To keep her balance, Chloe had to put her arms around his neck, loving the play of Mike’s shoulder muscles along the inside of her arms. Sheer, unadulterated male power.
He walked slowly and directly into his bedroom, which she’d never seen. Her heart thumped painfully as they crossed the threshold.
Moonlight shining outside the big picture windows cast a soft glow over an enormous bed with a curved wood headboard, a big chest of drawers, a light-colored rug and an armchair.
He walked right by the bed to a door set in the left-hand wall. Dipping slightly with her in his arms, he opened the door and flipped the switch to the bathroom. Chloe narrowed her eyes at the flare of light.
“Wow.” He put her down carefully, not letting her go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. He shook his arms as if he’d carried an almost unbearable weight and huffed dramatically. A man who’d just finished a hard, daunting task. He whooshed out a last breath, putting fervor and drama behind it. “Man. You really packed on those pounds, Chloe. I barely made it here.”
She looked, startled, into his bright blue eyes, like looking into blue searchlights. His lips pursed, fighting a grin.
He was flirting with her!
She’d been underweight all her life. Once, when she was twelve, after three operations in four months, she’d lost so much weight her kidney had slipped.
Now she weighed something close to normal, and a lot of that weight was muscle. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Watch your step, Keillor. Or I’ll clean your clock.”
The grin broke loose. She smiled back, so glad of the light moment, switching off the darkness for a second. Then the darkness and the memories returned.
She shivered involuntarily and Mike stilled. His eyes searched hers, face grim. “I can’t guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to you again, honey. I can’t. No one can. I can’t guarantee that a shingle won’t fall off a roof and bean you. I can’t swear some drunk asshole won’t plow into your car. But look at me, Chloe.” He took her chin in his strong hand. “One thing I can guarantee? Those two or anyone else they send will never touch you again, not while I live. I hope that makes you feel better.”
Mike’s face was set, slightly pale. Light-years away from the good-time guy face he presented to the world. Good old Mike. Good for a beer and a laugh.
This wasn’t that Mike. He wasn’t even in the same universe as that Mike. This Mike was a force of nature, strength and will in every line of his body.
She nodded as a heavy pall lifted. No, no one could guarantee her nothing bad would ever happen again. That wasn’t possible for anyone. But she was absolutely certain that right now she was utterly safe, and if the hot glow in Mike’s eyes was any indication, something very good might happen very soon.
The bathroom had a huge tub and a big glass-enclosed shower cabin.
“I imagine you want to clean up,” Mike said. “Or do you want something to eat first?” His arm was still around her. He was very close, so close she could see the line of demarcation between his heavy five o’clock shadow and the clear, tanned skin of his neck. Blue eyes stared into hers.
“Clean! Oh yes, please!” The idea of washing off the horrible experience, of washing away the violence and horror, trumped food or sleep.
Mike smiled a little. “Thought so. Bath or shower?”
Normally, bath. Soaking in warm water was nature’s way of healing many things, including bruises. But she wanted water washing over her, washing away the violence, sluicing down her body and gurgling down the drain, together with the memory of the two men attacking her.
“Shower.”
He nodded, his blue eyes never leaving hers. He watched her carefully as he walked her in and reached behind her, keeping his hand flat against the upper part of her back, his huge hand nearly covering it. The hand was warm and heavy and he kept it there, at the top of the zipper, awaiting permission.
She nodded jerkily.
He pulled at the tab, a slow long glide down her back, opening the two panels. Cooler air washed over her bare back. She was watching him carefully and noted the exact instant he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Her breasts weren’t large or heavy. She didn’t really need a bra. In the winter she wore silk camisoles and in the summer nothing, liking the feel of silk or cotton or linen against her bare skin.
His skin tightened over his high cheekbones as the back of his fingers ran down her without encountering anything but skin. His hand rested on the bare skin of the small of her back, a hot, exciting weight.
Heat radiated from his hand throughout her body, banishing cold and even the thought of cold. Chloe was essentially in his embrace. She stood quietly, relishing every single sensation, simply soaking it up. The expectant hush, the soft sound of his breath, the heat of his hand, the aura of strength and sex that pulsed around his person.
Mike had studiously refrained from touching her these past six months, so this massive sense of power and heat was new. Welcome, disconcerting, exciting.
They were standing chest to chest, Mike’s hand on her lower back in the quiet bathroom He reached out without looking and turned a tap. A rush of water broke the silence. He kept his hand under the stream, never breaking his gaze.
“How hot do you want it?”
“Hot, but not boiling.”
Both his hands were on her now. He gently brought the panels forward, sliding them off her arms, being particularly careful with her bandaged arm. Holding her gaze, he swiped at the dress and it fell to her feet.
She was dressed in panties and sandals.
Face tight, Mike stepped back a little and looked her over. Everywhere he looked her skin heated, as if he’d touched her with his hands.
