Authors: Shannon Curtis
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She opened the door and swept out of the bathroom with what she hoped was a regal effect. She paused just outside the doorway and leaned against the wall, thrusting her breasts up and out, and moving her leg so that the parting of the robe drifted either side of her Jolie-like pose.
“It’s all yours,” she said, silkily. Invitingly.
Ryan had removed his trousers, and they lay neatly folded at the end of the bed. He still wore dark boxer briefs that looked so good they were indecent, along with dark socks. He was in the middle of pulling his shirt up over his head as he walked past her. “Thanks.” His voice was muffled under the folds of material, and Vicky gaped at his powerful chest and tight boxer-clad butt as he kicked the door, closing it with a soft thud. Minutes later, the shower started.
Vicky stomped her foot. He’d missed her, in all her seductive glory, damn it.
She kicked her boots out of the way and stalked across to the dresser. Ryan had put her clothes away again. She yanked open the drawer, swearing under her breath. Of all the...how could he not...?
Argh.
She’d successfully moved from Kiss of Boredom to Shroud of Invisibility. She shoved the midnight blue silk nightie out of the way in order to reach her Betty Boop pajamas, and hesitated. She fingered the silk, enjoying the soft drape of the fabric. She grasped the material. She firmed her lips. Okay, this was her last attempt. If this didn’t work, she was going to go home, have too many drinks, and think about turning gay.
She hurriedly shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to her feet. She slid the material over her head and shivered. Oh, it felt wickedly glorious against her skin. She eyed the matching panties. They looked very pretty, but she didn’t want to run the risk of anything getting in the way of her seduction, or that might allow him time for second thoughts. She stuffed them back into the drawer. She looked down. The nightie only came down to midthigh, with a side split that revealed all the way up to her hip. Her brow puckered. Deborah would say that wasn’t subtle.
But Deborah’s here at a counseling resort with her husband
,
so why am I taking advice from her?
The shower stopped, and she scampered across the room with a light limp and leap motion, and jumped onto the bed. She lay on top of the covers in the middle of the bed, and leaned back against the pillows. She would be in direct view when he opened the door. She rested both hands behind her head. She frowned. Too relaxed? Too obvious? She looked down and realized with horror that the first thing Ryan would see upon exiting the bathroom was right up her short nightie. She wasn’t wearing panties. Too much, too soon.
Way
too obvious.
She twisted, so that she lay across the bed, and rested her head on her hand, elbow bent. She settled into what she hoped was a somewhat sexy pose. No, wait, the nightie fell wide open in that position, the slit revealing everything from her navel down. Seduction replaced by the obvious. She rose and laid back on her other side, mirroring the pose. That was better. She put her hand on her hip. No, that just felt expectant, bossy. She lowered her hand to rest on the coverlet. Better. The nightie still covered what it should, yet still seemed femininely sexy.
The lights. It was too bright. She couldn’t be seductive in all this light.
Yeesh
. She didn’t mind this seduction business, but only if he couldn’t really see her. She rose from the bed and ran to the switch by the door. She’d just flicked it when she heard the bathroom door open behind her.
She tilted her head back.
Crap
. This so wasn’t how she’d planned it. Vicky turned slowly on the ball of one foot. Ryan stood just outside the door, his shadow casting a long, lean shadow toward the bed from the light spilling from the bathroom. His hand paused in the act of toweling his hair dry when he caught sight of her. His gray eyes rounded. He wore another towel slung low around his hips, and droplets from his recent shower peppered his muscled chest. He stood, staring at her. In her short, midnight blue nightie.
She watched one droplet roll down over a defined pectoral muscle, following the dip and rise over a glistening torso, to trail down and disappear below his towel. A towel that now moved a little as something behind it grew. Vicky gulped.
What if he rejected her again, though, like at the Christmas party? Doubts and insecurities rose within her, and then memories of their scorching kiss on the mountain and Ryan’s near death blanked them out. He’d kissed her. Hopefully that meant he felt a little more than just friendship for her.
Maybe there was some residual adrenalin still coursing through her system after the car incident earlier, or maybe it was a culmination of close proximity to this man over several days. Whatever. She wanted to make love with Ryan.
Tonight.
Now.
She took one step forward, felt the nightie part with her movement, the silken fabric sliding to reveal her thigh. Ryan’s gaze dropped. She saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. That was enough. That small sign that he wasn’t immune to her, was enough to give her the courage to take the next step.
