Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (11 page)

“The implement shed. Remember all the machinery?”

“So it was. We were lucky Grandpa never caught us.”

He was profoundly thankful for that. “I guess your body wasn’t developed enough, back then.” He slid down the bed, stroked her belly, ran a finger around and around her navel, and followed with his lips.

“Not a natural blonde,” he whispered, playing in the neat little patch of curls a few inches lower.

“You know I’m not,” she protested, stretching like a contented cat.

Nick eased over her, pushing her thighs apart until he could bury his face there. God, the scent of a woman feeling sexy! He breathed her in, forcing her legs further apart with both hands when she tried to retreat into modesty.

“Surrender to the inevitable,” he teased, holding her where he wanted her and sliding his tongue over her clit.

Sammie’s hips jolted in response.

“I’m allowed to treat you like a big girl now. All the things I couldn’t do back then. All the things I’d only heard about. Anything you want,” he whispered.

He licked her again as though she was premium ice-cream. “Anything you want at all.”

Another lick.

“What would you like me to do, Sammie?”

“Just...that...” she gasped in a strangled voice.
 

He smiled, enjoying his effect on her, tongue lapping slowly and deliberately at the juicy little peak. “Not this?” he asked a dozen soft strokes later, inserting a long finger.
 

Her sharp inhalation told him she liked that very much too.

“And if I pressed up here...?”

“Oh God Nick, yes!”

“Found the sweet spot, have I?” Her fractured breathing and sexy little moans were answer enough. She’d relaxed her thighs completely, open to whatever he wanted. Her aroused clit now pushed out like the sweetest candy. He pursed his lips around it and sucked with a steady rhythm, massaging it from underneath with his finger pulsing deep inside her.
 

Soon he felt the first of her tiny tugs and flutters. He’d imagined this almost constantly. Sammie out of control—because she was normally very much
in
control. His aloof and capable new secretary with her so-perfect suit and sky high heels reduced to a keening growling kitten, animal as anything, and all for him.

Now he had the extra thrill of knowing her true identity. His naughty little playmate, finally ripe and ready, so many years later.

Sammie hissed in a sharp breath and tensed. She teetered on the very brink of orgasm and he pushed her a little further. Finally she gave a wild cry and came apart in a juddering, panting storm, one hand clenched in his hair, the nails of the other scoring his neck.

He smiled, oblivious to the pain, and when she was done, reached for the first of the condoms.

CHAPTER TEN

She lay gasping, dimly hearing Nick rip the glittering packet apart. The blood roared in her ears and guilt tried to eat at her conscience.
 

This was taking her ‘whole new life’ to levels she hadn’t planned.
 

In bed with Nick Sharpe? So fast? One moment she’d been picking up broken terracotta, and the next she found herself pinned underneath him being kissed to death.
 

And she’d invited him to bed. More than invited—pretty well dragged him.

She’d turned into a sex maniac. It was the only explanation.

She stirred as Nick moved and planted a knee on the other side of her. The mattress dipped under his weight as he straddled her hips. His big testicles brushed against her belly and his impressive cock pointed straight at her breasts.

He held her face between his hands as he kissed her long and deeply, lifting and returning, insatiable. And she burned every bit as hot and hungry for him. Wanted him without further delay. Why was he still only kissing her?

She reached between their bodies, impatient, demanding more with eager hands. One sliding beneath his balls and weighing them with a growl of approval. One gripping his cock and trying to nudge him lower, lower, so she could take him inside. She had itches that needed rubbing, folds and creases moist with desperation, a hot wet place where he’d feel so good...

Oh thank God, he’d pushed a thigh between hers. He’d settled closer to where she wanted him. She struggled to free her other thigh so he’d take her.

“Sammie,” he murmured, amusement obvious in his tone. “What’s the rush?” He held her confined and helpless as she tried to pull free—so much stronger she hadn’t a chance of moving him, so much bigger she might have been scared if she’d not known him better.

She thrust a belligerent chin up at him, drew her lips back in a snarl. “Want you
now
.”
 

