Wicked Pleasures (21 page)

The rain was still pouring down when the limo pulled into the small lower level garage of the renovated warehouse.

Cam opened the door and stepped out, then turned and extended his hand to her.

"Are you going to run from me again, Jaci?" he asked her.

She should, she knew she should. Instead, she let him grip her fingers and pull her from the car.

"This doesn't mean I'm agreeing to anything," she informed him, as the limo pulled away.

"I understand that." He curled his fingers around hers and led her to the wide staircase that led to the next floor. "You need to rest. We need to talk. You can rest here, and later we can talk."

As if that was really going to happen,
she thought with a silent, disbelieving snort. They were both so damned aroused it was a wonder they didn't combust. There wasn't a chance in hell she was going to sleep, with him so close to her. So close, yet so damned far away.

When he told her that half of himself was all he had to give, she hadn't had an answer for him. What the hell was she supposed to say? That it wasn't good enough for her? She had promised herself that if she ever had the chance again, she would fight for him. That she wouldn't run like the scared little girl she had been before. She had promised herself she would try not just her way, but his way as well.

But to realize that the man she had waited for all these years wasn't willing to give enough to even sleep with her, left her feeling strangely bereft.

As they stepped into the first floor apartment, Jaci gazed around at the open, airy layout of the converted warehouse and felt something clench inside her.

"This is your level?" she asked, looking toward the stairs. "Chase's is upstairs?"

He stood beside her and stared around the room as well, before turning back to her with a short nod.

Jaci's throat tightened. It was so deserted. There was nothing but the most minimal furniture. No pictures or personal items, no little knickknacks or souvenirs. It was a place, it wasn't a home, nor did it have a feeling of life. Dear God, as she stared around she realized that, in some ways, this was what she had always seen inside Cam. A man that refused to let himself belong.

He cleared his throat, standing beside her. "It gets a little dusty sometimes."

Cam stared around the apartment, wondering what had put that look of abject sorrow on her face. Hell, he had the place cleaned weekly, it wasn't as though there could be much wrong with it, except the dusting. Well, actually, he couldn't see any dust, but he knew his cleaning lady was a little lax where the dusting was concerned.

"A little dusty," she whispered faintly as she sat her briefcase and purse on the wide table beside her and stared around again.

This went way beyond a little dusting, Jaci thought sadly. It was empty. Almost soulless. And Cam wasn't soulless. She stared up at him as he looked out at the room again, and she saw that edge of complete aloneness that seemed to surround him.

It had been there seven years before, that distance he forced between himself and the world. It was more apparent here, though, in this place he called home. The complete starkness of it was heartbreaking.

"What's wrong with it?" he suddenly growled. "The place is clean. I'm not exactly a slob."

"No, you're not a slob," she said sadly. "You're very neat, Cam."

"Yeah, well, neatness is a virtue," he continued to grump, as he headed away from her toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I can have something ordered in." He pulled the refrigerator door open and glared inside before jerking a beer free, then slammed it closed again.

"I'm going to guess the only thing your refrigerator holds is beer," she ventured. "Do you ever actually live here?" She stared around again.

"Every day," he almost snarled.

"Really? I bet Chase's level looks totally different."

"Chase is a slob." He was glaring at her now. "A damned packrat. He has to have every fricken momento and gift everyone ever gave him. They line the damned walls."

He slapped the beer on the counter and braced his hands flat on the gray marbled top. "Do you have a problem with where I live, Jaci?"

"None whatsoever." She shrugged. "But I think I'd prefer a clinic. It would be less sterile."

Surprise registered on his face as she paced through the large open apartment to a set of tall glass doors that led out to an open balcony. "What the hell does that mean?"

She opened the doors and breathed in the scent of the rain. The thunder and lightning had moved into the distance, but the rain continued to drench the world outside. The clouds were low and heavy, fog rose in misty sheets, giving the grounds an otherworldly appearance and a feeling that they were the only inhabitants in a mystical world.

Jaci usually loved the rain and the fog, but today it seemed to emphasize the complete sterility of Cam's life. Had he done it deliberately? Or was it really just so much a part of him that he didn't even realize it?

"The apartment isn't sterile." He moved behind her, the heat of his body spreading along her back as his hands bracketed her hips with a firm, almost desperate grip.

"Yes it is," she said. "And I wonder if it isn't deliberate."

She glanced over her shoulder at his closed expression, the stark, icy green eyes, before turning back to the rain. Dampness pelted her face—cool, inviting, drawing her into an almost primal awareness of it. Rain cleansed and eased, and it always had been a source of peace for her.

"How long has it been since you played in the rain?" she asked, smiling as the wind drove a sheet of dampness against them.

She mesmerized him. Seeing her there, a teasing imp in her eyes, yet with that glimmer of sadness still shining. How was he supposed to resist her?

Cam was silent for long moments before he finally answered. "Too long to remember."

She didn't look back at his face. She was afraid if she did she would cry. She could hear the loneliness in his tone, sense the male confusion caused by her expression.

She took a deep breath and swallowed tightly before turning her head and staring up at him, seeing all the things she had heard in his voice.

"Let's get wet and wild," she whispered. "Come on, Cam, play in the rain with me."

"You'll catch your death of cold." He eyed the rain skeptically.

"Then you can feed me homemade chicken soup." She grabbed his hand and pulled him out after her.

The rain was drenching, falling down in sheets that soaked them within seconds. It ran over Jaci's hair and face in rivulets. Spreading her arms wide, she lifted her face and turned in a circle, her eyes closing as the summer shower spilled over her.