Ryan’s gaze lifted from her thigh, up over her hips, and pause at her lace-covered breasts. Her nipples peaked under the fabric, and she licked her lips. God, if her body reacted like this from one of his looks, how would she handle his touch?
Ryan took a step forward, his towel parting to reveal a muscular thigh. He took another step, then another, his long stride easily eating up the distance between them, until he stood directly in front of her. His gray eyes drifted over her, never resting, as though trying to unveil all her secrets at once, and not knowing where to begin.
She took a deep shuddering breath, and his gaze locked on her breasts. It was now or never. She grasped both ends of the towel around his shoulders and tugged his head down to hers, at the same time rising up on her toes to meet his mouth with hers.
He didn’t resist her. Not when she pulled his head down to hers, not when she pressed her mouth against his, and not when she slid her tongue past his lips. She closed her eyes, pouring every sensual, sexy vibe she could into her kiss, pressing her breasts against his chest. She slid her arms up his biceps and behind his neck, pulling him closer still. His breath hitched as her body moved against his, and he moaned into her mouth.
He pulled his lips from hers, panting. “Wait, Vic,” he gasped.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Oh
,
God.
“What?” She whispered. He wanted to stop. Like at the Christmas party. Her hands fluttered at his neck, and she rocked back on her feet. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks, and she looked at him with uncertainty.
His eyes met hers, dark and smoky gray, his features tight with desire. His expression revealed passion tinged with tenderness, and a glimmer of caution that faded when his gaze toured her body, banked by a bold need that overrode everything else.
“Screw it.”
He lowered his head, and pulled her up against him, pressing his mouth against hers, taking control.
* * *
She gasped as Ryan backed her up against the door, kissing her over and over again, his hands running down the length of her body. His touch was hot, his kisses molten, and her head tilted back against the door. Hot damn, he was good.
His hand played with the hem of her nightie, a finger trailing across the back of her thigh before sliding up to cup her bare buttocks. She squeaked when he touched her there, his hands molding her ass as he groaned into her mouth.
“Oh, God, Vic, you’re killing me,” he rasped against her mouth, before taking her lips in another long, scorching kiss.
Well, tit for tat, because she thought she was dying of pleasure in his arms. He raised her against the door, and her core flooded with desire as he ground himself against the juncture of her thighs. She raised her legs to wrap them around him, and he made a sound that was half tortured, half approval. Scooping her close to him, he pulled away from the door, carrying her with him.
“How’s your knee?” he whispered against her lips.
“Fine,” she rasped back, pressing her mouth against his, swallowing his relieved moan.
She ran her hands over his shoulders, his arms, felt his muscles bunch under her touch. He turned, carrying her across the suite, continuing to kiss her, twisting his head one way, then another, as though he couldn’t get enough of her.
She shuddered. He was carrying her. Strong, hot, and totally male, he walked toward the bed. He stumbled, and she moaned as he jostled her in his arms, her breasts brushing against his chest. He went down on one knee, and Vicky lifted her head.
“Are you okay?” She whispered in between his kisses.
He laughed against her lips. “Tripped over my towel.” He started kissing her again, lowering her to the floor.
He was naked against her.
She didn’t know where his towel was, nor did she care, she only knew that suddenly he was there, rubbing against her as he crawled across the floor to the bed.
She tried to help him, scooting back in the same direction, only he growled when she moved away, and his arm went around her and pulled her back. He fumbled behind her, not relenting in his kisses as he finally caught his trousers.
“What...?”
“Protection,” he muttered as he swallowed the rest of her question. He floundered with the clothing until he could pull his wallet out. He lifted his head, reluctantly letting go of her to remove a foil packet, but it took several moments because he kept coming back for a kiss, as though even that short time was too long to be apart from her.
“Boy scout,” she murmured, smiling against his lips.
“Never,” he said as he kissed her yet again, sheathing himself before pulling her against him again.
She laughed as they stumbled, and she pushed him back and down, levering herself over him. He was gorgeous. Smooth skin over muscle, with a light dusting of hair. She’d always thought he’d be beautiful naked, and she wasn’t wrong. She peppered his chest with kisses, working her way down his torso, teasing him with a slide of silk against his body, until he growled and flipped them over.
She laughed at his show of strength, of impatience, and she lay back on the carpet. His lips pulled into a grin as he followed her down. His hands toured her body, starting at her waist and moving up to brush across her breasts.
“God, you’re beautiful,” his whispered against her ear before trailing his lips down her throat.
“You, too,” she whispered, then she sighed as his hands pulled the straps from her shoulders and down her arms, stretching the lacey fabric until finally her breasts sprang free.