Bringing his gaze back up, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Chloe.”
The way he was looking at her, she could have been Grace Kelly and Angelina Jolie and even Nicole Kidman all rolled into one, only shorter.
“Thank you.” She lowered her voice as he did, as if they were exchanging confidences.
He stepped even closer. Then, without warning, dropped to one knee, as a knight would to his queen.
Startled, Chloe looked down at the top of his head. He had beautiful, glossy, thick chestnut hair that he kept short. But from here she could see that it would be unruly if it weren’t cropped.
The bathroom light picked up a few blond highlights and some white hairs along the temple.
Her hand lifted, hovered over his head, unsure. Then—to hell with it—she placed the palm of her hand on his hair, ran her fingers through his scalp. The hair was warm and soft. A minty shampoo smell wafted up.
Something came out of Mike’s throat, a sound like a big cat purring, and he moved his head under her hand, the invitation clear. He liked it when she touched his hair. She spread her fingers, curled them, letting the short strands tickle them.
Mike let out a whoosh of air. “I like that.” His voice was deep, almost guttural.
“I’m glad,” Chloe said simply.
He stayed kneeling before her another minute while she ran her hand through his hair, then reached up and slid her panties down her legs, lifting first one foot, then the other.
Chloe moved her hand from his head to his shoulder, for balance. His hair had felt pleasant under her fingers, but his shoulder . . . well, pleasant wasn’t the word for it.
She’d held him in her arms six long months ago, and it had been wonderful. But it had been so fleeting, so brief. She barely remembered kissing him, except in her dreams.
But now—ah, bliss. Steely muscle, pure male power flowed up through her fingertips, almost like a transferal of force.
Mike slipped her sandals off, but didn’t rise. Instead, he brought his head forward and nuzzled her belly. His face was warm against her belly. He had just a little beard stubble and it tickled against her skin.
He licked her, right next to her belly button, and the tickling sensation morphed into a rush of heat so
intense it was like a door opening onto a bonfire. He licked again, opened his mouth against her skin and bit, just a little.
Chloe shuddered. Heat was blazing inside her. He nipped again, just a little bite that sent electric sparks through her. When he licked the tiny bite mark, her vagina pulled, muscles clenching around an invisible penis. The pull was so strong her stomach muscles moved.
Mike blew out a breath against her belly and leaned his head back to look at her face. He’d seen—he’d probably felt—what he did to her. But he didn’t have that smug male look of a man who’d turned a woman on. His face was pulled down in lines that looked almost like pain.
He blew out another breath and rose stiffly, as if his muscles ached. A glance down and Chloe could see why. Mike didn’t have his usual jeans on. He had on tan chinos and she could see him outlined against the lightweight material.
Wow.
“I turn you on.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. She almost looked around the bathroom to see if anyone else was there. But there was only Mike.
He winced. “You have no idea, Chloe.”
“Then why—” This was so hard. She wasn’t used to expressing her desires. This would be embarrassing if she didn’t need to know like she needed to breathe. It hadn’t made any sense to her then and it still didn’t. All she knew was that his distance these past six months had been so painful, like a sharp barb stuck in her heart.
“Why did you stay away? I mean, you didn’t stay away, you were around, but—” The words stuck in her throat but she had to get them out. No more swallowing what needed to be said. So she looked him straight in the eyes and opened herself up.
What could be the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could rip her to shreds . . . no, never mind. Even if he ripped her to shreds, she’d survived worse.
“You kissed me that day, at the Del Coronado. You remember, don’t you?”
Silence. Only the sound of the water hissing as came out of the showerhead, splashing onto the tiles. Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Oh yeah, I remember. Until the day I die, Chloe, I’ll remember.”
He sounded so sincere. And yet—“So why, Mike? It hurt me so much.” The words came out harsh and raw, against the closed muscles of her throat.
She remembered it so clearly, that day. The magic kiss, as she now thought of it. Something enchanted, golden. Gone. Like a dream, long ago. When Amanda’s work proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mike couldn’t have beaten up that poor woman, Chloe had been waiting with Ellen and Nicole. Both had jumped up to join their husbands, embrace them.
Chloe had jumped up, too, to run to Mike.
And he had taken a step back, eyes shuttered and blank, and broken her heart. Arms that had been outstretched to hold him fell back down to her sides.
He had stood there stiffly, eyes on the ground, thanked her formally, and disappeared. Chloe had stood there, shocked, unable to move.
The others had looked at her, the women with pity in their eyes. Harry had put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, honey, for what you did,” he’d said, and she had nodded, unable to speak. Because if she spoke, tears would have burst out of her.
The rest of the evening had been a blur as they sat back down at the table, without Mike, and finished the food. Chloe had much experience with feeling out of place, so she’d choked a little food down, spreading the rest around her plate, counting the seconds until she could say she was tired and would like to go to bed.
Where she cried herself to sleep.
