Tempt Me (4 page)

Even asleep, he knew exactly how to ouch her.

Clawing at the sagging bandage—it was in her way—the Ziploc bag fell to the rug with a soft plop. She clutched his ass, writhing and straining for the release that hovered just out of reach, like a helium balloon on a string.

This was
so
wrong. He was asleep; he didn’t realize what he was doing, or with whom. He was an incubus, a sex demon, a slave to his biology. Any body would do.

“Bailey...”

Her name.

“Touch me, babe.” He dragged her hand to the hot ridge thrusting behind his sweatpants. The thick, blunt flesh seared her palm like a brand, and he arched into her touch. Muttering something hot and sleepy under his breath, he flexed his hips, pressing his hand against hers—

She gasped as a lightning bolt of pain shot from her wrist to her elbow.

“Bailey? Shit.” He sat up, yanking his hand from her panties and swiping sleep-rumpled hair away from his face. “Are you okay?”

How was she supposed to answer that question? “I just zinged my wrist.” The wrist connected to the hand that still cupped his...
Sweet Jesus
. She snatched her hand away from his erection. “Sor—”

“No, I’m sorry.” His rough voice seemed a half an octave lower than usual. “You twisted your wrist when we fell in the driveway last night.” He pushed the blankets back and climbed out from behind her with a graceful extension of long arms and legs. As if waking up with someone’s hands on his cock, and with his in someone’s underwear, was no big deal.

And it wasn’t, not for him. She needed to remember that.

Rafe winced as his bare feet touched the chilly floor. “The fire’s almost out. I’ll get some heat in here.”

All righty then. If he could be matter-of-fact and low-key about this, so could she.

He added some logs to the fire. “I think you just sprained the wrist, but let me check it again now that we have some light. Another ice pack wouldn’t hurt.” Picking up the Ziploc bag from the floor, he padded to the kitchen, dumped the water in the sink, and opened the freezer. “No light in here,” he called. “Electricity’s not back on yet.” Ice cubes clacked.

“No electricity? Won’t the pipes freeze?”

“Not likely. We have three or four cords of wood out back, so we should be okay.”

No electricity. She’d come up here to get some work done, and now she’d have to conserve battery power...crap, her laptops. They were still out in the car, along with everything else she’d brought with her. She shoved to her feet, snagging the cashmere blanket and wrapping it around her like a cape.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have things out in my car that shouldn’t freeze.” And it was hours too late for most of them. After a night spent outside in below-freezing temperatures, the fresh fruit and vegetables were surely beyond help. “Where are my clothes?” Rafe Sebastiani had undressed her again, and she hadn’t even been awake for the experience. It just figured.

“Slow down. I brought everything in last night, after you fell asleep. The groceries are put away, your duffle bag’s over there in the big bedroom—”

“My computer bag?” She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about her laptops, no matter how badly she’d fallen. Where was her brain?

“It’s in the bedroom, too.”

“Thank you.” Thanks to him, her work hadn’t been left overnight in an unsecured garage. She didn’t want to think about how many trips he’d taken between the cabin and the car in such treacherous conditions.

He nodded, sealing the Ziploc bag of ice with a pinch and a slide. “You can pay me back with some of that lobster truffle ravioli you brought.” He eyed her. “I didn’t think Chadden did take-out.”

What was that odd twist in his voice? “He had a computer emergency at the restaurant last month. After I fixed the problem, he said he’d feed me for life.” She grinned. “I’m making him pay through the nose.”

“Well, don’t tell him we heated one of his signature dishes in a cast-iron pot suspended over a fire.”

Hmm. No electricity meant no kitchen appliances. No lights. No coffeemaker. No hot water for the shower, and she probably reeked. Did the toilet work? Would they have to share—she gulped—a potty pail? Talk about being blasted back to
Little House on the Prairie
times.

Suck it up, dude.
There was a wood-burning sauna down by the lake, and an old outhouse out back if she got desperate for bathroom privacy. Desperation was a relative thing. Half-Pint’s eyes would pop at the rustic luxury of the Sebastiani family’s cabin. Needing the fireplace for light and heat rather than for entertainment put a disconcerting spin on things, but on the other hand, they
had
heat, a pantry full of food and snacks, and most important for her productivity, the case of Red Bull Rafe had hopefully rescued from her trunk.