He clamped her hands in his own much larger ones and pinned them above her head, looking down at her as though he saw a disobedient child.

“Now,” she moaned. “
Now,
Nick.”

No pride left, only raging desire.

He kissed her again, a deep probing kiss that let her know with his tongue what he intended eventually for her aching, oh-so-ready body.
 

She burned. Flames licked up and down, deep inside.
 

Finally, he lifted his other thigh and she pulled hers apart, wide as she could, tilting her hips up like the lewdest of harlots.

He transferred both her hands to one of his, took his cock in the other, and began to feed it far too slowly into her hot twitching flesh. He entered in begrudging increments, pushing his heaviness deeper and deeper like exquisite torture.

“Nicky...” She wriggled.

“Hold still.” Not asked politely.

His invasion continued in tiny fractions, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t hurry him.

“Hold still, dammit. I want to feel every inch of you.”

She glared at him, but he’d aroused her so thoroughly she had no shame, no reservations, only this raging greed.

“You’re small,” he said. “I’m not. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She instantly stopped her hurry-up tactics, overwhelmed by his care. Yes, he’d looked big, but she’d never seen a man spot-lit like that before. Every detail visible, totally on show, no fumbling embarrassment or awkward modesty.
 

“Thank you,” she muttered, ashamed of herself now for acting the way she had. And in he pressed, gentle, careful, stretching her to her limits.
 

But she yearned to feel him moving. Wanted him sliding and pumping inside her, and setting her nerve-endings alight with sensation again. The sight of him above her was such a turn-on, such a promise of good things to come, that it took all her resolve and determination to hold still.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. Sammie saw the edges of his mouth curl up and knew he’d finally buried himself all the way. “So I’m just the right size for you,” she teased.

His grin widened at her no-doubt smug expression, and with a great exultant groan of satisfaction, he began to thrust, slow and sure and deep.

She wrapped her legs around him, following the rhythm he set, rocking against him, and relishing the delicious sliding invasion…the thrill of his total possession.
 

Wrenching her hands from his, she urged him on by grabbing his shoulders, scraping her nails over his neck and through his hair, pulling him close for hungry, desperate kisses.
 

Nick wove a long, slow storm of passion, hotter, more savage, ever more thunderous, until Sammie writhed with such intense desire that he clamped an arm around her waist to hold her close and tight. Her breasts tilted up against his chest, nipples rubbing against dark hair. Sensation upon sensation rolled through her as he pushed, retreated, pushed deeper, faster, finally pushed her over the crest so she clung to him breathless, gasping his name, grinding herself against him until he too shuddered and groaned, incoherent.

They slid down into a warm, dark place together, hands gentle, lips meeting and parting, eyes slumberous. Sammie never wanted to leave.

“What the...?” She muttered sleepily very much later. Nick chuckled, shaking her awake because she lay sprawled all over him. His big hands cradled her butt, holding her in place.

The strange rattling noise continued.

“What
is
it?” she whispered, worried Kelly might have returned to her apartment unexpectedly.

“It’s your new cat having a midnight snack. Chasing dry kibble around her plate.”

She huffed out an annoyed breath, and then exclaimed, “Midnight?”

“Not quite. Figure of speech.”

“Did I doze off?”

“Sleepy girl. Too much action for one night?”

She shot him her best narrow-eyed glare, which seemed to have no effect. He felt like a warm and very well-sprung mattress. Or should that be very well-hung? Hell, no doubt about it!

“There’s still part of a bottle of good wine out there,” he said. “Shall I bring it in?”
 

“Unless you’d rather have coffee? I can probably make my shaky legs walk to the kitchen.”

“I’ll get the wine.” She heard amusement and satisfaction in his voice. He dropped a kiss on her hair and slid out from under her.

Sammie watched him push the covers aside and rise. His arms and shoulders bunched and flexed, and his back stretched long and strong above a very cute butt and sensational darkly tanned legs.
 

