He backed up, stumbling over a bin of bikini underwear. "My mother is not wearing that."

Angie grinned as she walked across the store to where Kyle was hiding. "If I was in your bed, would you rather I was wearing this flannel nightgown—" She held up the item he'd thrust at her so mercilessly. "—or this sexy little number?" It really wasn't even that sexy. Demure, with a little bit of naughtiness mixed in.

Kyle's eyes went black. "You? I'd take you naked."

Electricity jolted through her and desire pooled in her belly. Not just desire. Raw, pulsating need and want. Uh, oh… Angie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She had to stay focused. Nothing good could come of discussing her nakedness with Kyle. "Before you got me naked," she clarified. "As a male, would you prefer your woman to be in flannel or silk?"

His gaze was so intense she felt like he could see right through her clothes to the matching black lace panties and bra she'd put on this morning to try to get in the romance mood. "Silk." His voice was husky, deep, and sent chills down her spine.

She took a deep breath. "Well, then, that's what we should get for your mom. She's a woman like I am, and your stepdad is a man like you."

"I'm not thinking about my mom." But it wasn't a protest. It was an arrogant statement that said very clearly who he
was
thinking about.

She lifted her chin and took a step toward him. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't stop herself. She didn't
want
to stop herself. "You couldn't even begin to imagine what I'd be like in your bed," she said, letting her voice go a little soft and throaty. "So don't bother guessing."

His hands snaked out and grabbed her waist, hauling her up against him before she could step away. "Tell me." His lips were hovering over hers, his breath mingling with hers. "Tell me what you'd be like in my bed, Angie."

She braced her hands on his arms, desire leaping through her at the feel of his muscles beneath her hands. Hard. Like steel. Raw, manly, steel. Oh, Lordy. She was in way over her head. Not that she could let him know it. She couldn't let him know that he could still get to her. "Words can't do it justice," she managed to say. "I'd have to show you."

His grip tightened on her hips, and his gaze went to her lips. "Then show me." His voice was husky and hoarse, as if he were being tormented by the vision of her naked in his bed.

Oh, God.
Show him?
Suddenly, the image of his bed flashed through her mind. Those tousled sheets. The mattress sinking beneath her weight as he set her on the bed… Heat flushed her skin and she let him pull her closer, so her belly was pressed against his. "Show you? I'd love to."

He sucked in his breath and he locked a hand behind the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Holy crap. He was going to kiss her! Right in the store in front of everyone!

No, no, no. She couldn't do this. She'd never recover. She set one hand on his chest, blocking him. "Sorry, but that's not going to happen." At the frustrated look in his eyes, she couldn’t help but add a little tease by trailing her finger over his lips. "I've already resolved that I wouldn't allow you to inspire me anymore."

"I'm not talking about inspiring anyone. I just want you. This has nothing to do with work." His fingers were stroking the back of her neck now, a sensual caress that was sending chills down her spine.

Oh, wow. Was this moment simply about them? About the heat burning up the air between them? Not about work or her stories? Did he want her the way she wanted him, pure and simple? Not that there was anything simple about the feelings racing through her.

No, no, no, she couldn't do this! She couldn’t get involved with him.

"I can't kiss you," she whispered. The finger she'd been trailing over his lips was suddenly in his mouth, caught in a suckling whirlwind of moist heat. "Um..."

"You're the one who brought it up." His voice was hoarse, tight, his tongue winding around her fingertip.

"Brought what up?" How could he speak with her fingers in his mouth? He must do that a lot—suck on women's fingers. An expert. Fierce jealousy roared through her at the idea of Kyle with other women. She had a sudden, burning need to claim him, to make him hers, to imprint herself onto him so no other woman would ever be able to compete with her in his mind.

Oh, damn. That wasn't good. She didn't want to be having possessive thoughts about Kyle!

"You. Me. My bed. Nakedness," he said, lowering his head until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from hers. "You brought it all up."

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, the heat of his mouth, the intensity of his persona. Anticipation rushed through her, followed by an almost insatiable need, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. Seducing her without even kissing her. The man knew what he was doing.

She'd never been ravished by an expert lover before. With the stories Heidi told about Quinn's talents in the bedroom, Angie was well aware that she'd been missing out. Maybe that was why she couldn't write the romance stories for Swift. Because she hadn't truly experienced mind-numbing lovemaking.

Perhaps in the name of research...

Oh, no. What was she thinking?

(The Order of the Blade: Primal Heat Trilogy, Book One)

(Dark & Sexy Paranormal Romance, Available Now)

Quinn Masters raced soundlessly through the thick woods, his injuries long forgotten, urgency coursing through him as he neared his house. He covered the last thirty yards, leapt over a fallen tree, then reached the edge of the clearing by his cabin.

There she was.

He stopped dead, fading back into the trees as he stared at the woman he’d scented when he was still two hours away, a lure that had eviscerated all weakness from his body and fueled him into a dead sprint back to his house.

His lungs heaving with the effort of pushing his severely damaged body so hard, Quinn stood rigidly as he studied the woman whose scent had called to him through the dark night. She’d yanked him out of his thoughts about Elijah and galvanized him with energy he hadn’t been able to summon on his own.