Potty pail or not, she was snowed in with a sex demon. Her imagination fired with images: the two of them twined together on the colorful braid rug, skin to skin, Rafe’s long hair curtaining away the world. Him, roving every inch of her body with an explorer’s gusto, and her, discovering exactly which combination of touches made a sex demon writhe. 

Yeah, you wish.
Rafe’s reaction to her touch, not five minutes ago, had been to extricate himself from it as quickly as possible.

“Let’s check out that wrist.” Suddenly he was standing next to her, nostrils twitching up a storm. His species absorbed emotional energy for sustenance, and discerned emotions as they inhaled. He couldn’t help but sense her arousal. She couldn’t hide from him, and he couldn’t escape it—couldn’t escape her, no matter how much he might want to.

Heat scalded her cheeks. She had to get a grip on herself here. But he stood so close that his rumpled T-shirt brushed against her skin as he breathed—deep, luxurious inhalations that expanded his chest and dropped his eyelids to half-mast. Holy Mother, he smelled like sin.

When he touched her wrist, a tiny moan escaped. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll try not to hurt you.” Taking her wrist in both hands, he carefully poked and prodded, moving the swollen joint this way and that. She felt his eyes on her face, watching for any wince, any reaction.

When he carefully flexed the wrist upwards, he got it. Another hot streak shot up her arm, making her gasp. “Crap, that hurts!”

“Sorry.” He winced in sympathy. “Almost done.” Gently pressing his fingertips against her ligaments and tendons, he found the bundle that made her leap with pain. “Sprain. Why don’t you go get dressed, and we can get that ice pack back on.” He cleared his throat again, looking away. “I’ll put some water on for coffee, we can have some breakfast, and then we can plan our day—which, in my professional opinion, means leaving the laptop in the bag. You need to rest that wrist.”

“Your professional opinion? Rafe, you’re an artist, a sculptor.”

“Who’s studied anatomy. I think you stretched a ligament, here”—he poked, prompting a gasp with his accuracy—”which makes it a sprain, but if you don’t trust my diagnosis, you can have Wyland check it out when we get home.”

Not bloody likely. She was hardly Wyland’s favorite person at the moment.

“Really, why don’t you kick back, take a day off and relax?”

“Work
is
how I relax.” She carefully flexed her wrist. At least she hadn’t hurt her mouse hand. Between both laptops, she should have about twenty hours of battery power. Surely the electricity would come back on today. She could get a good start on the code, but—

“How about reading a book? Mystery, romance, erotica, horror?” Rafe gestured to the bookshelves climbing the living room’s north wall. “I think Antonia left some manga here the last time she came up.”

Her thoughts were still snagged on the erotica he’d so casually mentioned. No way would she read erotica anywhere in his vicinity. “I have some technical journals I need to catch up on.”

Rafe just shook his head.

Yeah, nerds on parade. How long had it been since she’d read for pleasure? Probably years. “What do you plan on doing?”

He glanced at the dining room table, where something lay shrouded in protective plastic, then back to her. “I need to do some sketching.” Suddenly his cheekbones and jaw line looked...sharper somehow.

“So, you can work, but I can’t?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. And sketching doesn’t require electricity.”

“Don’t think I don’t see that huge bruise on your elbow.” She reached for the corner of the plastic. “Can I take a peek?”

Rafe practically flew to the table to stop her. “No. It’s...not done yet.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. Come back by the fire.” With a light touch on her elbow, he led her back to the couch. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use some coffee. And some food.”

Her stomach muscles clenched, way down low. Watching his lips move, watching him enjoy food and drink with his innate sensuality, would absolutely do her in. “I really should get dressed...”

He dropped his hands like she’d burned him. “Sorry. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Despite all evidence to the contrary, you’re safe with me.” Turning away, he threw a couple more logs on the fire and jabbed at them with a metal poker. 

Her cheeks flamed.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you earlier.”

Despite the coverage of the blanket, she felt naked. Exposed. “It was a perfectly natural reaction,” she said, trying for a blithe sophistication she was far from feeling. “Once you realized who you were with, you stopped. It’s okay—”

“I knew exactly what I was doing, and with whom.”

