Crush (22 page)

Lucas pursed his lips in annoyance. “That damned photo hit the wire services two minutes after it was shot, and of course, it was taken wildly out of context.”

“It looked like you’d pulled off her—”

“Ariadne,” Lucas said. “Her name is Ariadne. She’s Isabella’s cousin.”

“Okay. It looked like you’d pulled Ariadne’s bikini top off when you were reaching out to hit the volleyball. You both were laughing your heads off.”

“Ari’s string snapped on its own.”

Ari, is it?
Miranda sniped inwardly.
And no wonder the string broke, given the hefty masses the two Dorito-sized bits of pink spandex had been expected to support.

“Her bikini was made of cellophane and dental floss,” Lucas said. He cupped Miranda’s chin and made her look at him, rather than at his chest. “Garrison and his family were there on the beach, too. So was Ari’s new boyfriend, Eugenio.”

Miranda tapped her inner right knee against his outer thigh. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to. I want no worries or secrets between us.”

“I only had a flash of worry,” Miranda admitted. “It was like St. Elmo’s fire. It flared and died and I didn’t dwell on it. You’d already told me that Feast and Isabella had eloped down there, and that Ariadne was the maid of honor.”

“And I was best man,” he pointed out.

“It was just strange seeing you frolicking on a beach with another woman. You looked really good in those swim trunks, though.”

“Did I?” he said knowingly, raising an eyebrow.

“You look better out of them.”

A tiny groan left Lucas’s parted lips. With one sultry, sparkling glance, Miranda had full command of his body. She took the soap from him, worked up a thick lather, and ran a soapy hand over his chest, across his lower abdomen, and along his inner right thigh. She used the tip of her tongue to lift a drop of water from his chin. When he inclined his head to kiss her, she stepped back out of reach. She stood deeper under the shower spray, and let it rinse the soap from her body.

Lucas watched her twist and turn, torn between enjoying the vision of the water tracing the supple hollows and curves of her body, or giving in to the primal urges the sight invoked. When she raised her arms and tilted her head back to smooth her hair from her face, Lucas stepped up to her and traced a rivulet of water with his tongue. Starting at her neck, he followed the droplet over her collarbone and down to her breast. He spent a long moment drinking from her nipple, his lips pinching and pulling at the tight peak until Miranda went loose and limp. His hands at her waist and hips supported her as he went lower and lower still, until he sank beneath the cover of the steam. He hung her right leg over his shoulder, and she sucked in a sharp, chattering breath when his tongue burrowed through the silky darkness between her thighs. She leaned heavily against the tile wall. His mouth temporarily cooled the searing kernel of desire cloistered behind her slick folds before stoking her internal fires even higher. She pushed her fingers into his hair, gasping for breath as the water coursed over her hypersensitive skin. Her head pressed into the wall and her eyes rolled back as the rasp of Lucas’s tongue and the delicate scrape of his teeth turned her insides to molten heat. Her left leg began to shake and Lucas supported her by propping up her buttocks. The water beat upon his back as he held her to his mouth, voraciously drinking from the chalice of her body.

A senseless, guttural language of carnal satisfaction left her as pulsating circles of pleasure radiated from the place where Lucas’s expert lips loved her. He kissed his way back up her water-encased body. Her renewed vigor more than compensated for her passionless greeting earlier, and she claimed his mouth with her own, kissing him deeply, mimicking the rhythm of what she wanted next. If he had any doubt as to what that was, she removed it by wrapping her hand around the hard baton of flesh between them. Her touch was light but firm, easy but forceful as she stroked him, her speed increasing but never losing contact.

He tore away from her just before she breached a point from which he couldn’t return. On a whoosh of steam he quickly left the shower to retrieve a small square packet from the courtesy box on the edge of the sink. He sheathed himself as he returned and in the next smooth motion he scooped Miranda up by her backside. She took hold of the grab bar affixed to the wall and wrapped her legs around his middle. He filled her in one easy stroke that stole her breath and made her heart jump. He held her by her waist as she met each of his thrusts with a downward movement and a flex of her thighs, shattering their mutual determination to prolong the moment. They generated their own slippery heat as the warm water drummed upon them, adding their unique and spicy aromas to the puffs of steams.

