It wasn't that she didn't want to tumble into a sexual affair. She was so attracted to him, and the sexual tension had built to an unsustainable level. They had to act on it, or they'd both
burst into a ball of flames.
No, it was that she knew, from the minute they stepped over the threshold, she would be in over her head. How would she keep herself from drowning?
The suite had a sitting room that was separate from the bedchamber. Stalling, she went to the table by the window where a bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket. A tray of hors d'oeuvres was arranged next to it.
She was pouring a glass of champagne when he came up behind her. He placed his hand on hers, stopping her.
She glanced over her shoulder, and on seeing the hot look of desire in his eyes, her knees were actually weak.
"What?" she asked.
"Sex first. Champagne second."
As if she was his bride, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He dropped her onto the bed and followed her down, both of them laughing, bouncing across the mattress. He drew her under him, trapping her with his arms and legs so she couldn't chicken out and slip away.
He was in a frenzy, yanking at the straps of her dress, baring her breasts. He fell to them, laving and licking her nipples as his hand slid under the hem of her skirt. With a fierce jerk, he ripped her panties away, then his fingers were inside her.
She was riveted by how good it felt to be touched by him. Why on earth had she waited?
"I have wanted to do this," he muttered, "since the moment I saw you in that blasted lawyer's office."
"You have not."
"I have too."
He fumbled with his jeans, tore at the zipper, and with no warning or fuss, he spread her thighs and entered her.
She gasped and rose up, and he clutched her to his chest.
"Hold still," he grumbled.
"I can't."
She tried to shift her legs, to give him more space to maneuver, but the small movement was too much. He thrust once, and again, and it was over.
They both froze, then she began to giggle, and he joined in
so they were chortling like a pair of idiots.
He pulled away and flopped onto his back, an arm shielding his heated face.
"I can't believe I did that," he panted.
"Is that all the endurance you have?" she teased.
"Ah!"
"In light of the stories I've heard, I was expecting it to last a little longer."
"If you tell anybody, I'll have to have you killed."
"I promise to keep your secret."
"You'd better. I feel like I'm fourteen and completely unable to control myself." He peered over at her. "You have to be on the pill. Save me from having a heart attack and say that you are."
"What if I'm not?"
Panic flared in his eyes, and he growled and grabbed her, coming over her, his body pressing her into the mattress. He clasped her thighs and pushed into her again. He was still hard, already eager to have her.
"Are you on the pill?" he demanded, but he was smiling.
"Yes, yes, I'm on the pill. How about you? Are you free of horrid diseases?"
"Yes."
"So we're even."
"Not even close."
He started taking slow, deep penetrations that rocked her to the marrow of her bones. Their initial passion was sated, and there would be all the time in the world to do it over and over until they got it right.
He was kissing her and kissing her, the delicious torment continuing for an eternity. Each one was more stirring than the last, drawing them intimately together.
She could finally touch him, hold him,
have
him, and there was no reason to restrain herself. She'd thought she might be timid or reserved, but he made it so easy to be with him. She didn't have to worry about how it would go; she could simply revel.
He rolled onto his back so she was on top. He kept a constant, steady rhythm as he unzipped her dress and worked it
up and off. The only other item she'd had on had been the panties he'd ripped away. With a flick of his wrist, she was naked.
She arched her back, letting him look, letting him enjoy the view. He took her breasts in his hands, his thumbs gliding over her nipples so she ached with need.
"You're so beautiful, Faith."
She grinned. "I think that's the first time you ever said my name."
"Faith," he murmured again.
She leaned down and kissed him. "I'm glad I'm here."
"I am too."
"I'm glad I could be with you like this."
"So am I."
He halted his thrusting and gazed at her with an expression of such strident affection that her breath hitched in her lungs. No one had ever stared at her like that before, as if she was exotic and remarkable and unique.
She told herself not to read anything into it, but it was difficult not to. He was just so extraordinary, and as she'd been afraid might happen, she yearned to matter to him in a manner that went beyond unattached sex.
She knew it was foolish to feel that way, and she understood all the reasons her desire to connect with him was crazy, but she was who she was. People were important to her. She loved and cared and bonded, and she couldn't change her personality for Lucas Merriweather.
Desperate to break the powerful moment, she glanced away and began tugging at his clothes.
"I'm naked," she pointed out, "but you're not."
"I haven't even taken off my shoes."
"Or your jeans or your jacket or your shirt. But it's your lucky day."
"Why is that?"
"Because
I
am going to take them all off for you."
He smiled a heart-stopping smile that made her thankful she was on a bed. If she'd been standing, he might have knocked her over with the force of it.
"You're right," he agreed. "It is my lucky day."
She set to work, stripping his jacket down and off his arms, yanking his T-shirt over his head. As she bared his chest and got her first glimpse of it, she purred with delight.
He was perfectly sculpted, rounded pecs, washboard abs. He could have been a Calvin Klein model. Maybe he had been.
"You're too good looking," she complained. "You put all other men to shame."
"I don't do it intentionally. I came this way."
"And I am thrilled you decided to share yourself with little old me."
