Swept Away (36 page)

She’d had to start this, hadn’t she? She sat up a little straighter. “Are we back to questioning
my moral virtue when we don’t question yours?”

Across from her, Brock looked slightly exasperated. “I never questioned it, kitten. And I don’t
really think you’ve lived the life of a nun, but that’s more than fine with me—I’ve never been
into the prim type. So just answer me without getting your bikini bottoms in a wad.”

She let out a sigh. Bossy. “Why do you want to know?”

He countered with a bigger sigh. “I just wondered, okay? You asked me first, remember?”

Kat took another sip of wine, then a bite of her sandwich. Turkey and Chardonnay didn’t
exactly go great together, but she was getting oddly used to it. “Okay. Some,” she finally said,
not really sure how to quantify it. Probably a lot fewer than you, Mr. 007.

“Anyone special?”

For some reason, the question made her a little sad. “Before Ian? Not really.” She dropped her
gaze, fiddled with the stem of her glass. “You?”

She looked up in time to see him shake his head. “I told you, the no-strings girls work well enough for me.”

Weird—she didn’t like the idea of him having meaningless sex with tons of other women, but
she was also relieved he’d never really cared for any of them. She nodded, hoping no emotion passed over her face.

“So tell me, kitten, were you really ready and willing to settle down, do the whole family
thing?”

Kat drained her glass as she considered her answer. Brock reached for the bottle and refilled it, which suited her fine, since a little intoxication might be a nice distraction from this topic she
hadn’t quite meant to open up. “Willing, yes,” she finally said. “Ready, maybe not so much.”

He gave her a small grin. “That’s my girl.”

“I mean, I love kids,” she went on. “And eventually, I want all that, sure. But maybe not yet.”
She quieted, chewed on her lip, then forced herself to spit out the next question burning in her
mind. “Do you ever want that kind of life? Kids, a family?” She tried really hard to look casual
about the inquiry, but wine also sometimes made it hard for her to hide her feelings.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. “Nah, I’m not really a settled kind of guy.” He propped
one elbow on the table and perched his chin atop it to tease her. “But hey, you never know. If
Sister Katrina can actually settle down someday, maybe there’s hope for me, too.”

Kat tilted her head. “Why do you find it so hard to imagine me settling down?” The question
came out smaller than she’d intended.

He pinned her in place with his gaze. “You’ve got wild blood in your veins, honey.”
You put it there. “What makes you think so?”

“Um, maybe it was having you climb on me naked when you were a teenager.”

Oh. Yeah. That. Her face warmed, despite all they’d shared the last couple of days. She
shouldn’t be embarrassed—it made no sense—yet she was.

“I like your wild blood—you gotta know that.”

What would he think if he knew she wasn’t really so wild, that it was only him who had turned
her that way? What would he think if he knew what she suddenly knew—that any and every
hedonistic act she’d ever indulged in had somehow stemmed from him, from that night, from
the want in his eyes and the rejection he’d dealt out instead.

She swallowed back the realization and asked, “Do you like anything else about me besides the
fact that I can be wild?” Again, her voice had come out too quiet, laced with emotion.

And this time he’d heard it—she could see the fresh concern in his gray eyes. “I like a lot about
you, Kat,” he said softly.

“Because I happen to be more than just a good time.”

He lowered his chin slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”

She let out a shaky breath, hoping like hell he hadn’t caught the shaky part. “I’m not sure.” She
reached for the wineglass, knowing the alcohol would either shore up her strength or dissolve
it further—but it was mainly an instinct, something to do with her hands since she’d become
nervous.

“Well, think back to yesterday, kitten,” he said matter-of-factly. “You got to see a little more of me than most people do, and... well, if you look back, real carefully, you’ll know that...”

She lowered her glass, raised her eyes. “That what?”

Brock sighed, but never broke their gaze. “That I see more than a pretty face and a killer body
when I look at you.”

“What do you see?”

She read the honesty in his expression. “A vibrant, sexy, alive woman—who loves art, who helps kids, who’s funny and smart and... I won’t lie to you... a great time in bed, kitten. You
rock my body, honey. But don’t worry—I see the whole package. I know what I’ve got here.”

It was like a flower bloomed in Kat’s heart. It was hardly a profession of love, but it was... pretty phenomenal anyway.

He knew. That she was more than sex. And his eyes said he appreciated all the pieces of her
he’d just mentioned. And it was dangerous as hell to let her thoughts even go there, but... she
almost thought his eyes said he cared for her. Really cared.

She bit her lip and cast a playful smile, ready to lighten things up. “We haven’t actually... done
it in the bed yet, you know.”

He grinned, making her glad she’d broken the tension she’d unwittingly created.
“Unless, well, maybe the bed isn’t exciting enough for you?” she asked.

