Uncommon Passion (29 page)

pocket, and a bottle of beer from the other.

“You okay?” he asked.

He’d picked up on the shift in her mood. “Fine,” she said. She lifted a slice of pizza from a plate and bit

into it. “Why do you like this?” she asked through a mouthful of cheese and crust.

He looked at her, gaze sharp. “You don’t?”

“No, I do,” she said. “I’m having a great time. I just want to know.”

“It’s fun,” he said and bit off another mouthful of pizza.

“Why is it fun?”

“Why do you have to know why?” he replied with a smile that held an edge like a blade. “Does there

have to be a reason for everything?”

She thought back to his workday. “I like to know why,” she said. “When you know why you know

something about the world, and yourself.”

He gave a shrug that wasn’t an answer.

“Too many questions?” she asked lightly.

“I don’t know what answers you want,” he said.

The blunt reply surprised her. “Sometimes I just want someone to ask the questions with,” she said.

They finished dinner, then strolled through the arcade, heading for the Galaxy Wheel. Her steps slowed

at a shooting game called Target Practice because a crowd had gathered around one young man, attempting

to win a stuffed animal for the lady at his side. Excitement fueled the girl’s pleased smile and the boy’s

endearing swagger. Ben pulled her close to his body as they watched, keeping her out of traffic.

“Let’s give it a shot,” he said when the young man failed to win the largest teddy bear hanging from the

framework around the game. His girlfriend accepted the smaller bear and rewarded him with a kiss.

“Who’s next?” the barker called.

“I’ll go,” Ben said, withdrawing his wallet from his front pocket.

“Think you’ve got what it takes?”

Ben just shrugged as he handed a bill to the man and hefted several of the guns, which were attached to

the stand with extendable cords. Seemingly unaware that the crowd lingered to watch another showdown,

he examined the sights, then chose his gun and nodded at the barker. Ducks fell backward but he missed as

many as he hit.

“Not bad, not bad,” the barker consoled as he offered Rachel a choice of key chains.

“Let’s go again,” Ben said, extending another bill. The barker’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the

shark smile, but he took Ben’s money and reset the game. Ben squared up, feet braced, and this time when

the timer dinged, he snapped the gun to his shoulder. It was as if everything about him clicked together

perfectly, muscle and bone and weapon and deadly intention. He methodically mowed down ducks,

moving from the right hand side of the game to the left, eventually taking targets the moment they emerged

from the protective screen. When the buzzer signaled the end of the game, Rachel laughed out loud.

Ben lowered the gun in a slightly shocked silence. “You can keep the key chain,” he said casually to the

barker. “Pick your bear, darlin’.”

Rachel examined all the bears carefully, then pointed. “That one.” The bear she chose had mismatched

fur and dark brown eyes. The barker hooked the bear and handed it across the counter to Rachel.

“You were sneaky,” she commented as they made their way through the crowd to the end of the pier.

“You let him think you were just like anyone else,” she said.

“He knew what I was,” Ben said. “Games like that depend on the barker being able to read the players. I

helped him, too. Other guys will throw down their money thinking they can do the same thing.”

They finished the night on the Ferris wheel, Bear sitting on Rachel’s lap. When the wheel stopped with

their car at the top, Rachel twisted around to look over her shoulder. Wave crests gleamed atop the

shadowy water behind them, and the Pleasure Pier stretched out in front of them, the noise dampened by

height and distance. She turned back to find Ben watching her take everything in.

He kissed her, his mouth the only steady thing in the gently rocking car. “Come home with me,” he

murmured against her lips. “Come home with me, Rachel.”

The heat and promise in his voice sent her stomach into a slow roll, igniting a fire deep inside. “For

more pleasure,” she said seriously.

“Yes.” Something unreadable glinting in his blue eyes. “For more pleasure.”

When the ride ended they wove through the crowds down the pier and caught the shuttle back to the

parking lot. He paused by the truck’s passenger door and pressed her into the metal, his hard body pinning

her to the equally hard metal for long, slow kisses. She climbed inside and fastened her seat belt, waiting

until Ben navigated them out of the parking lot and onto the city streets before reaching across to flatten her

hand against the bulge in his jeans. Rigid heat pulsed through the denim and she turned her wrist to cup

him. He shifted under her hand and shot her a glance. When they pulled into his parking lot he killed the

engine, then unfastened her seat belt and dragged her across the console to sprawl in his lap. As he undid

the buttons on her blouse he lifted his chin, his mouth open, half invitation, half command to kiss him.

That was her delight, her private, secret pleasure, the way heat and longing coursed through her when

her mouth met his. She brushed her lips back and forth across his, the light touch striking sparks until he

lifted his head just enough to sweep his tongue inside. A firm pinch to her nipples at the same time made

her gasp and try to spread her legs, but she didn’t have room.

With a muffled curse Ben fumbled for the door handle. Night air and sounds rushed in, crickets

chirping, the rise and fall of canned laughter from someone’s television set, the salt-air scent permeating

Galveston. “Out,” he said.

She tumbled from the truck, her flat sandals skidding on the step, only Ben’s hand around her upper

arm keeping her upright. The next thing she knew, her back was to the wall by the steps leading up to Ben’s

apartment, the strain of his day, the night, and maybe something else in his rough kiss. His hand scudded up

her thigh, lifting and opening her to accept the hard thrust of his shaft.

“Ben,” she gasped.