He stopped and looked down at her. His jaw worked, as though he was talking but no sound came out. His expression held desire, need, and just a little awe that removed any self-consciousness she might have felt. This was her friend, her man, and he was looking at her as though he couldn’t get enough.
She smiled, feeling sexy under his hot gaze, and pulled his head down to her again. He kissed her hotly, then his lips trailed across her cheek to her ear, sending tingles down her spine to gather at her thighs. She shuddered, and his lips continued their exploration down her body until he could take a taught nipple into his mouth.
Her eyes widened, and she moaned at the contact. While he drove her crazy with his kisses, licks and nibbles at her breast, he pulled the nightie down further. She moaned, arching her back as his hips rested against hers. She could feel him, hard and hot, against the moist apex at her thighs, and she tilted her head back, quivering at his touch.
“Please, hurry,” she gasped.
He lifted his head, releasing her breast with a soft pop, and gave her a wicked smile that had her toes curling. “Uh-uh.”
“Please,” she begged, not caring about the desperation in her voice.
“No,” he said, and kissed his way from her breasts, down across her navel. “I’ve dreamt of this for too long, fantasized about you for too long, to rush this.” His lips trailed down further, and she raised her hips at his unspoken command as he tugged the gown off her and discarded it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She shivered, goose bumps rising on her flesh as he parted her thighs, and she moaned as he kissed her intimately. His lips and tongue drove her wild, and she wriggled against him.
“Please,” she cried, her tone demanding. Something was coiling inside her, a tension that was winding so tight she thought she might explode any moment. Her nails scored against his shoulders in a desperate bid to get him to fill that aching, empty spot that longed for his touch. She pulled on his hair, and he rumbled in response.
“So damn bossy,” he said, grinning as he finally relented, levering himself up above her.
Her hands slid from his shoulders, over his nipples, where she paused briefly to tweak them, and his grin faltered as he moaned. His reaction encouraged her, and she skimmed her hands over his body, trailing down, then up, then down again over his washboard stomach before finally taking hold of him.
He bucked against her touch, moaning as she explored him, feeling his strength, his heat. He threw his head back, thrusting against her hand. She loved the feel of him, the leashed power that quivered at her touch. After a few moments he put his hand over hers, halting her.
“I can’t take this any longer,” he whispered, and he nudged her thighs apart, lowering himself until he rested against her entry.
“Now, damn it,” she demanded, trembling with need. She was all twisty and nervy inside, sensations swamping her at each touch, each trail of his fingers, each kiss.
He lowered his head to hers. “So damn bossy,” he said on a breathless chuckle. He entered her, and they moaned in unison.
She shuddered, feeling his slick glide inside her, deep inside. He took his time, hissing as he slowly slid out, then in again, his expression of absolute bliss a match to her own pleasure.
He started to pick up speed, and she panted, moving her hips in a synchronized rhythm that had them both breathless and writhing. Heat gathered in her core, and her eyes widened, meeting his as sensation swelled, quivery and hot, exploding deep within. He growled with the pleasure as he plunged inside her, deep inside. For a moment, his eyes almost crossed with rapture as his own explosion took him, draining him.
He collapsed against her, and she felt his hot breath against her neck, his heart pounding against hers. It was a few moments before he raised himself, and he smiled down at her, satisfaction evident in his stretch against her, inside her.
“Thank you,” he said simply, and kissed her tenderly on the lips.
She laughed breezily. “Oh, no, thank you.” She was giddy with pleasure.
“Okay, thank me.” He smiled, brief and wide. He withdrew from her and rose to his feet, making his way to the bathroom. Vicky watched him, his long legs and narrow hips giving him a grace that only very fit males seemed to accomplish. The covers from the bed had been pulled askew, his trousers lay off to one side, and she wasn’t quite sure where her nightie was. She rolled over to look under the section of the coverlet that lay on the floor. Yes, it was Ryan, her best friend. Yes, they’d just explored each other’s bodies with detailed intimacy. Yes, she was still shy and had a case of the hasty cover-ups. She rose up on her knees, bending low to look under the bed. Where was the damn nightie?
“Looking for this?” Ryan asked.
She looked over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him return. He dangled her nightie from one finger, looking decadent in his casual-yet-wicked pose. And she was presenting to him like a baboon in heat.
“Uh, yes,” she said, then cleared her throat. She felt just a little self-conscious, just a little...naked. Would he regret what they’d done? She shuddered. She didn’t regret it. Not at all, but still...memories of the Christmas party, of his retreat, of the depths of her humiliation, tickled her mind, and she tried to shove the retrospection away.