Their coupling was as wild and enthusiastic as that of a pair of rainforest animals. Lucas kissed her breasts, her throat, her lips. Miranda responded violently, arching her chest into him as the depths of her silken tunnel clamped around him again and again. Touch and smell became one as their bodies fused in the hot and humid atmosphere.

Lucas’s whole body went rigid for an instant and then shook as his release came powerfully and seemingly without end. Breathless, he slumped against Miranda, still holding her, still kissing her throat and her earlobes as he regained his strength. Her thigh muscles quivered weakly as tiny spasms of pleasure still moved through her with each of his touches to her overly sensitive skin. She released the grab bar to smooth his wet hair from his face. When her fingers moved lower and began to play with the tawny buttons of flesh capping his hard pectorals, she felt him rising once more within her.

She wrapped one arm around his neck as she moved herself upon him. He clasped her bottom, helping her find a deep, quick rhythm. She used one hand to gently pinch and tease his nipple while she suckled and nibbled his earlobe until he reached his climax with a jaw-locking groan. He brought her with him by tilting her hips forward a bit and creating a wondrous friction against her. She locked her arms about his neck and her sweet gasps and sighs bathed the cup of his ear as her feminine darkness locked about him, drawing every twinge and hitch of passion from him.

They remained huddled together, shivering, in the aftermath of their vigorous acts. “The water’s gone colder,” Lucas said, kissing her.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Miranda laughed.

“I’ve taken dozens of cold showers because of you. This is the first I’ve taken
with
you.”

She kissed his puckered fingertips. “You sound as though I’m some kind of succubus who reaches across time and space to leave you blind with raging lust and desire.”

“I couldn’t have said it better.” He kissed her lips, raising the heat in the shower by at least twenty degrees.

* * *

Less than twelve hours after Miranda arrived in D.C., she was in a limousine with Lucas, headed back to the airport. They held hands like seniors after prom, and Miranda was happy that they were caught in traffic. With any luck, she would miss her flight altogether and get fired from her job.

“Where are you off to next?” Miranda asked Lucas. She put her feet up on the seat and rested her head in his lap. “Conwy?”

Lucas, his right elbow braced on the window frame, thoughtfully tapped his chin with his thumb. “Not exactly.”

Miranda laid her hand along his jaw and aimed his face at hers. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“That business I spoke of yesterday involves my work with the International Food Relief Service,” he said. “A U.S. team based here in D.C. is accompanying an aid package to Central America. I’ve donated money to the effort and my name for fundraising purposes.” He paused, considering how much he should tell her.

“No secrets,” Miranda said. “You said so yourself.”

“Indeed, I did.” He stroked her hair, as though it would soften what he had to tell her. “They’ve invited me to accompany them. And I’ve accepted. My flight leaves at noon.”

Miranda sat up, her hair spilling about her face and shoulders. “Is that really a good idea? Is it even safe? If this is a publicity thing cooked up by your label…”

“You and the other envoys are the only ones who know that I’m going. I want to go, Miranda. I want to see firsthand how these people are living and how the money and aid gets dispersed. I’ll be gone less than three weeks.”

Miranda knelt on the seat. “Regular people get kidnapped and killed down there, Lucas. You would be an especially valuable target.”

He embraced her, pulling her partially onto his lap. “You’re genuinely frightened for me.”

She tightened her hold on him.
I can’t lose you,
she thought earnestly.
I just can’t.

“I love you, Miranda.” He held her close. “I’d never do anything to jeopardize what we have, and getting kidnapped or killed tops that list.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” She drew back to look at him. “Using love as a verb.”

“I think it best to say it direct. To leave no doubt in your mind how I feel about you.”

Miranda bit the inside of her lip. The unfamiliar pressure of tears built up behind her eyes. “I want to say it back, but…”

“You don’t have to.” He gave her a smile that was nothing short of rapturous. “I already know.”

“Why are you so understanding?”

“I just told you why.”

“Love is some magic thing to you, isn’t it?”

