Sea Swept (23 page)

His tongue slid under, teasing and tasting until her knees were loose and her head full of flashing lights and colors. She’d known he could do this to her, take her to that teetering edge of reason and insanity. She’d wanted him to. More, she’d wanted to take him there with her.

The wanting was huge, ruthlessly keen, recklessly primitive. And for now, for both of them, it was all that mattered.

Murmuring mindlessly, she dragged off his shirt and dug her nails into the hard ridge of his shoulders. His chest was broad and firm, the flesh hot and smooth under her roaming hands. There were scars, under the shoulder,
along the ribs. The body, she thought, of a risk-taker, of a man who played to win.

With a quick and expert flick of his fingers, he opened the front hook and let her breasts fill his greedy hands. She was magnificent. Golden skin and lush curves. He thought her body almost impossibly perfect. Yet it was erotically real, soft and firm and smooth and fragrant. He wanted to bury himself in her, but when she tugged at the button of his slacks, he shook his head.

“Uh-uh. I want you in bed.” He brought her hands up until they circled his neck, brought his mouth down until the kiss was savage and stunning. “I want you under me, over me, wrapped around me.”

She kicked off one shoe, balancing herself as they swayed toward the bed. “I want you inside me.” Kicked off the other as they tumbled to the mattress.

She rolled over him first, straddling him. The light was nearly gone. Only a pale wash from the setting sun slipped through the windows. Shadows shifted. Her lips were hungry, restless, racing over his face, his throat. Though she had wanted men before, now there was a ferocious and primal greed sweeping through her that she’d never experienced. She would take him, was all she could think, take what she wanted and ease this almost unbearable need.

When she arched back and her upper body was silhouetted in that fragile light, the breath clogged in his lungs. He wanted with an urgency he couldn’t remember feeling for anything or anyone else. The desire to take, to possess, to own, surged violently in his already raging blood.

He reared up, gripping her hair in one hand, yanking her head back to expose that long column of throat to his mouth. He could have anything with her. Would have everything.

He was rougher than he meant to be as he pushed her back on the bed. His breath was already heaving as he locked his hands with hers. Her eyes were dark and gleaming—the kind of eyes, he thought, for a man to drown in.
Her hair a tangled mass of black silk against the deep bronze of the spread. The scent of her was more than a provocative invitation. It was a smoldering demand.

Take me, it seemed to say. If you dare.

“I could eat you alive,” he murmured and once more crushed his mouth to hers.

He held her down, knowing that if she wrestled free it would be over too soon. Fast, God, yes, he wanted fast, but he didn’t want it to end. He thought he could live his life right here in this bed with Anna’s quivering body under his.

Her hands flexed under his, her body arched when he drew the tip of her breast into his mouth. He could feel her heartbeat stumble as he used teeth, tongue, lips to taste, to pleasure them both.

When he’d filled himself on her, fed himself on her, he released her hands to touch, and be touched.

They rolled over the bed, groping, tugging at the clothes that remained between them. Their breath was quick and labored, punctuated by half gasps and low moans that spoke of turbulent thrills and dark delights. Sensation slid over sensation, building trembling layers toward delirium. She shuddered under his hands, nearly wept, as each new lash of pleasure whipped through her, each sharp and separate.

She fought to bring him the same barbed and edgy ache.

His hand closed over her, and she was hot and wet and ready. Her body arched, her nails bit into his back as her system exploded to peak.

Then they went mad.

She would remember only a battle for more. And more. Still more. Wild animal sex, a craving to mate. Seeking hands slid off damp flesh, hungry mouth sought hungry mouth. She came again, and her cry of release was a half sob of both triumph and helplessness.

The light was gone, but he could still see her. The glint of those dark eyes, the generous shape of that beautiful mouth. The blood roared in his head, in his heart, in his
loins. He could think only
now
and drove himself hard and deep inside her.

His vision grayed, his mind reeled. They remained poised for a shivering moment, joined, mated. He wasn’t even aware that his hands sought hers, that their fingers locked into fists.

Then they began to move, a race now full of speed and urgency. There was the good, healthy sound of damp flesh slapping against damp flesh. Their gazes met and held. He watched her eyes go blind and opaque as she crested, he heard the moan tear from her lips an instant before he closed his over hers to swallow the sound.