Then why the self-loathing in his voice? Why weren’t they still groping each other on that couch?

“I won’t take advantage of you again.”

“When did you take advantage of me the first time?” she squawked.

“That night at Underbelly.”

His scent deepened along with his voice, and she struggled to focus. Backlit by flames, his eyes snapping with annoyance, with a sleep line creased into his cheek and his rumpled hair tumbling around his shoulders, he was sex on a freaking stick. “What makes you think you took advantage of me?” And after practically ignoring each other for a year, how had they suddenly gotten into such dangerous conversational waters? Hell. Too late to ask that question now—and no matter how embarrassing the upcoming conversation might be, it was long overdue. Once he gave her the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk, she could put him, and that night, out of her mind for good.

Somehow.

“The night of Scarlett’s concert, you were under the influence of incubus pheromones. I was supposed to bring you up to Sasha’s office to get you something to counteract the intoxication, not take advantage of it.”

After a pause, she burst out laughing. She just couldn’t help it. “You’re serious? Rafe, come on. You’re an incubus. Surely you can tell when someone wants you.”

“Bailey, you’re new to our world, but you know the rules. You couldn’t consent in that condition.” She opened her mouth to rebut him, but he barreled on. “Do you remember what we did? Did you even know who you were with?”

“Of course I do. Of course.” As if she could forget. As soon as she’d taken the pheromone intoxication medication, she’d lain back on the couch, raised her lips to his. A hesitation, then a groan from Rafe... All too soon, her pants were on the floor, and he’d filled her, inside and out, over and over again....

She’d felt oddly empty ever since.

Swallowing with an audible click, she tried to ignore the heavy, frustrated ache still seething low in her abdomen. Stared at him, to find his nostrils flaring and his pupils dilating as he absorbed the need she couldn’t hide. Rough edges looked...really good on him. The sweatpants and ratty T-shirt he wore exposed his muscles, showcasing his clotheshorse frame in a much more intriguing way than his designer wardrobe did. Gray flecks of dried clay dotted his forearms, and his bare feet were long and narrow, with high arches and squared-off toenails. Seeing his bare feet against the wood plank floor felt...unspeakably intimate.

He cleared gravel from his throat. “Bailey, even now you’re swimming in guilt. In some fundamental way, you don’t really want this.”

“Are you kidding me?” She choked back her disbelieving laugh, because he looked deadly serious. “Rafe, consent works both ways. I touched you while you were sleeping, and...”

Rafe remained silent, waiting for her to continue. His tawny golden eyes bored into her, making her feel hunted. Exposed.

“Rafe. I’m a preacher’s kid and a convicted felon. Guilt is pretty much my baseline emotion.” She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry I touched you while you were asleep.”

He gestured to his rampant erection. “Does it look like I mind?”

No, it didn’t, but... “You’re incubus, though. If sexual energy’s there, you absorb it, right? Won’t any body do?”

“No.”

The moment hung.

“Please look at me,” he said, tipping up her chin with his finger.

She couldn’t help but comply, and when she did, his expression made her breath snag in her throat. She could lose herself forever in his sandstorm gaze.

“So you’re a PK,” he murmured. “That explains a lot.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. We don’t know each other very well at all, do we?”

Bailey opened her mouth to refute him, but closed it again. He was right. They’d had sex with each other, shared their bodies in the most intimate of ways, but almost everything else she knew about him was second-hand. Was it smart to get to know him better? It was bad enough that her body couldn’t quite seem to find the muscular will to resist him. What if she came to really like him, too?

“Scarlett told me that at the beginning of their relationship, she and Lukas made an agreement to use words so Lukas wouldn’t misinterpret her emotions,” he said. “Why don’t we try the same?” He waved an arm at the great room’s picture window, opaque with ice. “Why don’t we get to know each other better? We seem to have some time on our hands.”

The velvet rumble of his voice, his drugging scent, made her stomach flutter. Without her quite being aware of it, she reached for his chest.

Rafe leaned back, out of range of her naughty hand. He inhaled hugely, his eyes drifting closed before he fought them open.