He walked over to her, and she rose. He held the gown out to her, watching her silently, a small smile teasing his lips. She went to grab it, but he held it, and used it to pull her in closer.
“Do you know what I like about this?” he asked her, his voice deep and rough.
She shook her head.
This?
Was he going to try to define
this
? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that, she turned slightly, facing the bed. He came up close behind her and pulled her back against him. His hands rose to clasp her breasts, and she shuddered.
“What about
this
?” she asked, her voice low as he brushed her nipples with his thumbs. Heat bloomed in her chest, and desire dampened her thighs. That quickly, he had her panting and wanting more.
“Maybe this time we’ll make it to the bed,” he rumbled against her neck, chuckling and her breath escaped in a feathery laugh that quickly turned into a breathless moan as he trailed one hand down her body to the secret place between her thighs that was weeping for his touch.
“Beds are overrated,” she gasped, and surrendered to his touch.
* * *
Drew woke instantly at the light knock at his door. He looked bleary-eyed at his watch as he rose and hurriedly pulled some pants on in the dark room. Five o’clock. He still had at least another hour before he needed to rise for his shift.
He eyed the gap in his curtains. All he could see outside was white. No trees, no rooflines of the other buildings, just white. Wind buffeted the main building, sounding like a living monster as it thrashed against the walls and windows. The storm had finally hit. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair as he walked barefoot to the door and cracked it open.
Meagan James was standing in the hallway, wearing a bulky Ultima Resort jacket. She turned at the sound of the opening door. She halted, eyeing his bare torso and feet before blinking. “Oh, hi.” She glanced up the hallway, and he did so as well. Staff were already moving around. Drew frowned. It was way too early for most of them to rise, and they were wearing casual clothes, not the Ultima Resort uniforms.
“What’s up?” he asked, feigning a yawn to give him time to study the woman in front of him. She was calm and composed, as usual, but the lines bracketing her lips were a little deeper, and she had shadows under her eyes.
Must not be a morning person.
She smiled briefly. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to pack your things. We’ve had a plumbing problem in the basement, and the staff are going to have to evacuate.”
Drew leaned against the door. “Plumbing problem, huh?”
Meagan grimaced. “Yes, like we need anything else to go wrong for this program. We’ve organized a shuttle bus to take all the staff down to one of the inns in town.”
“What about the guests?”
She shook her head. “They’re not affected. The plumbing issue only affects the staff quarters and the kitchens. For health reasons we have to shut down the building until we can get a repair crew in.”
Drew’s brow knitted. “Our maintenance staff can’t handle it?”
“No, we’re going to need specially licensed contractors to manage it.” She sighed. “It’s terribly inconvenient, being the last day and all, but chef has managed to do a continental breakfast set up for the guests, as well as packed lunches for them. Neil and Gavin will have to modify today’s program, and we’ll probably finish early, but hopefully it won’t be too disruptive for the guests.” She shrugged. “But what can you do, huh? Hurry up and pack an overnight bag, the staff is already assembling in the lower parking lot.”
“Uh, I can’t afford to stay at an inn,” he began, trying to find some excuse to stay behind.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. This is an Ultima problem. We’ll absorb those costs, but our main focus is the safety of our staff. Bus leaves in fifteen minutes.” She smiled brightly before moving on to the next door.
Drew shut the door and leaned on it for a moment. A plumbing issue? And the staff were being evacuated? It was unusual, but not unheard of, he supposed. Maybe a pipe had frozen over somewhere. Still, something didn’t feel right. The guests would be up here all by themselves. He wondered if this was a complicated strategy on the part of the Maxwells—but to what end?
Footsteps scurrying along in the hall outside spurred him into action, and he hurried to get dressed.
* * *
Ryan woke and for a moment, he was at peace. Happy. Which was enough to raise the red mental flag. A feminine body, all soft curves and toasty warm, nestled next to him, and he snuggled against it. He opened his eyes.
Vicky
.
She lay with her back to him, her butt scooted right up to his hips. Her golden red hair fell in waves across the pillow and his chest, tickling his nipples. He felt himself stir. Even in her sleep, she turned him on with no effort. After the night they’d shared, he was surprised he had the energy. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. The wind roared outside, and the French doors rattled behind the drawn curtains. He smiled.
Snuggle Factor
. He loved it.