Her hips pumped like pistons, urging him on, driving him closer to his own jagged brink. He hammered himself into her, holding onto the edge by his fingertips. Watching her, watching her while the need for release clawed viciously at his gut. Then her body went taut, a drawn bow of shock and pleasure.

It was her scream he swallowed as he let himself fall.

H
E COULDN’T possibly move. Cam was certain that if someone held a gun to his head at that moment, he would simply lie there and take the bullet. At least he’d die a satisfied man.

He couldn’t think of a better place to be than stretched out over Anna’s curvy body, with his face buried in her hair. And if he stayed there long enough, he might get his second wind.

The music had changed again. When his mind cleared enough for him to tune in to it, he recognized Paul Simon’s clever twists of lyrics and melody. He nearly drifted off as he was invited to call the singer Al.

“If you fall asleep on top of me, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

He drummed up the energy to smile. “I’m not going to sleep. I’m thinking about making love to you again.”

“Oh.” She stroked her hands down his back to his hips. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Just give me a couple of minutes.”

“I’d be glad to. If I could breathe.”

“Oh.” Lazily he propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her. “Sorry.”

She only grinned. “No, you’re not. You’re smug. But so am I, so that’s okay.”

“It was great sex.”

“It was great sex,” she agreed. “Now I’m going to finish dinner. We’ll need fuel if we’re going to try that again.”

Both delighted and baffled, he shook his head. “You’re a fascinating woman, Anna. No games, no pretenses. Looking the way you do, you could have men jumping through hoops.”

She gave him a little shove so she could wiggle free. “What makes you think I haven’t? You’re exactly where I wanted you, aren’t you?” Smiling, she rose and walked naked to the closet.

“That’s a hell of a body you’ve got there, Miz Spinelli.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she wrapped herself in a short red robe. “Same to you, Quinn.”

She headed out to the kitchen, humming to herself as she turned the heat back on under the sauce, filled a pot with water for the pasta. Lord, it was lovely, she thought, to feel so loose, so limber, so liberated. However reckless it might be for her to take Cameron Quinn as a lover, the results were worth every risk.

He’d made her aware of every inch of her body, and every inch of his. He made her feel painfully alive. And best of all, she mused as she took out the bread she wanted to toast lightly, he seemed to understand her.

It was one thing to be wanted by a man, to be satisfied by a man. But it warmed her heart to be liked by the man who desired her.

She turned and picked up her wine just as Cam came
out of the bedroom. He’d pulled on his slacks but hadn’t bothered to hook them. Anna sipped slowly while she studied him over the rim of her glass. Broad shoulders, hard chest, the waist that tapered to narrow hips and long legs. Oh, yes, he had a terrific body.

And for now it was all hers.

She lifted a pepper from the tray and held it up to his lips.

“It’s got bite,” Cam said as the heat filled his mouth.

“Um-hmm. I like . . . bite.” She picked up his wine and handed it to him. “Hungry?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“It won’t be long.” And because she recognized the look in his eye, she slipped around the counter to stir her sauce. “The water’s nearly on the boil.”

“You know what they say about a watched pot,” he began and started around the counter after her. It was the sketch on the refrigerator that distracted him from his half-formed plan to wrestle her to the kitchen floor. “Hey, that looks just like Foolish.”

“It is Foolish. Seth drew it.”

“Get out!” He hooked a thumb in his pocket as he took a closer study. “Really? It’s damn good, isn’t it? I didn’t know the kid could draw.”

“You would, if you spent more time with him.”

“I spend time with him every day,” Cam muttered. “He doesn’t tell me dick.” Cam didn’t know where the vague annoyance had come from, but he didn’t care for it. “How’d you get this out of him?”

“I asked,” she said simply, and slid linguini into the boiling water.

Cam shifted on his feet. “Look, I’m doing the best I can with the kid.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I just think you’ll do better—with a little more practice and a little more effort.”

