With that dogged tenacity, he moved out the door. When he got to her bedroom door, he stopped. She was still making those sounds and was probably having fun doing so, figuring he would eventually come to her. Intent on catching her in the act, he opened the door, stepped in her room and froze.
Margo was lying in the middle of the bed, and it appeared that she was really sleeping. And it seemed those sounds she was making were from a dream. He wondered who the leading man was in what appeared to be the equivalent of a wet dream. He would like to think it was him, but for all he knew, it could be good old Scotty.
Striker tried not to let that possibility annoy the hell out of him. Thinking she deserved to have her dream in private, he was about to leave when he heard his name moaned from her lips. He drew in a sharp breath. So what if she was reliving memories of their time together while she slept? He could understand that happening. After all, the lovemaking had been good. Damn, better than good. But still, the fact stirred his insides and made him hard.
His gaze swept across the bed, and he wished she wasn’t lying there in just her bra and panties. And he couldn’t help noticing that her thighs quivered and her legs twitched whenever she moaned. Damn. Just what was he doing to her in the dream? Was his mouth between these twitching legs? Was his body between these quivering thighs? Inside of her? Was she on top of him? Was he on top of her? Who was riding whom?
The visual of any one of those scenarios made his erection press hard against his zipper. A degree of lust he didn’t want to think about or feel took over his mind and senses. Where in the hell was that control he’d felt earlier? That determination not to touch her again? Both had been obliterated the moment she’d moaned his name.
Moving closer, he inhaled her scent before squatting down beside the bed. The movement brought her awake. She snatched open her eyes and jerked upright in bed, looking at him and then frantically glancing around. “What is it, Striker? What’s wrong?”
His gaze roamed over her, and then, after a slight hesitation, he said, “You said my name.”
She looked at him, confused. “I did?”
“You moaned it, actually. Must have been some dream you were having.”
His words made her blush and her expression went from bemused to knowing. Pushing a lock of hair from her face, she said, “Well, yeah, it was. I invited you to join me, but you turned me down. So I had to dream up a few what-if scenarios.”
He stared at her, fascinated. And those scenarios had made her moan and groan? Striker knew better than to ask the next question, knew he should stand and walk out the door. But he couldn’t. Not when his gaze was taking in every inch of her. Not when he was remembering how her skin had tasted all over. How he’d wanted her last night and again this morning.
And he wanted her now.
Still squatting by her bed, he leaned in and asked, “Is the invitation still open to join you?”
Striker watched as she licked her lips. His gut tightened. His erection throbbed. Her hesitation was killing him. When he thought he couldn’t last a moment longer, she finally spoke. “Yes, the invitation is still open, Striker.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MARGO COULDN’T BELIEVE Striker was really here. In her bedroom. Crouching beside her bed. Especially after he’d told her earlier that the intimacy they’d shared last night and this morning wouldn’t be happening again. That he was putting back on his protector gear, a role that didn’t include touching of any kind. Now he was beside her bed and was so close she could reach out and touch him. She wanted to. But more than anything, she wanted him to touch her.
He said she had moaned his name. And, yes, it had been some dream. They had been making love and it was the kind of lovemaking where she’d been having orgasm after orgasm. Nonstop.
“I want to be touched, Striker. I want to be touched all over.” And she meant it. She had discovered that Striker had some real serious skills when it came to pleasing a woman. And he was looking hot, sexy and accommodating. As far as she was concerned, he needed to put those exemplary skills to good use. If he was going to break his own rule, he might as well break it real good.
“If I stay, Margo, I will do more than touch you.”
Her mind was suddenly flooded with memories. Heated memories. Lustful memories. And if Striker wanted to add new ones to those already stored in her mind, she had no problem with him doing so. “The only thing I have to say to that, Striker, is go for it.”
He stood, and she watched as he pulled the phone out of his back pocket and speed-dialed a number, then said, “Quasar, hold up on dinner. I’ll call you when we’re ready.” And then he clicked off the line and put the phone on her nightstand.
The phone wasn’t what held her attention while he’d been talking. She was eye level to his zipper, and the huge erection pressing against it definitely couldn’t be missed. He was fully aroused, and so was she. Even if she didn’t want him to know how much, her breasts were giving her away. They were tight and the nipples felt like hard pebbles pressed against her bra.
She looked up and met his heated gaze. “You have on too many clothes,” he said in a voice so sensual it made goose bumps appear on her arm.
Margo broke eye contact to look down at herself. He actually thought that? Seriously? When all she was wearing were panties and a bra? She looked back at him. “I think you’re the one wearing too many clothes...and stuff.”
The stuff she was referring to was the gun and holster strapped to his shoulder. Although she thought he looked like the ultimate badass protector, weapons had no place in her bed.
“That can be remedied, trust me,” he said, removing the gun and holster.
She did trust him. Not because she had no choice but because she wanted to. She knew where she stood with him. The man who wanted to be called Striker was a loner who only enjoyed unsteady girlfriends. Bed partners. He’d said as much. Now she’d become one of those bed partners. So what? She wasn’t looking for a steady man any more than he was looking for a steady woman. Whenever she was tempted to think otherwise, all she had to do was remember Brock and Scott and the crap she’d put up with.
She jumped when he snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You’re still with me, Margo?”
She looked at him. He had removed his shirt, and his fingers were tucked in his jeans, which meant he was about to remove them as well. “Yes, I definitely am.”
He smiled, and she thought his sensual lips should smile more often. It did something to his overall features. Made them appear less hard and more handsome.
“I might as well get comfortable for the strip show,” she said, securing a relaxed position in bed by sprawling on her side. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”
He chuckled. “You saw it all last night and again this morning. Nothing new.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Striker Jennings.” It might not be anything new, but, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, it was definitely a lot bigger, she mused while focusing her attention on that part of him.
He moved away from the bed to stand in the middle of the room as if to make sure there was no obstruction to her view. She appreciated that. Glad he was so accommodating. And when he eased down his zipper, she could feel her heart beating like crazy in her chest.
“You okay over there, Margo?”
He would have to ask. “Stop teasing and get on with it.” She was enjoying this playful side of him. Both playful and sexy. And she needed that right now. What was going on in her life was pure craziness, but at this very moment she could push all that to the back of her mind. As far as she was concerned, lying here watching him strip naked was a hell of a lot more fun than cowering somewhere in fear.