“Sometimes you want it right-the-fuck-now,” he growled into her ear. “Against the wall now.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

A rough chuckle, somehow both lazy and arrogant as his gaze searched hers, daring and taunting all at

once. Something spurred her to duck under his confining arm but he caught her before she was halfway up

the stairs. Arms outstretched, she went down hard on one knee, then he spun her onto her back and

crawled up her body to pin her with mouth and hips.

It was like pouring gasoline on flickering flames. Heat exploded inside her, pulsing out through her

skin, eddying from her throat on a long, low moan. She braced both hands against his collarbone and

shoved, popping open the top snaps on his western shirt, but he didn’t move, didn’t even pretend to ease

up. The edges of the stairs bit into her shoulder blades, lower back, and thighs. Ben had one hand braced

beside her head. With the other he tugged at her skirt again.

It was wild. Insane. Thrilling.

“Right the fuck now, Rachel,” he said.

She heard the command in his low, dark tone, heard it, and decided not to obey. Maybe he was serious,

maybe he wasn’t, but the heat of the chase, of being prey to his hunter, sent jagged lightning cracking deep

in her belly. She knocked him off balance with a sharp jab to his braced elbow and a knee to the vicinity of

his hip, and scrabbled backward. When she cleared the landing she got to her feet and dashed not down the

hall to the other stairway that exited into the green space between buildings, but up again.

He caught her again on the stairs. This time he didn’t drag her down to the floor but instead shoved her

up against the wall. She expected him to try and trap her hands, but he let her struggle to move him while

he worked his fingers into the thick knot of hair at her nape. Hairpins pinged to the steps as his fingers

tightened, pulling her head back, back, until her throat was exposed and her jaw opened.

“Shh,” he said, low and rough.

Her scalp stung until she stopped struggling. When she went limp his grip loosened just enough to let

her attention focus on the steady progress of his hand up her leg again, bringing with it an air of

vulnerability she’d never felt before. Her breathing shallowed as so many sensations registered in her

awareness. His bare chest against hers. The unusual angle of her neck, and his breath, hot and slow against

the unprotected skin. He raked his teeth over her pulse, a pure animal move that sent a shudder through her

body. She twisted her head but he released neither her hair nor her hip, where his hand slid under her

panties, the fingers delicately stroking her soft folds.

He could make her want to open to him, she realized. He could force her or he could seduce her. Or, he

could do both. He could hold her, make her surrender to seduction.

His shaft was an iron rod against her hip but his fingers were so, so gentle as he parted the folds. Rachel

shuddered again, involuntarily opening to him, her clitoris awake and pulsing in anticipation of his touch.

But he didn’t touch her there, simply circled his finger just inside her opening. The soft flesh pulsed and

she shifted, trying to draw him in, increase the stimulation.

A car door slammed, followed by two more. Rachel froze, eyes wide open and staring into Ben’s.

Voices, raucous laughter underscored by giggles, and the footsteps sounded like an entire herd of people

were making their way up the stairs.

“Ben,” she gasped.

He just looked at her, his smile glinting in the darkness, his gaze completely unsympathetic. She

squirmed, and got his fist tightening in her hair for her trouble. But the voices and steps moved along the

second floor hallway, not seeming to notice two sets of legs intimately entwined on the stairway above

them.

“Second-floor neighbors,” he said.

“You should have . . . ,” she began, but that finger circled again and the words trailed off.

“Should have what, Rachel? Should have fucked you on the steps while they stumbled around? Should

have made you be quiet while you took my cock deep inside?”

She shook her head, as much response to the tumultuous cascade of sensation his words set off as

negating his interpretation.

“Should have stopped?”

The whisper was dark, taunting. She nodded, felt the tug when his fist remained locked in her hair.

“Not gonna stop, Rachel.” Two fingers slid inside her when he spoke, and a breathless little cry escaped

her lips. “I want it right now, right the fuck now, against this wall now.”

He did want that. She felt it in the rigid pressure of his shaft against her hip, the tension trembling in his

muscles as he held her where he wanted her. “And you’re ready for it,” he continued. “No lie, you are hot

and slick and ready. So no, we’re not stopping.”

This time when she jerked her head away her hair streamed down over her shoulders and immediately

slid into her face. With most of her peripheral vision gone she couldn’t see him as well, so his next move

surprised her. He crouched and put his shoulder into her belly with just enough force to tip her forward,

fanny in the air. The world spun crazily as he hoisted her without even a grunt and took the rest of the stairs

two at a time. The door opened, closed, and the world spun once again when he set her down inside the

door. In the split second it took her to recover from the momentary dizziness he shoved her blouse down

her arms and stripped off her bra.

And backed her into the wall. He used his broad shoulders and chest to hold her while he popped open

his fly, then yanked up her skirt and shoved her panties down. The only sound in the dim room was her

high-pitched gasps and his low inhales, faint and hard to hear over her pulse, pounding in her ears. Because

she wanted this, oh God, did she want this. It was the slow, clunking ride up the steep incline of the Iron

Shark, fear and excitement together in a whirlwind spinning with dread and desperate need.

He left her hair alone this time, as if he knew the thick mass blinded and hampered her. Occupied with

trying to get it out of her face, she was too distracted to think through what he’d be able to do with two

hands. He wove the fingers of his left hand through hers and pinned the back to the wall just above her

shoulder. With his right hand he lifted her skirt, then he stepped between her thighs and trapped her other

hand. It took five seconds, maybe less, to completely subdue her. Half-blind, pinned, and with that hard,

demanding shaft almost, almost inside.

He began to thrust, and in that moment she knew true helplessness. There was nothing she could do to

stop the inevitable now. When he found the right angle, the right pressure, and he would, he’d glide into