The Affair: Week 2 (5 page)

“Oh,” she said thickly.

“I’m not telling you that I was wrong the other night. Everything I said was true. I take what I want. I
am
selfish.”

“Then why did you walk away that night?” Emma challenged quietly.

He fisted her hair. He looked quite fierce. “I’m not walking away now, so don’t imagine that I’m something I’m not. And
never
be so stupid as to think I’m noble. Do you understand me?”

“I . . . I think so. You want to have an affair with me? Or a one-night stand, is that what you want?”

His gaze traveled over her face. She found herself wondering what he saw there.

“As much as I want you, it’s going to take more than just one night,” he stated grimly. “You’ve done something to me. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t sleep. I’m having trouble eating,” he said, his gaze narrowing as her lips parted in wonder.

Michael Montand wanted her so much that he couldn’t rest. It struck her as strange. Surreal.

“I’m aware that I’m not what you deserve,” he continued. “But I don’t do long-term relationships, Emma. I’m sorry for that, in your case, more than I ever have been in my life. But I don’t want to lie to you. Plus, I have to travel a lot—lately nearly every week, with a big racing event I’ve sponsored happening very soon. Do you want me enough to take the risk, knowing all those things?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

He studied her closely. “I’m not used to doing this. I know that you’re young and vulnerable, though, so I’m trying.”

“I’m not vulnerable. And I’m not that young.”

“I disagree. But it doesn’t matter anymore. If this keeps up . . .” he looked bewildered, even a little wild. “I don’t know what’ll happen. As long as I know you exist out there somewhere, I’ll want you. The only possible thing that would stop me is if you told me no. Are you
sure
you want to agree to this?”

She nodded.

“Why?” he demanded, stepping closer to her. “
Why
are you sure?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” she said, trapped in a spell of honesty, ensnared by his eyes. “And because I can’t stop thinking about you, either. And . . .”

“What?” he said, cradling her head in the palm of his hand, the gesture striking her as both tender and possessive. His head lowered toward hers.

“Because it’s something I’ve never had before. The sparks,” she whispered.

He swooped down and captured her mouth, the force and heat of him thrilling her. His other hand rose to her jaw, holding her in place. Her entire focus narrowed to the feeling of him. He parted her lips with his tongue, and her world became his taste. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a conquering one, a claiming without caution or apology. Yet the way he held her head and dipped his tongue between her lips made her feel precious somehow, like she was a treat he wanted to savor before he devoured her. He held her firmly, his clear, fixed intent to take his fill arousing her deeply. Her flesh softened in a way she’d never experienced, went warm and liquid and ready for him in seconds.

He lifted his head a moment later.

“As long as you understand,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I see no reason to prolong this. I won’t wait a minute longer.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” she asked in confusion when he led her down the stairs to the lake a moment later, her hand in his, the sound of waves hitting the beach growing louder in her ears.

“To the beach. You’re flushed. You must be warm. You could use a swim,” he said briskly.

“I wasn’t flushed because of the heat,” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t meant for him to hear her, but knew he had when he squeezed her hand. She heard his soft laugh. His amused understanding helped steady her in the face of what was to come.

A nearly full moon reflected off the white sand beach, lighting up the night to a surprising degree. He led her off the deserted public beach, however, toward the rocky shoreline to the north. Visibility was poorer here without the white expanse of sand, but her eyes had accustomed to the glowing moon and starlight. The lake was relatively calm tonight, the waves caressing the shore in a hushed, silken rhythm. She could make out the shape of piled rocks to the left and Montand’s dark, compelling form walking next to her. Neither of them spoke, the sense of anticipation building to an almost smothering degree.

He paused next to a black pile of rock and moved behind her.

His dark, solid shadow lowered. She realized he’d sat down. She plopped down next to him when he pulled on her hand, a surprised laugh popping out of her throat. They sat on the relatively flat surface of a rock, facing the lake.

