He moved against her carefully. He made love to her. There had been other women, but he hadn’t made love in a long time.
He kissed her flesh as if it were fragile, and when she pressed against him, he teased her with his teeth and tongue. He meant to create the same maddened desire in her, but he found he was savoring every torturous moment. Her breasts were firm and beautiful, he loved the feel of his face against her ribs and belly. The taste of her was intoxicating, the feel of her supple flesh writhing beneath him exquisite and damning. He moved against her, settling his body between her thighs, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin beneath her knees, her inner thighs, the heart of her sex, aware of the heat and energy of her every twist and curve, the supple sleekness of her limbs. When he thrust into her at last, she wrapped her wickedly long legs around him, and he felt as if he were gloved in velvet. They moved in a rhythm as old as time and uniquely new, exploring, gasping, their lips locking, their eyes meeting, and her fingers danced against him, her lips fell against his flesh, her nails raking his shoulders. He could still hear the distant music, the drumbeat. It was in his head, and then the surge was cresting and he knew nothing but the thrusting and the movement, the scent of her, and finally, the burst of climax that left him thrusting again and again, more slowly, yet fully, drawing out the end, finding a new release as she shuddered beneath him, the aftermath as sweetly warm and satisfying as everything that had come before. He rolled to her side, drawing her against him, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable and not wanting to see whatever was in her eyes just then. He rested his chin on her head, stroking her hair, both of them breathing hard. He heard the hum of her air conditioner, the tick of a clock on the mantel, and felt the coolness of the sheets beneath them, damp now from their exertion.
She spoke first. “All right. I guess I like you,” she said softly.
He laughed. “I know I like you,” he told her.
Then she fell silent, but after a moment—and he could tell she found it hard to ask—she said, “Can you stay…the night?”
Was she afraid?
“I’m all right. Honestly,” she said, as if reading his mind. And then she moved, rising on an elbow to look down into his eyes. “I’m not afraid.”
Was she a mind reader?
“And I really didn’t ask you in for…this.” She gave him a little smile. Her hair was a complete mess, and her eyes had that brilliant green-gold quality that tugged at his heart.
He pulled her against him. “Too bad. I wouldn’t have minded,” he told her.
She didn’t answer, just rested easily against him. They were silent, and it was okay.
In a while, they made love again. He didn’t know who initiated it. Maybe they just moved together simultaneously. She was bolder this time, playing with his body in a way that all but turned his blood into liquid fire.
At length they slept.
He watched the house, anger sizzling inside him as if his insides were meat on a grill. His blood was boiling, charring his soul…and dripping into the fire.
He fought the anger.
Anger drove a man past control.
Anger made a man behave foolishly and rashly.
A genius did not give way to anger.
He should be grateful, even though they had snatched his prey right out of his grasp and the urge within him was growing to unbearable dimensions. They had done him a favor, he tried to tell himself. She had not been alone among strangers, as he had believed. She had been with a group of people she knew. People who would have reported her missing immediately.
It was good. It was all good.
But Flynn was still in with Kendall. His vision for the future. A painful vision now, for he ached to see those eyes looking into his own. Perhaps with laughter. Then excitement. He wasn’t her lover, not yet. For now, he just watched. He could wait his turn.
But the agony came back.
Flynn was in there. Seeing those eyes, touching that sweet flesh, knowing her.
He turned and walked away.
But the hunger…
It was growing.
Brilliant men were in control. Brilliant men did not make mistakes….
But how had she known? How had Kendall Montgomery known to hunt down the girl, the little blonde who was so full of herself, so intent on having a high time? How had Kendall known to find her and insist that she stay with her group?
Tea and Tarot.
It couldn’t be real, could it?
She knew. For the love of God, she knew.
To his amazement, he felt what a genius should never feel.
Panic mingling with the unstoppable hunger.
Kendall awoke, immediately aware that he was lying next to her, that his leg was thrown over hers, that his arm was heavy across her abdomen. She opened her eyes and turned toward him, and discovered that he was already awake and watching her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so deeply and so well. Or when she had last awakened in her bed with a man beside her.