Something behind her ribs gave a lurch of regret. If only she’d met Nick under other circumstances and at another time… It would be much harder working with him now, and it had been bad enough before. When the burn of attraction zinged between them at the fitness center, she’d have a murderously tough time keeping her mind off him and on her work.
 

But she had to escape New Zealand now she was finally free. She really didn’t want to give in to his potent attraction again. If they had a short-term affair she knew she’d fall hard, and then leaving him would tear her heart to shreds.

They’d have to treat this evening as one-time-only fun.
 

Somehow.

Who am I kidding?

Should she suggest he employed a different temp in her place? Or hurried up his search for a permanent replacement for AWOL Julie and soon-to-be mom Tyler? She turned the options around and around, not liking any of them much.
 

Nick brought their glasses into the bedroom and she held the bedcover up so it was easier for him to slide in beside her.

“Shame to waste it,” she agreed.

“It won’t be wasted. If we don’t finish it tonight I’ll give you a lift home from work tomorrow and we can polish the rest off then.”

Her face must have shown her dismay because he asked, “Problem?”

She quailed under his alert gaze.
 

Hell, best to tackle it now.

“Nick, this shouldn’t have happened.”

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I’m working for you for the next month. How can we do this as well?”

“This?” He slid an arm around her and pillowed her head against his shoulder. Damn, but she fitted there perfectly...

“Bed,” she elaborated. “Sex. I think you should get a new temp to take over.”

“And then you’d feel better about having sex with me?”

She drew an annoyed breath. “No. It would be better not to have sex at all. I’m going traveling as soon as I can. I’d rather not start a relationship I can’t commit to.” She peered up at him. “
Not
that sharing a bottle of wine over separate nights means it’s a relationship,” she added hastily, embarrassed by the description she’d given. “A bit of a fling maybe. I don’t do those.”

He sent her an unreadable look—not exactly disbelief and not exactly agreement either.
 

“So what am I doing in your bed when I only expected to talk? It wasn’t me who suggested it.”

The blush rushed up her neck, hot and embarrassing. “You brought my sandals back. And helped me clear up the palm-tree mess. You deserved a hug.”

Shame on you, Sammie—that sounds so feeble.

His disbelief definitely won out after that. His lips quirked and his eyes closed briefly, and she could see he found her explanation amusing and ridiculous.

“You drag every helpful man you find into bed for ‘a hug’, Sammie?”

She ground her teeth with annoyance. “Not what I meant, and you damn well know it.”

“But you meant it about not being able to work with me any longer? Don’t flatter yourself—I can keep my hands off you if you can keep yours off me.”
 

She managed not to point out he had a hand curled around her left breast at that moment, and seemed to have no intention of removing it.

“Well, you’re going to have to find a new permanent P.A. in the next week or two, so why not start now?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, in a tone that said he wouldn’t. He tipped his glass up and drank, and then he slid into detective mode again. “Can we get back to your orchard and see if there are any missing pieces that might be helpful for tracing my real parents?”

She nodded agreement. She’d forgotten how bad he must still feel. “Not my orchard. Grandpa’s orchard. And he sold it six years ago.”

“So what was I doing there? There must be a connection. Did he know Brian? Unlikely, I think. Old Erik was pretty straight-laced, and Brian was anything but.” He gave her nipple a sneaky tweak and she caught her breath. “He always referred to your grandparents as ‘Aunt Felicity and Uncle Erik’ but I know they weren’t.

“What does your birth certificate say?” she asked, waiting for the ripples of sensation to ebb away.

“Looks absolutely normal to me. Place of birth Hastings, New Zealand. Name, Nicholas David Sharpe. Date of birth, father, mother. Shown as Brian Joseph Sharpe and Gaynor Antonia Sharpe. No hint of anything else. But it’s got to be forged. Dad—Brian—had all sorts of dodgy connections.”

“Maybe you were Grandpa’s secret son?”
 

“Yeah, like I really look Swedish.” The thought was so absurd they both burst out laughing.

“Well you certainly weren’t Grandma’s. She only had my mother, and everyone said she was never very well after that. I’ve got a couple of pictures out there,” she added. “By the TV. Shall I get them?”