She bent down and sucked on his nipple, pinching and biting, making him hiss with pleasure. He pulled her nearer, and she toyed and played, driving him up and up the spiral of desire.
When he couldn't stand it anymore, he attempted to flip her onto her back, to take charge and speed things up, but she wasn't ready to relinquish control.
She nibbled a trail down his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans, and she jerked at the fabric, easing them down his hips. She nuzzled his cock, licking, tasting, and she surprised herself by taking him into her mouth. They were scarcely acquainted, and with any other man, she wouldn't have tried it so soon, but she felt as if she'd known him forever.
She continued to arouse him as he took long, slow thrusts. But she wasn't done undressing him, and ultimately, she moved away and finished with his jeans, baring his thighs, his calves.
She tossed his shoes and socks over her shoulder, and they tumbled onto the floor. Finally, she was able to see every six-foot, buff, yummy inch of him, and he was all hers.
Her palms on his ankles, she stroked them up, touching every spot along the way. His skin was warm and smooth, the hairs on his legs and belly tickling her hands. She kept coming, up his stomach, his chest, until she was stretched out on top of him.
The sensation of being so closely connected, with no clothing as a barrier, was exhilarating, satisfying on a level that was different from anything she'd ever previously experienced. They sighed in unison, both overcome by the
ecstasy of their bodies being joined. It felt so perfect. It felt so
right.
He started kissing her again, and when he rolled them, when he entered her, there was a new poignancy to the encounter.
He gazed at her so sweetly that tears welled into her eyes.
"Have I met you somewhere before?" he asked. "Have we hooked up, but I don't remember?"
"No."
"It seems like we've done this."
She nodded. "Yes, it seems like we have."
"What's happening here?"
"I don't have any idea."
"It's special."
She agreed, but wasn't about to admit it. He had sex with women all the time, and she was sure he was a habitual liar in bed. He was too smooth, too seductive.
If he told her their affair was
special
, she'd begin to believe him. Then where would she be?
"It's not special, Lucas. It's just sex."
"Great sex," he said, grinning.
"Yes, great sex."
The interlude passed, and they didn't speak of it again.
He showered her with his delicious kisses until she couldn't imagine how they could keep on. His flexing grew more powerful, deeper, more precise. He was moving her over the mattress, her head against the headboard and bumping into it with each penetration.
"Come with me," he whispered in her ear. "Let me feel you."
He dipped to her breast and sucked her nipple, biting it hard.
"You are so good at that."
"Now, Faith!"
"Oh."
He touched her, his deft thumb skillfully driving her to the end. She was pitched into a potent orgasm, and as she soared to the heavens, he joined her.
They flew together, reached the peak together, then floated
down. Together. As the tumult waned, he was nibbling across her chin, her cheek, her nose.
"What was that?" he murmured. "Did we have an earthquake?"
"It was the great sex I mentioned."
"I think I'm paralyzed from the waist down."
She chuckled. "I think I've been struck blind."
"I've never felt anything like it."
"Neither have I."
She was positive he said much the same to every lover, but she shoved the dreary possibility out of her mind. At the moment, he was saying it to
her,
and there was no other woman in the room. Just her. Just Faith Benjamin. And she'd given him the ride of his life.
"I'm so happy." The words slipped out before she could stop them.
"I am too."
He looked stunned, as if he was shocked to be happy, as if he never previously had been.
She rested a palm on his cheek and peered into his blue, blue eyes.
"You'll stay till Sunday, won't you?" she said. "You weren't kidding?"
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."
"You better mean it."
"Where you're concerned," he replied, "I'm always going to mean it."
She didn't know what he was confiding and wouldn't speculate. She'd initiated an affair and had gotten what she wanted from him: hot, sweaty, terrific sex.
He'd been as thorough as she'd predicted he would be. No matter what happened between them in the future, no matter how short their liaison—and she was sure it would be very, very short—she would always be grateful to have had this time with him.
"You'll be the death of me," he claimed. "I'm still hard for you."
"You're an animal, Merriweather. An animal."
He was laughing. "I've already come twice, and I'm still
hard."
"I guess you're not all talk."
He flexed his hips, letting her feel his erection. "I'm all action."
"As a woman, I'm very, very excited to hear you say that."
"I told you: When we're through, you won't be able to walk for a week."
"Silly me. I didn't believe you."
He took a slow, deep stroke. "Do you believe me now?"
She smiled, loving the way he was looking at her, as if she was his, as if he'd never wanted anyone else.
"Oh, yes, Lucas, I definitely believe you."
CHAPTER SIX
"Pick up the phone, dammit!"
Lucas listened to Faith's voice—
I'm not available right now—
and hit the off button.
He was in the kitchen at the family's Denver mansion and wondering why he was still in Colorado. He should have been sailing in the Caribbean. Instead, he was twiddling his thumbs, trying to connect with Faith, trying to schedule another weekend getaway, but apparently, she couldn't be bothered.
Five days had passed since their sojourn at the bed and breakfast. He'd left a half-dozen messages, but she hadn't responded to a single one.