She pushed her hair back. She hadn’t meant to get into this. Her relationship with Cam was supposed to have two separate compartments, without their contents getting
mixed up together. “You’re doing a good job. I mean that. But you’ve got a long way to go, Cam, in gaining his trust, his affection. Giving your own. He’s an obligation you’re fulfilling, and that’s admirable. But he’s also a young boy. He needs love. You have feelings for him. I’ve seen them.” She smiled over at him. “You just don’t know what to do with them yet.”

Cam scowled at the sketch. “So now I’m supposed to talk to him about drawing dogs?”

Anna sighed, then turned to frame Cam’s face in her hands. “Just talk to him. You’re a good man with a good heart. The rest will come.”

Annoyed again, he gripped her wrists. He couldn’t have said why the quiet understanding in her voice, the amused compassion in her eyes made him nervous. “I’m not a good man.” His grip tightened just enough to make her eyes narrow. “I’m selfish, impatient. I go for the thrills because that’s what suits me. Paying your debts doesn’t have anything to do with having a good heart. I’m a son of a bitch, and I like it that way.”

She merely arched a brow. “It’s always wise to know yourself.”

He felt a little flutter of panic in his throat and ignored it. “I’ll probably hurt you before we’re done.”

Anna tilted her head. “Maybe I’ll hurt you first. Willing to risk it?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear and ended up pulling her into his arms for a smoldering kiss. “Let’s eat in bed.”

“That was the plan,” she told him.

T
HE PASTA WAS cold by the time they got to it, but that didn’t stop them from eating ravenously.

They sat cross-legged on her bed, knees bumping, and ate in the glow of the half dozen candles she’d lighted.
Cam shoveled in linguini and closed his eyes in pure sensory pleasure. “Goddamn, this is good.”

Anna wound pasta expertly around her fork and bit. “You should taste my lasagna.”

“I’m counting on it.” Relaxed and lazy, he broke a piece of the crusty bread she’d put into a wicker basket and handed half to her.

Her bedroom, he’d noted, was different from the rest of the apartment. Here she hadn’t gone for the practical, for the streamlined. The bed itself was a wide pool covered in soft rose sheets and a slick satin duvet in rich bronze. The headboard was a romantic arch of wrought iron, curvy and frivolous and plumped now with a dozen fat, colorful pillows.

The dresser he pegged as an antique, a heavy old piece of mahogany refinished to a rosy gleam. It was covered with pretty little bottles and bowls and a silver-backed brush. The mirror over it was a long oval.

There was a mahogany lady’s vanity with a skirted stool and glinting brass handles. For some reason he’d always found that particular type of furniture incredibly sexy.

A copper urn was filled with tall, fussy flowers, the walls were crowded with art, and the windows framed in the same rich bronze as the spread.

This, he thought idly, was Anna’s room. The rest of the apartment was still Miz Spinelli’s. The practical and the sensual. Both suited her.

He reached over the side of the bed to the floor, where he’d put the bottle of wine. He topped off her glass.

“Trying to get me drunk?”

He flashed a grin at her. Her hair was tangled, the robe loose enough to have one shoulder curving free. Her big dark eyes seemed to laugh at both of them. “Don’t have to—but it might be interesting anyway.”

She smiled, shrugged and drank. “Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

“Today?” He gave a mock shudder. “Nightmare time.”

“Really.” She twirled more pasta, fed it to him. “Details.”

“Shopping. Shoes. Hideous.” When she laughed, he felt the smile split his face. God, she had a great laugh. “I made Ethan and Phillip go with me. No way I was facing that alone. We had to practically handcuff the kid to get him to go. You’d think I was fitting him for a straitjacket instead of new high-tops.”

“Too many men don’t appreciate the joys, challenges, and nuances of shopping.”

“Next time, you go. Anyway, I had my eye on this building on the waterfront. We checked it out before we headed to the mall. It’ll do the job.”

“What job?”

“The business. Boat building.”

Anna set her fork down. “You’re serious about that.”

“Dead serious. The place’ll do. It needs some work, but the rent’s in line—especially since we’re strong-arming the landlord into paying for most of the basic repairs.”

“You want to build boats.”

“It’ll get me out of the house, keep me off the streets.” When she didn’t smile back, he shrugged his shoulder. “Yeah, I think I could get into it. For now, anyway. We’ll do this one for the client Ethan’s already got lined up, see how it goes from there.”