For the first time, she’d slept through the night without the running commentary. No humphing or talking in her sleep. No kicking, no crying out—well, there had been a little of that, but she hadn’t been asleep at the time. No, for once, they’d both slept rather peacefully, what little shut-eye they’d managed to catch. Either that, or they’d tired each other out with their nocturnal activities.
He pulled Vicky closer and took a deep breath. She smelled of roses and vanilla, of warmth and sunshine, goodness and light. She cuddled into him, and her hand pulled the blankets higher, tighter. A bruise on her wrist caught his eye, one she’d received yesterday when she’d jumped from the bridge. He reached around to gently touch it, careful not to wake her. He traced the harsh and angry red mark around the delicate bone area of her wrist.
His regret at causing her pain took him by surprise. He’d saved her life. He’d done what he’d had to do, to get the job done, and she’d gotten hurt in the process. A protective instinct rose from a dark, hidden place where he’d buried it so many years ago. A protective instinct coated in anger at those responsible for her pain, both physical and mental. The depth of the emotion scratched at a vulnerability he didn’t like to feel and tried to ignore. They’d hurt his Vicky. She was the closest thing he had to family, and when someone hurt his family, they paid dearly—and he was damn sure going to collect.
Seeing the mark on her white skin brought forth a toxic fountain of images. His mother’s skin had been delicate and white, and her arms, legs and face always seemed to sport some discoloration—at least, until they’d managed to escape his father’s abuse.
He shouldn’t compare his mother and Vicky, but damn, they’d both faced danger, and he didn’t like the feeling of helplessness, of panic, that curled within. What if Vicky was hurt badly, or worse, killed? What if he wasn’t there to save her, next time? That brought forth a whole host of demons he just didn’t want to face.
His hand clenched, and he rested his fist on his thigh, away from Vicky’s injured wrist. He shouldn’t have done this. She was going to get hurt. That’s how it worked. You felt deeply for someone, she got hurt, and then you were left alone in a wasteland of despair.
She didn’t know about the darkness inside of him. The rage, the violence. He was his father’s son, after all. That was why he didn’t have long-term relationships. His father had seen something in him, something wrong, something black. Oh, rationally, he knew his father was responsible for his own actions, but Aaron Gallagher had tried to beat something out of him, something that he’d feared, hated.
He couldn’t trust himself. He knew, first hand, that once the beast inside was woken, he had no control. He’d lost it once, and he’d relished the lack of control, the viciousness. The hate. That knowledge clawed at his gut. He spent his life trying not to be anything like the man who had spawned him, but he feared the similarities were inherent. Passed down through blood.
He couldn’t do that to Vicky. God, no, not Vicky. She was his friend. His special, special friend. Damn, what was he thinking? He should have said no. He should have walked away. He sighed, a rough gusty breath heavy with his self-frustration. She’d looked as sexy as hell in that little silky number, all curvy legs and smoky eyes and pouty lips, a siren he couldn’t resist anymore. He couldn’t have walked away.
Vicky stirred and rolled over until she faced him. She sighed as her eyelids fluttered open. He watched her as she woke, her green eyes blinking, her nose screwing up in a cute little yawn, and then the moment when she realized he was there, with her, her sexy little mouth curved into a welcoming smile as she stretched languorously up against him. His heart quickened as her body brushed his.
Damn, how was he supposed to regret this? She was beautiful.
“Morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep, her cheeks flushed.
“Morning,” he replied, his lips curving in soft smile.
The French doors rattled in the wind, and her gaze flicked over her shoulder briefly before coming back to rest on him. On his chest, to be precise. The look in her eyes warmed, and an answering heat started to build inside him. He should get up. Go have a shower. Salvage their friendship.
“Sounds like the storm has hit,” she observed, trailing her hand down his chest, pausing to flick his dusky nipple. His breath sucked in at the contact.
“Yeah, it has.” His hand stroked her shoulder and down her arm, and she stretched under his touch.
“So what happens now?” she said, and he leaned forward to nuzzle the space between her head and shoulders. She tipped her head back, and her hair fell in red waves down her naked back.
“Good question. We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said as his hand cupped her breast, and he felt her tremble. “This...complicates things.” He flicked his thumb over her nipple.
“I meant about the Ma—” she gasped, then cupped a hand over her mouth and glanced up at the painting above the bed. The bugs. She was worried about the bugs.
He moved his lips to her ear. “I removed the bugs and destroyed them while you were in the shower last night. I figure after yesterday’s incident on the mountain, they’ve lost their listening privileges.” He nibbled at her earlobe, and her hand braced against his chest, pushing him back.