Her thigh and hip were pressed very tight against his solid length. His arm encircled her, pulling her even tighter. She looked up, all amusement vanished, knowing she’d find him in the darkness. His mouth closed over hers. She abandoned herself to the moment, to the rushing, cool wind and his hot kiss. She felt herself heating even more, softening against his solid length.

He broke the kiss, but she craned toward him, a bee to honey.

“How about a swim?” he asked her gruffly, nibbling and plucking at her mouth in a highly distracting manner.

“What?” she mumbled, her lips sliding against his, shaping them hungrily to her own. She couldn’t get enough of his scent. His taste. His texture. Her fingers sunk into his hair, stroking and then fisting the thick waves greedily. Was this what people meant when they talked about a grand passion? No wonder they were known to do crazy things for love. Or lust, in her case. Under this mesmerizing influence, loved ones were sacrificed, kingdoms fell, pride and honor were forsaken.
Yes
, she could almost believe it while she was under the spell of his kiss. Having never experienced this dizzying rush of heat and need, Emma had always been a little skeptical it existed until now.

He stroked the skin of her bare arm, and she shivered.

It
existed, all right. In spades.

“Do you want to take a swim?” he repeated patiently, his long fingers touching the edge of her blouse, and then burrowing beneath it, sliding against the skin of her shoulder. It was a relatively innocent caress, but the way he did it made her become even more warm and damp between her thighs.

“Um . . . okay,” she replied breathlessly. She wasn’t exactly sure what was expected of her. She’d never taken a midnight swim with a man like him before, a swim that was the prelude to sex. She’d never done something so impulsive and sexy, period.

He stood, pulling her up next to him. The side of his hand brushed her breast, and her breath caught. He began to unbutton her blouse. His hands moving against her skin as he deftly undressed her sent the swooping butterflies in her stomach into frantic mode. He paused just below her belly button as if he’d actually felt them fluttering frantically.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his warm breath brushing her hairline.

“Yes,” she said hastily. He remained still. “I’ve just . . . never done this before.”

She felt him stiffen. “Never done
what
?” he asked, and she heard tension harden his tone.

“Gone swimming in the lake naked?” The silence made her a little desperate. “With . . . with someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” His fingers resumed their journey downward, and she sighed in relief.

“Someone so . . .” She gulped when he swept back both sides of her blouse and the lake breeze hit her bare skin. “Wait . . . are you looking for a compliment?”

His low, rich laughter was delicious.

“Maybe. It might be nice, hearing one from you,” he said.

“I complimented you up there. On the bluff,” she reminded him distractedly. The warm fingers of one hand had slid beneath the back of her bra strap, making a ripple of pleasure go through her. Her nipples pulled tight. Her bra seemed to snap open as if by magic at his mere touch.

“You’re very good at that,” she said doubtfully, referring to his bra maneuvering.

“That wasn’t the compliment I was aiming for. Besides, from your tone, it might have been an insult,” he said as he drew the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, his light touch on her skin making her shiver. It took her a moment to register the wry humor in his tone.

“It wasn’t an insult,” she said as the cups of her bra evaporated into the darkness and the light breeze licked and swirled against her sensitive bare breasts. “But as for my tone, it sort of gets to the point.”

His large hands settled on her bare shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and somehow forbidden and electrically exciting at once. “Speak English, Emma,” he said, sounding less amused this time as his hands swept down her arms and back up again, as if he experimented with the feeling of her. She firmed her resolve, as difficult as it was to do with his warm, strong hands moving over her naked skin.

“I don’t have all that much experience, and it seems like you do.”

His hands paused in their exploration on her shoulder blades.

“Experience could mean a lot of different things,” he finally said warily.

“I know. Just forget it. It’s only . . . I wanted you to know I don’t usually fool around with men I’ve known for a week. In fact, I’ve only ever been with . . . you know,” she muttered, her cheeks starting to boil. Thank goodness for the darkness. She didn’t want to say Colin’s name out loud. She was already ruining the spontaneity of the moment as it was.

“And you were with Colin for two years,” he said, understanding and something that sounded like relief seeping into his tone.

