Running Wild (34 page)

“I’m at The Oceanside. Room 210. It’s as private as I could
get, next to a back staircase that leads outside.”

She stared at the key. Her breathing quickened. “A key to
your room? I don’t understand.”

The butler announced dinner.

“Damn it,” Nick swore. “How long do we have to stay at
this?”

A tiny, purring laugh escaped her throat. “Why until after
the dessert course is served, naturally. Are you not hungry, Nicholas?”

“I’m hungry for you.”

She started, and her eyes widened.

“I love the way you taste,” he rasped, watching her eyes for
a reaction. They darkened as she blinked several times, her eyes glazing over.
“And the sounds you make,” he said lowering his voice to a whisper, “when I
take those tastes.”

 He took her elbow and carefully led her through the
maze of chairs and tables, while she struggled to regain the composure she so
rarely lost. If not for the hardening down below, he’d have felt victorious.

“I’m a trifle dizzy,” she said in a breathy voice that
hardly sounded like her own.

“Feeling sick? I could take you home.”

“No,” she answered, this time more firmly. “No, I shall make
it through dinner, but I may leave earlier than anticipated. Later, I believe,
oh yes, I am certain, that a breath of fresh air shall suit me very well. And a
long walk.”

“Maybe you’ll want to take a drive, too. Could be you’ll
find a cab just sittin’ on the road about a half mile west of your house.”

“Shall I?” she asked as they entered the brightly lit dining
room. He glanced down to watch the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Full,
round, beckoning. He curled his fingers into a fist as, in spite of his best
efforts, he started to harden.

“I expect,” she purred, “I shall be—walking—for about
forty-five minutes before I find that cab.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said and then moved swiftly to his
seat before the rest of the company could observe his body’s reaction.

***

Dinner lasted forever. Star tried desperately to keep her
mind on the conversation and food, but lost the battle. Nicholas’s words kept
rushing through her mind
I’m hungry for you. . . . I love the way you taste
,
followed by vivid, dizzying recollections of his lips and tongue moving over
her belly, over the mound below to settle between her thighs. A tickle, a
nibble and—

And she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, could only answer
Simon Price and Leander Cushing’s conversation with “Yes.” “No.” And “My how
interesting that sounds.” Even when the latter made typically disparaging
comments on the movement. Leander, breathing lust and frustration, seemed not
to notice her distraction at all. Simon frowned at her now and then, and in
some tiny place in the back of her mind, guilt flailed about.

Then her gaze would find Nicholas across the table, just as
he turned his head in her direction. She would mark his tight jaw and the fire
in his eyes, and the liquid excitement between her legs spread. By the time the
dessert course arrived, she feared that excitement might penetrate her gown and
stain her chair. Oh but she must switch the track of her thoughts! Over and
over she tried, but they kept switching back, stubborn, stubborn things. She
grew to hate the women on either side of Nicholas, who at least could revel in
the eroticism of his low voice, if not actually run their fingertips over his
chest, and down that line of—she sucked in her breath again.

“Yes, it is such a treat isn’t it, this custard,” Simon said
next to her. Was she actually eating? She couldn’t taste a thing. Instead, her
mind continued on, recollecting the feel of Nicholas’s erection rising hard and
proud against her hand. What if she kissed it as he had done to her, as she’d
read in Port’s magazine? If she used her lips and tongue on it, would he like
that? She imagined his response, his face tightening and his low growl floating
over her ears—

A flush burned her skin. She wanted him, she wanted him now!
She was so hot and wet it would take but one touch from him to bring her to
climax.

“Miss Montgomery? Are you quite all right?”

Simon, chirping in her ear. Always chirping in her ear. He
was always around these days, steadfastly pursuing Jane as if she were a
debutant instead of a married woman. If Star had a decent bone in her body
she’d say something, put an end to it. But decent women—ladies—didn’t spend
dinner wondering if she really tasted as good as Nicholas said.

“Yes—” she answered. “No—oh no, I’m not. You know I suddenly
feel quite unwell.”

“You’re flushed,” Simon answered.

