Authors: Jennifer Probst
“Sulking?”
She sputtered in indignation. “Sulking! I am not sulking. I think this conversation is over and I want you to take me home.”
“This conversation is not going the way you want,” he corrected patiently, “and that is why you want to go home. I refuse to let you throw me in league with your father, even though I’ve never met him. Maybe I’d understand better if you tell me what happened between you and him.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She shifted her feet for better balance.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about your father, or the reason you left his company, can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Can you help me get rid of this headache?”
She studied him with suspicion. He massaged his temple, seemingly annoyed he’d be bothered by pain. He looked harmless enough, but Chandler knew him well. His admission could be part of his master plan to get her into bed. “You have a headache?”
“Yeah. It’s been pounding at the back of my head all day. I’m afraid it’ll turn into a migraine.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have these health problems if you didn’t fire Jimmy.” He glowered at her. After a few moments she realized he was serious. “You really do have a bad headache, don’t you?”
“No, it’s all in my master plan to get you in bed.” She bit her lip. “Yes, I really have a headache. Didn’t you say something in class about pressure points?”
“Yes.” She walked over and set to work. “We need to switch positions. I’m going to sit in the chair and you’re going to sit, legs outstretched on the floor with the back of your head between my knees.”
“I like this kind of therapy.”
He ignored the look she shot him and did as told. Chandler leaned over to position his shoulders. Her hair fell forward and brushed against him. He let out his breath in a hiss and jumped.
“Are you okay?”
He muttered something she couldn’t catch. “Fine. I just hope I know what I’ve gotten myself into.”
“Relax. Take some of those deep cleansing breaths I’ve taught you.”
His shoulders rose as he drew air deeply into his lungs. The heat of his skin burned against her palms and made the thin fabric of his shirt a flimsy barrier. Slowly, the muscles in his shoulders started to unclench. She kept her voice low and soothing. “Focus on your breath. Feel the air being drawn in and out, letting your belly expand like a balloon. Allow your muscles to relax while all thoughts scatter away.” Her palms skated lightly over his shoulders and down his upper arms. She kept her tone even and drew him into a hypnotic state.
She pressed her thumbs into the back of his shoulder blades and massaged the muscles. Resistance met each stroke, but she eased her fingers back and forth until he responded to her touch. As she spoke, she worked each muscle in his shoulders and upper back, enjoying the sleek feel of his body. Hard muscles rippled beneath her palms. His steady breath whispered through his lips.
Chandler leaned over the edge of the chair. Her fingers traveled up the nape of his neck to his scalp. Dark crisp strands of hair clung to each fingertip as she massaged his scalp with gentle kneading motions. She turned him to sit and face her as she lingered at his temples and pressed. She caressed his hairline and forehead, smoothed down the line of his brow, and explored the carved features of his face.
A groan escaped his lips as his head bobbed closer to her breasts. “I see why this technique is considered dangerous. I’m your helpless victim.”
Chandler smiled and pulled at his ears, moving her thumbs in small circles around the sensitive flesh. “Is some of the pressure lifting?”
“Yeah. Most of it was in my right shoulder.”
“Hmmm, you have a nice knot there. Stretch out on the floor face down.” She moved from the chair to straddle his back as she probed the spot. “Focus your breath on the area while I work on it a little more.”
She kneaded the muscles but still felt resistance. Concentrated on relieving his pain, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and continued the massage. She squeezed and released, letting her hands glide over his bare skin. Muscles jumped beneath her touch as she explored the hard body before her. It felt like steel sheathed in satin.
Electrical currents raced through her. Suddenly, she realized Logan’s breathing turned ragged. His muscles stilled beneath her hands. She stopped and dug her nails into his shoulder as the swirling tension enveloped the room.
She became aware of their positions. Bent forward, her hair fell over his left shoulder and brushed against the bare skin at his neck. Her thighs shifted and rubbed against him as she massaged him. Her nipples hardened against the thin silk of her dress, begging to be touched.
He suddenly rolled onto his back, leaving her still sitting on his torso. His shirt gaped open and revealed his upper shoulders to her hungry gaze. Her legs were spread wide as she straddled him, and one of his hands rested on her upper thigh for support. Those five fingers burned into her skin as he squeezed lightly.
“Chandler?”
His husky question made her heart race. He seemed to fight for control. She knew all she had to do was pull away and proclaim the evening over; she’d be safe for another night.
Chandler decided she was tired of being safe.
Her fingers glided over his face and neck in a caress. She gave in to the pleasure of freely touching him, glorying in his strength and suppleness as a woman now, not as a teacher.
A hiss of air escaped his lips when he realized she wasn’t running away. She lay sprawled across the heavy weight of his thighs and looked him straight in the eye.
“You’re not running.” He pressed his thumb gently against her mouth. Waited for her response.
“I can’t,” she said simply. “You win.”
She watched the emotions flicker over his face, partly surprised that she spotted no gleam of triumph for his victory. In fact, a slight frown marred his brow. With a muttered curse, and one rapid motion, she was on her back, his mouth covering hers. Chandler forgot every thought she ever had except the way Logan Grant bestowed pleasure.
With a single thrust Logan parted her lips and hungrily plundered the honey sweetness he found, over and over again, melding their mouths together in a fusion of desire and need. He became ruthless in his victory, demanding every response she had to give.