When her head lowered and she opened her eyes, she saw Cam, his head lifted, eyes closed. His shirt and slacks were drenched and he looked primal. So male. So intense.

When his eyes opened and he stared back at her, she saw a core of need inside him that she wondered if he even knew he possessed.

"Dance with me," she whispered. The need to feel his arms around her was driving her crazy.

"There's no music." He tried to smile, but she could see the edge of dominance burning inside him. He wanted much more than to dance.

"Then we'll make our own music." She moved into his arms, feeling them go around her as he looped her arms around his neck. "Haven't you ever wanted to make your own music, Cam?"

The rain ran down his hair and face in thick rivulets, highlighting the light growth of beard that shadowed his face.

The ice in his eyes was thawing, being replaced by desire, by a hint of emotion that had her heart racing.

"Are we making music yet?" he asked, his voice rough with arousal now.

Within the soaked slacks, his cock throbbed hard and insistent, as his hands slid the hem of her shirt along her midriff so he could touch her bare back. At the same moment, she became aware of Chase watching from the door, his gaze heavy, arousal evident; but he did nothing to join them. She prayed he wouldn't.

"Don't you feel it?" she whispered, her fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt.

She wanted to see his bare chest, the rain running through the mat of dark chest hair, drenching the corded muscles of his upper body.

Within minutes she had the shirt opened and pushed it from his shoulders. Still, Chase watched. It added to the eroticism, made her feel somehow more wicked, sexier.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he questioned her, his voice rough, his expression tightening with lust. "I'm going to end up fucking you on the damned balcony, Jaci."

"Good thing you have lots of trees around here, then." She smiled up at him before glancing out at the grounds around the warehouse. Huge, stately oaks grew high and close, sheltering the open balcony.

One hand lifted from her waist to cup her cheek, and he danced her back to the brick wall, his hard body sheltering her from the force of the rain. She forgot about Chase—forgot about everything but the pleasure burning inside her.

The other hand slid around, flattened against her lower stomach, and pressed demandingly against her, as his head lowered.

The taste of the rain and her kiss was intoxicating. Cam was certain he had never known anything, any woman, that had ever tasted as good as Jaci. His tongue swiped over her lips, drew in the raindrops that clung to them, before he caught the lower curve of her lip between his teeth and nipped at it erotically.

She jerked against him in response, her breath coming hard and fast now, her body heating, despite the water pouring over her.

Her body curved against his, her lower stomach cushioning the erection throbbing beneath his slacks, her breasts pressed into his bare chest.

The cool rain did nothing to tamp the fire burning inside him. She was like a drug in his system now, and he wondered how the hell he would survive if he didn't manage to bind her to him.

"This is so good," she panted, as his lips moved from hers to the curve of her jaw, and lower on her neck. "Feeling you like this, Cam—all over. Like the rain."

He grimaced as he buried his head in her neck. Going slow and easy with her was killing him. His control was so damned frayed, it was all he could do to force himself to hold back.

He slid his palm lower on her stomach, his fingertips pressing against the mound between her thighs, rotating, caressing the flesh just above her clit through the material of her jeans.

He wanted those damned pants off her.

"I have to feel you," he groaned. The words were rasping, his voice guttural, an indication of his loss of control.

Damn, he'd never had trouble controlling himself with a woman. Never known a time that he couldn't draw the pleasure out, make her scream before he reached the point that he had to bury himself inside her. Until now.

He gripped the hem of her shirt and drew it up her body. As he leaned back, he watched as her arms lifted gracefully, the clinging material peeling off her flesh to reveal paradise beneath.

Tossing the shirt aside, he flicked open the clip of her bra and drew it away from the swollen mounds of her breasts.

His mouth watered at the sight of her tight, hard little nipples. They were flushed a ruby red, puckered, and seemed to beg for his kiss.

His head lowered as he felt her hands on his shoulders, her nails raking across his flesh.

He should take her inside. Hell, he knew he should take her inside, out of the rain, but he couldn't seem to force himself to do it. She was made for the caress of the raindrops—water running along her flesh, soaking her as she burned for him.

Pulling back his hands, he attacked the bright yellow belt that had teased him all day. It cinched her slender hips, drew the eye to the sway of her ass. He loosened it quickly, before undoing the metal snap and zipper. Within seconds his fingers were pushing into the sweltering heat of her pussy, penetrating the tight tissue, and drawing a ragged cry from both of them.

"That's not fair," she panted, jerking to her tiptoes, her back arching as her face flushed with pleasure.

He loved watching her face. Watching the pleasure suffuse it as her incredible eyes became dazed from the surfeit of sensations.

He raked his teeth over the upper curve of her breast as he lowered a hand to his slacks.

He released the belt and the closure to the pants quickly, drawing the material aside to release the heavy length of his cock.

He was dying for her.

"Not yet." Her nails skimmed along his shoulders as her lips moved to his neck. "This time I get to have fun."

"Damn, Jaci, my control is shot." He grimaced as her lips moved from his neck to his shoulder, then his chest.

She was going down, that incredible body shifting and flexing in his arms, as her lips followed the trails of water flowing down his chest.

He couldn't feel the rain now. All he felt was the heat, the caress of her fingers and her lips against his chest, his abdomen. Her nimble little tongue dipped into his belly button, then licked and stroked farther down. Slowly, so fucking slowly.

"I've dreamed of this." She was on her knees in front of him, one hand cupping his balls, the other gripping the hard length of his cock.