“Because it is,” he said simply. “If you’re willing to give it a fair, honest chance.”

“Amor con amor se paga,”
Miranda said. “Love is paid with love.”

“Is that one of your Grandmother Marie Estrella’s sayings?”

Miranda shook her head. “It’s one of my mother’s.” She lounged against Lucas, enjoying the ride of the rise and fall of his chest. “Maybe that’s why my parents are getting divorced,” she said quietly. “My mother finally realized that she wasn’t being paid enough.”

“Shouldn’t that make you happy?”

“I thought it would.”

“You can’t let their failure decide your fate, Miranda. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “My mom said the same thing, in her own way. We were supposed to be there for Callie and Alec on Christmas Eve, to celebrate the building of a new life and a new family. And right there in the background, my own family crumbled. Mom apologized to me. She thinks that she’s the reason that I…”

“Can’t tell me that you love me?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Your mother is giving herself a new start,” Lucas said. “It sounds like she’s trying to give you one, too. If my vote means anything, I think you should take it.”

“Me, too.” She turned and began giving him the kisses he would miss while he was in Central America.

He stopped her, holding her by her upper arms so he could look into her eyes. “Will you?”

“I’ll try.”

Knowing that was the best he would get from her, he picked up where he had interrupted.

* * *

The ten-game basketball homestretch was a much-needed vacation from traveling for Miranda. She loved being able to go home after a game and sleep in her own bed. On the night of the third game, a 72–

68 Saturday afternoon victory over Philadelphia, Bernie came over to Miranda’s. She had just filed her story and was checking her e-mail, and Bernie spied over her shoulder.

“
‘Testicular nectar?
’
” he read, glimpsing a phrase in an e-mail from Lucas.

Miranda closed her laptop and took it into the kitchen. “Lucas can’t always call me so he sends me e-mail. Every day.” She smothered a grin. Lucas’s description of the things she could do to “force the surrender of” his “testicular nectar” probably violated dozens of international communication laws in addition to a few moral ones. But as a co-founding member of the Pact of the Velvet Tumescence, Miranda was flattered and impressed by his efforts. She looked forward to being alone, so she could reply to his message.

“I have an early edition of tomorrow’s
Herald-Star
,” Bernie said once she returned to the living room. “But I want you to promise me that you won’t go insane when you see it.”

Miranda’s stomach sank.
Psst!
had been mercifully quiet since Lucas left for Central America. With his whereabouts unknown to most of the world, it had been impossible for Meg to cull misleading photos or erroneous tips. The best Meg had been able to do was to run an old locker room photo of Miranda trying to get quotes from Alec while Jordan stood a yard away in his sports briefs, his eyes fixed on Miranda.

Bernie opened the paper on Miranda’s cocktail table, and she saw that the dragon had only been sleeping.

The Top 25 Loves Of Lucas Fletcher
stared up at her from a headline spanning the tops of both center pages. “We’ve gathered the top 25 ‘loves’ of Lucas Fletcher’s life,” read the accompanying text. “We only had room for 25. We would have needed the Encyclopedia Britannica to catalog the full list of Luscious Lucas’s lusts and lady friends!”

Five rows of five glamorous mug shots covered the two pages. Names, occupations and dates were printed beneath each photo, as if each past love was a lost life. “Rex let her run this in full color,” Miranda chuckled miserably. “He wouldn’t even run the Super Bowl pictorial in full color.”

“I interviewed her about a thousand years ago,” Bernie said, pointing to the first photo.

Her name was Mikela Moore, and she had been one of Lucas’s backup singers on Karmic Echo’s second album. Miranda’s insides clenched as, against her better judgment and sincere desires, she looked at each face and caption. The women had names like Pasquelina and Princess Marianna, and they were doctors, choreographers, graphic artists and pet groomers. Box #24 was a photo of Kiki Langlois. She was on her knees in the sand. A triangle of fine chain mail barely covered her crotch while her hands hid the parts of her breasts left exposed by her leonine mane of sun-bleached blonde hair. The photo credit stated that the picture was used with the permission of
American Swimsuit
magazine. The date beneath “Kiki Langlois, Supermodel” read simply, “February.”