“And it was never sex on the beach,” Emma admitted, wondering if he’d intuit the manifold meaning behind the words
sex on the beach
. It’d never been crazy or raunchy or a spur-of-the-moment impulse. Sex had never been extremely bad or mind-blowingly good for her. It’d been nice sometimes, a little trying others.

It’d never been scary or beautiful or heart-pounding-in-your-ears wild.

It’d never been
this.

Why had she brought it up at all? Nerves. The bane of her existence when it came to sex. That’s what Colin used to say, anyway. Maybe Montand would end up telling her the same thing—

His arms came around her, sending her thoughts scattering. Instinctively, she embraced him back, her arms looping around his waist. With one open hand, he caressed the side of her from hip to just under her upraised arm, his palm skimming the side of her bare breast. She trembled.

“Do you feel that?” he asked quietly, his mouth very close to her ear. His hand moved ever so slightly, and she shivered again.

“Yes,” she breathed out against his chest.

His hand lowered and joined its mate just below her waist. He dipped his knees and aligned her against him. She felt him throbbing, full and vibrant, next to her lower belly.

“And that?” His dark tone sent another shudder of excitement through her.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his taut waist. She strained against him, feeling his shape through their clothing. A lump formed in her throat. He felt so good. So exciting.

“That’s all that matters. What happens when we’re together. No one else.
Nothing
else,” he rasped before he kissed her ear persuasively, and she shuddered in mounting excitement.

His hands cupped her ass. She suppressed a whimper when he pushed her against him, clearly as eager to feel her shape as she was to feel his.

“It doesn’t matter how much experience either one of us has,” he continued hoarsely as he kissed her temple. “All that matters is you and me, and what feels right. What feels good.” His hands swept up over her naked back and sides again, his manner more forceful, kneading her muscles, his hunger clearly mounting. “The way you feel is new to me.”

“It . . . it is?” she asked in amazement.

“You make me almost feel new, too. Almost . . .”

She suppressed a whimper, stunned, moved by the quiet intensity of his tone. She wanted to thank him for the unusual compliment, but his mouth covered hers. Her returned kiss spoke for her. Or at least she hoped it did.

Their hands moved while they tasted each other, unbuttoning, undressing, pausing every once in a while out of necessity to remove jeans and shoes and socks.

Finally Emma was completely naked, her bare feet sinking into the cool sand, her arms empty. He knelt before her, removing his final remnants of clothing, but then he rose, a large, solid mass in front of her. Her heart jumped against her breastbone when he spread his hand at her waist.

“Come here,” he said gruffly. She went to him at that arousing, increasingly familiar bidding.

She closed her eyes, wonder and need sweeping through her when she felt his hard, naked body press against her in the darkness. He swept back her hair with one hand and cradled her head in that claiming manner that always made her breathless. His fingers fisting her hair, he pulled gently and her chin went back. He pressed his hot, open mouth to her pulse, tasting her, his lips moving sensually on her skin. She arched against a wall of solid, ridged muscle, her breasts crushing against his lower chest. His cock leapt against her lower belly and hip like a living thing, the size and weight of him thrilling. Intimidating.

But it was only pure disappointment she felt when he brushed his fingers down her arm, his hot mouth still against her neck, and took her hand in his. He stepped away.

“Let’s get in,” he said.

She followed his slow pace. “Careful,” he directed as they made their way to the water, and she knew why he’d warned her. The sand from the city beach had blown here, but small rocks intermixed with it. His hold on her was steady, though, even when the surf swept across her feet and she started.

“Oh my God, it’s so cold!” she blurted out.

He chuckled. “It’s Lake Michigan. It’s always cold. You’ll get used to it.”

His hand tightened around hers and she followed him unerringly. She could barely see anything. Her skin actually hurt from the goose bumps covering it, and there was an uncomfortable pressure growing in her stomach as her body protested against the rising cold and the eerie blackness in front of her. She instinctively followed him, however, trusting the feeling of his firm, warm grip even more than her body’s primal urging for warmth and safety.