“What? Star, are you ill?” Leander asked.

“A bit dizzy, I’m afraid,” she answered thickly. “And
possibly feverish. Perhaps I ought to excuse myself and return home. I
shouldn’t wish to infect anyone else.”

“Of course not,” Leander said, authoritatively. “I’ll escort
you.”

“I could as well,” Simon offered.

“No,” she said. “No, but if you two would both be so kind as
to make my excuses for me? I’ll pretend to slip out to the powder room. Dinner
is almost over, at all events.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leander said. “You need help.”

“Sometimes a fever can bring on a fainting spell,” Simon
said.

Star managed a dry smile, as she rose. “No, thank you both.
I’m sure I’ll be fit as a fiddle in an hour or two.”

Homer, The Iliad

Nick paced back and forth over the thick blue and gold
carpet of his rented room. It’d been thirty minutes since he’d left the
Lancasters’ dinner. Star had vamoosed a good twenty minutes before that, making
it fifty minutes in all. Where the hell was she? She
was
coming, wasn’t
she? She must; he’d go out of his blasted mind if she didn’t.

Easy Nick
.

Taking several breaths, he scanned the room. A box of French
safes on one beside table, a bottle of port on the other next to two glasses, a
box of Swiss chocolates for her and Frenchie cheese for him, like on the beach.
Flowers in vases scattered around the room, lights turned low, windows open to
let the cool ocean breeze flow over passion-enflamed bodies. Naked bodies,
shiny with the sweat of fulfillment.
Star’s
naked body, with its lush
curves—full breasts, firm, round bottom filling his hands—

Damn, but he was so hard he barely needed her!

He took another breath and sat on the edge of the bed,
trying to calm himself. He wanted this to last. Lots of touching and kissing
and slow-building pleasure, the kind that might touch her more than physically,
might touch her heart—

After touching every other part of her.

Easy
.

The bed was wide and high, with a blue canopy and a gold
satin bedspread, grander than anything he’d ever slept in before coming East.
When he’d tested it earlier, he’d felt like a fool. He didn’t belong in a fancy
place like this any more than he did in any other part of Star’s world. Stone
fireplaces and patchwork quilts, that was his world, not, he thought focusing
on the fireplace across the room, not marble mantelpieces with huge, gilt
framed mirrors hanging over them. The blasted thing was so big that he could
see himself in it from here. He hardly recognized himself, dressed up in a grey
pinstriped suit with a gold watch chain hanging from his vest pocket, bought on
a day trip to New York City with Star and Port.

His eyes ranged over the rest of his reflection, and the bed
and the pillows, as he created pictures of Star laying there, hair spread—

“Sonovabitch,” he breathed. He could see
everything
in the mirror! In certain positions, he’d be able to see her naked body as he
kissed her, tasted her, brought her to writhing climax. He’d see himself when
she touched him, and when he slid inside that tight, convulsing cave. His heart
started to pound, making him dizzy.

A knock rang out in the room, followed by Star’s voice and a
scraping of the key in the lock. “Nicholas?”

Three long strides took him to the door. He pulled her
inside and slammed it shut. Pushing her against the wall, he captured her mouth
in a frantic, frenzied kiss. With a tiny moan she yielded, her arms curling
around his neck as her tongue met his, stroke for desperate stroke. Already on
fire with lust, he moved his hands down the back of her dress, pulling at the
buttons. He’d rip it off, and the silly hat, and her corset and whatever the
hell else barred him from the wicked titillation of her naked skin caressing
his.

She jerked her mouth away, gasping—a hot wind on the
passion-heated skin of his neck. “Oh,” she gasped, “I can’t breathe—”

The buttons were so small it was near impossible for a man
to undo ’em. Frustrated, Nick yanked at her gown, triumphant when the buttons
popped off. “You’re breathin’ good enough for me.”

“I’ll faint.”

“I’ll catch you,” he said, and ran his lips along her
lightly perfumed neck, kissing, nipping. She smelled like heaven. Or heaven
smelled like her, but it didn’t matter either way, because she was purring. He
pulled the gown forward, releasing her arms and shoulders, before shoving it to
the floor. Her breasts rose tempting and beautiful above the harsh confines of
her corset and chemise.