Brock let out a laugh. “Anywhere your body happens to be is exciting enough for me.” Then
his eyes went dark, seductive, and purely animalistic. “And trust me, kitten, I’ll make the bed
exciting. I’ll make the bed the best you’ve ever had.”

When Kat exited the bathroom in a gray cami-and-panty set trimmed with pink lace, she found her man lying in bed, sheet pulled to his waist, his torso beautifully bare and well muscled, and
an oh-so-sexy smile on his handsome, darkly stubbled face. A soft breeze blew a fresh, salty scent through the window, the room was lit by only a small lamp—which Brock had tossed one of her sarongs over to dim the air even more—and Rod Stewart sang “Tonight’s the
Night” low on the radio perched on the table next to the bed. Brock patted the empty spot next to him and said, “Here, kitty kitty.”

She surged with moisture as she padded toward the bed. Over dinner, she’d let those pesky nervous emotions sneak into their passion, but now they were gone. She wasn’t sure if she’d
washed them away in the shower, if the wine had drowned them, or if Brock’s seductive eyes
had just overpowered them until they evaporated from the heat—but at the moment, all she felt
was hot lust, a rampant, unstoppable desire to climb in that bed and let him keep his promise.

Of course, it might be difficult because what he didn’t know was—the best she’d ever had was
him. On the table. In the shower. In the surf.

And yet, she confidently lifted one bare knee to the mattress knowing that tonight he could,
would, surpass even those marvelous encounters. His eyes said so. And her body believed.

She rose high on her knees next to him, indulging the urge to hover over him, play with him,
let her inhibitions run free. She’d never exactly been inhibited with Brock, but now, more than
ever, she just wanted to follow her instincts, just do, just feel.

Balancing on one elbow, he gazed up at her, then let his eyes travel slowly downward. She felt
them as keenly as a touch, moving across her breasts, her belly, lower. She burned for him.

He answered the burn by gliding one hand from the back of her knee up to her bottom, then leaning in to gently French-kiss the mound at the front of her panties, his tongue pressing
through the fabric in exactly the right spot.

She let out a shivery sigh as the pleasure rushed through her, hot and electric, and had he not
had a firm grip on her, she might have collapsed to the bed.

“Time for my dessert,” he said, the fire in his eyes enough to paralyze her. “The cookies weren’t enough?”

“They weren’t even close to being what I’m hungry for, kitten.” With that, he kissed her there
again, his lips closing over her this time, nibbling.

“Oh...” she murmured, curling her hand over his broad shoulder for balance, reaching with the other to the headboard.

The palm on her bottom snaked inward, smoothly pulled her panties aside. One finger slipped
moistly into her at the precise moment his tongue raked over her most sensitive spot in front.

She shuddered, clenching her teeth, and his voice came labored, raspy. “Ah, kitten, you taste so
damn good.”

Trying to catch her breath, she pressed her fingertips deeper into his hard flesh, peered heatedly
down at him, and said, “Then have some more.”

He released a hot groan just before sinking his mouth back to where she needed it. She bit her
lip at the pleasure and moved against him, closed her eyes and thought of nothing else. And then... she opened them. Wanting to be aware of exactly where she was. Wanting to stamp this
perfect moment into her memory. The view out the window of the picnic table, illuminated by
the security light, and the shadowy silhouette of palm trees beyond. The breeze cooling her skin
where he made it so hot. The sexy song Rod still crooned on the radio, its languid notes
dripping over her, encouraging her yet again to relax and let her inhibitions run wild.

She moved more urgently and his fingers—two now, she thought—dove deeper, thrusting in
and out. Her breath echoed heavy, and she didn’t consider her response, simply let it happen, let herself ease closer and closer to ecstasy.

Closer. Closer. Yes. And then—“Oh!” she cried out. “Oh! Oh God!”

The climax crashed through her like a tidal wave, the hot, weighty pulses nearly overwhelming.
She gripped his shoulder tighter, then released it and twined both hands into his hair. I love
you, Brock. I love you.

As the waves of pleasure—and those still-startling emotions—slowly passed, she went dizzy,
light-headed, weak and quivery, crumpling next to him on the bed. “Thank you,” she heard
herself murmur, and even as the words left her, feared it an odd thing to say, but it was
certainly better than I love you, and she’d needed to say something.

As she reclined back into a pillow, he slid up alongside her, gave her a sex-laced grin, and said,
“It was definitely my pleasure, kitten.” Then he lowered his mouth onto hers, letting her taste
the remnants of his affection, and she thought about how intimate that was—just as intimate as
she’d been with him in the shower. She lifted her hands to his face, simply to feel how utterly
close he was in that moment, to wish he would always be that close.

As his palm moved over the flat of her stomach and onto her breast, his knee slid between her
legs. His kisses were deep and swallowing, and he smelled fresh from the shower but also like
a man—musky, warm. His erection pressed against her hip as his thumb stroked her nipple
through the cami.