Her senses were overpowered by the scent of brandy on his breath, the musk and soap from his skin, the dark heady taste of raw male hunger. His teeth tugged gently on her lower lip, then bathed the flesh with his tongue. With a low moan, she reached up and plunged all ten fingers into sable strands of hair.
One hand shot out to hold her still as he led her in a game of attack and retreat. His tongue led a teasing dance and urged her to play. She gripped his shoulders and tried to drag him closer to her arching body.
He gave a low laugh and dropped tiny kisses along her jaw, down her neck, the hollow of her throat.
“Tell me what you want.” His hand cupped her breast and teased her nipple through the thin silk.
She struggled for breath. “I want you to touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he murmured. His teeth nipped at her shoulder while his fingers plucked at the hard crest.
“No, under my dress. Take it off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Deftly, he undid the buttons and pulled it over her shoulders. His eyes burned hotly over the lacy scrap of bra that revealed more than it concealed, before he snapped open the clasp.
Cool air rushed against her skin as she was bared to his sight. Shyness overcame her, but the look in his eyes made her flush with pleasure, knowing he wanted her, knowing she pleased him.
“God, you’re more lovely than I remember.” He worshiped the creaminess of her skin with his gaze, the silky feel of her with his hands. “Tonight I want to teach you to fly. You’ll see how good it can be, Chandler. Only with me. Then you’ll know we were meant to be together.” His words made a throbbing need pound between her thighs, and she curled her nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders.
His mouth lowered to one breast, his breath warm on her skin. A whimper caught in her throat as she arched upward and begged for more. His lips rubbed over the hard crest, back and forth, the slight scratchy feel from his five o’clock shadow a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.
He suckled gently, then scraped his teeth across the hard nub, making her cry out. Liquid heat coursed through her body and her fingers clenched in his hair, urging him on, frantic with need.
She tugged at the buttons of his shirt and tossed it aside. Her hands ran over his broad chest and reveled in the hard, lean muscles rippling under her palms, the crisp dark hairs that swirled in an intriguing pattern and disappeared into the waistband of his slacks. A long stream of words escaped his lips, either a curse or a prayer, and she let her fingers trail down his chest to trace the edge of his slacks. Then lingered.
Slowly, she let her hands drift downward, testing the hardness of his desire, the raw strength and masculine power pulsing beneath her fingers. His stomach muscles clenched under her touch, his body hard.
Chandler looked up and watched his face. His eyes were half closed as he fought for control, his gun-metal gray gaze glittered with hot, male need as she wrapped her hands around him.
Carefully, she squeezed.
With a muttered groan, he lifted her off his thighs and turned her so that her back pressed against his chest and his hips cradled her buttocks, spoon style. She reached back and gripped his thighs for balance, and he chuckled when she tried to twist back around.
“Oh, no you don’t, you little witch. I haven’t waited this long so you could push me over the edge in a few minutes.”
“But I want to touch you,” she insisted. “I want to make you feel the way I do when you open your mouth on my breasts, and touch my skin.”
“And how does that make you feel?” he asked.
“Strange.” She sounded thoughtful. “Hot and tingly. Like I’m craving something, something I can’t reach yet.”
Logan stilled, choosing his words with care. “And you never felt like this before?”
“I did once. But not this intensely. And the other time became, well, painful.”
He realized then that she’d never had a man fully satisfy her. She probably didn’t realize her past lover selfishly took her virginity and ignored her needs. Logan cursed the stupidity of the man. There was an untapped wealth of passion contained in Chandler Santell. The knowledge he’d be the first to give her such an experience affected him in a way he never expected. Overcome by possessiveness, he knew he could make this woman truly belong to him. But it was more than that. He realized he wanted her to surrender not only her body, but her heart. Humbled by the gift she wanted to bestow, he suddenly wanted to be worthy of it.
She needed to trust him completely.
So tonight he couldn’t make love to her.
He closed his eyes and fought for control. Then he bent his head and pushed back the heavy mane of hair from her neck. He let his warm breath brush against her ear as he bestowed light kisses down her cheek. “I want you to close your eyes and relax, Chandler. Let me show what I can do to you.”
Chandler felt wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His voice poured over her like hot caramel. His hands moved over her breasts and squeezed. She gripped at his thighs as the tension grew and a low moan of frustration escaped her lips. His fingers ran down her stomach and stroked her legs. She arched upward, demanding more, demanding something, uncertain.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He sucked in his breath as he looked down, taking in her creamy skin, flat stomach, full naked breasts, and the honey brown triangle hidden at the apex of her smooth thighs. She wore only a scrap of pale pink lacy underwear.
“Logan?”
He heard the uncertainty in her voice and soothed her. “I know you feel like you’re losing control, but I’m going to show you more pleasure than you’ve ever known. Let me give you this.”
His fingers trailed across her stomach and left a path of fire. Her mind worked sluggishly through a fog of desire. Her eyes closed halfway as he traced his thumb along the line of her panties. His palm settled over her center and he lightly massaged her tender flesh.
Her hips shot up when his fingers pressed. He rotated his hand, dragging the lacy material back and forth over her, until her heart pounded and her blood roared and she thought she’d die of pleasure if he kept going.
“Open your legs for me, Chandler,” he muttered darkly in her ear. One finger slipped under the elastic, testing her swollen heat, her readiness for him. She gasped at the sensation and wanted more. Her legs opened for him. With a murmur of satisfaction he slipped another finger under the material and touched her intimately.