As he buried his face in them, she pulled his shirt out of
his pants. She slid her hands underneath, over his belly toward his chest,
creating bright, glowing pleasure. He kissed and licked her breasts, slipping
his tongue under her chemise and corset to flick over one nipple. She arched,
grinding herself against him. Oh hell, he was on the brink—

He jerked away. She clutched at his arm to steady herself,
while gazing up at him with glassy, gold eyes. The flush from her face had
spread across her neck, toward her breasts. No doubt that heat went all the way
down to the joining of her thighs, where paradise lived—hot, wet, and
welcoming.

Now he couldn’t breathe either.

“Is there some reason,” she gasped, “that we stopped?”

“Yeah.” He pulled at her hatpins. “You wriggle your hips
against me one more time and this’ll end before either one of us gets our
clothes off.”

She responded with a light, rasping breath. “I—I thought
that’s what you wanted.”

“What I want is to take you to paradise
with
me.”

She blinked her eyes and answered in a low, vibrating voice,
“I’m not wearing any drawers.”

He sucked in his breath. Hot blood rushed downward. To hell
with slow. He should’ve known better. They’d already lived through months of
torturously slow-building madness.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to the bed, where he yanked
back the sheets and blankets. He pushed her down on it. Afterward, he made
quick work of his clothes. When he turned, he found that she’d stripped off
everything but her chemise, and lay breathing heavily, eating him up with those
wildcat eyes.

Far better with her mouth—

Not a blue-blood aristocrat like Star.

Perhaps you’ll teach me what it is you like
. Her
voice from the previous night, echoing in his ear.

He climbed onto the bed and knelt between her thighs. “Here,
sit up,” he said, pulling her up. “I want this thing off you.” She did, and he
pulled the skirt out from under her beautiful, lush bottom. “Look to your
right—there, over the mantle. See the mirror?”

She turned her head. Her eyes widened as he yanked the
chemise over her head. “Oh! Nicholas I can see myself. . . . Oh, I can see
you
.”

The shameless admiration in her voice shot into his chest
and flashed through his body, lighting up places that’d never felt desire
before.

“You can watch us if you want,” he said, pushing her back.

“You mean watch you touch me? Oh!” she gasped as he kissed
her breasts. The flush on her face darkened, turning her rose-colored nipples
crimson. Balancing on his hands to avoid too much contact and a premature
eruption, he licked one of those lovely peaks, and then suckled it.

“Nicholas,” she exclaimed, wriggling against him. Heat
gripped him deep down, starting the inevitable climb.

Pulling back, he closed his eyes and fought to rein himself
in. When he gained control, he rolled to her side and let his hand explore her
body, prowling over her breasts and across her belly to tug and play in the
hair below. She gasped and he lifted his eyes to the mirror. Her face was
tight, eyes enthralled as he continued his exploration, cresting the mound to
seek out the soft, wet areas beyond. As he leisurely traveled through the
folds, he avoided her pearl, building anticipation. Her hips writhed and she
dug her hands into the bedspread. At length, when her moans turned frantic, he
found her cave and inserted two fingers. He held her gaze in the mirror. “You
like this?” he asked, moving his fingers in and out.

“Yes—oh yes!” His cock jerked, desperate to follow suit.
“And when you touch me
there
.”

“Like this?” He stroked her pearl with his thumb, wet and
slick with her juices.

She arched and cried out as her first climax thundered over
her. Her breasts quivered, erotically framed in gold in that mirror. “Now,” she
said, grabbing for his hand. “I want you,
now
.”

“Not yet. First, I want you to touch me. Like you did on the
beach.”

Trembling, she turned her back to the mirror and wrapped her
fingers around him. She squeezed and kneaded him, bringing pulsing excitement.
After watching for a minute, he said in a low whisper, “You can use your
tongue.”

She stilled. Too much, too soon?

“I wondered if you’d like that.”

Damn, just knowing she thought that way—