And then Mike showed up the next morning, having called up the condo manager and found her a flat on Harry’s floor. He accompanied her to every furniture store in San Diego, or so it felt, worked alongside the delivery guys bringing in the furniture and, where necessary, assembled it, and had her set up in less than three days. She’d seen him every day since, and he never touched her again.
“Why?” she whispered.
He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “That’s not important now, Chloe. What’s important is that things have changed. It’s not like that anymore. Here.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
In the shower, he gently placed her injured arm on his shoulder. “There you go. We need to keep it dry.”
Chloe had been washed before, of course. Plenty of times, in the hospital. Hospitals. But never like this.
Mike pumped some minty-smelling soap onto a washcloth and ran it over every inch of her body, followed by warm water and then his mouth. Long, sensuous strokes of the cloth followed by long, sensuous strokes of his tongue. Her neck, her shoulders. The warm cloth went lower, circled her breasts while he watched her so very carefully.
Chloe could see the skin move over her left breast, in time with her heart. Did he understand the effect he was having on her?
She looked up to find him watching her carefully, face tight, eyes like blue fire locked onto hers.
Oh yeah. He understood.
He bent her slightly over his left arm and with his right washed her belly. Chloe felt unbalanced, in every way there was, unsure of her footing. But Mike had her. She wasn’t going to fall down.
He nuzzled the underside of her left breast, the one that was pounding, lips brushing lightly over her skin while taking light little tastes. A flush went through her at each touch of his lips, stroke of his tongue. And then—oh God!—he was suckling her nipple, long, hard pulls of his mouth echoed in her vagina, internal muscles tightening with each tug of his mouth. Her breathing became ragged and if she didn’t have his strong arm holding her up, she’d slide down to the tiles, unable to stand.
Her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, holding him as he suckled her. His mouth pulled back, he gave her nipple a last lick, which she felt down to her toes, and straightened.
She didn’t have to look down to know he was aroused. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed in and out heavily, underneath his dark tan he was flushed and his lips were red, engorged.
His eyes suddenly widened.
“What?” Chloe asked.
Mike gave a half laugh, which sounded as if he were choking. “I can’t believe this. I have not been without a condom in my pocket since I was fifteen years old. Ever.” He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them again, blue and fierce. “And now I am without a condom. Totally. Don’t even have one in the house. Haven’t needed one these past six months. Fuck.” He blew out a big breath. “What are we going to do? I can’t make it to the drugstore. Closest one’s about a mile and a half away. Just can’t do it. Can’t ask Harry or Sam, either. And don’t ask me to pull out because I don’t think I can. Once I get in you, I’m not leaving for a good, long while.”
Chloe stroked his shoulder, then ran a fingernail along the top muscle, hard and bulging, slowly going from the ball of his shoulder up his neck to behind his ear. She wasn’t hurting him but he could feel the bite of it.
It excited him. His breathing speeded up and his lips grew even darker. “This is torture, right? You’re going to torture me because we can’t make love. But even if we can’t, you’re going to keep me in this state. There are rules, Chloe. There’s even a Convention. The Geneva one.”
She laughed. Leaned forward and bit him gently on the jaw. He shook. Looking down, she could actually see his erect penis move inside his pants.
He was completely at her mercy. A plaything. This powerful man was in her power now.
There were things she needed to tell him, but not now. Now was not the moment for darkness, now was the moment for heat, and light.
She leaned forward again, kissed him gently. Pulled away a fraction of an inch; he would feel the puff of her breath against him. “It’s not a problem, Mike. Make love to me now.”
His face changed, grew darker. Gazing into her eyes, he undressed. Threw his shirt open, the ping of the buttons off the tiles loud enough to be heard over the roar of the shower, unbuttoned his pants, dropped them and his briefs, stepped out o
f them, stepped out of his shoes, toed off his socks, all without wavering his gaze.
He stepped into the cabin, right under the showerhead, the water turning his hair dark, sluicing down his chest, straightening out his chest hairs so they arrowed down, as if to showcase that huge penis.
He backed her up against the tile wall and placed a huge hand on her chest. She was sure he could feel her heart pounding against the palm of his hand. Watching her carefully, he ran his hand down the center of her body, slowly, the calluses on the palm of his hand raising goose bumps.
At her hips, he turned his hand around, moved lower, cupped her. Every sense she had was concentrated there, where his hand was. He held it there, warm, pressed against her, then stroked her gently, running a finger around her labia.
At the touch of her, the skin tightened around his eyes and over his high cheekbones. He didn’t need to ask if she was aroused. He could feel it against his hand.
The finger dipped inside, moving slowly up inside her. Her legs started trembling.
“Mike.” Her voice was a whisper, not out of sexiness, but because she couldn’t draw in enough breath to speak normally. “We need to get to a bed because I don’t think my legs can hold me.”
His jaw muscles jumped. “No?” His fingers opened, spreading her. “I like it fine here.”
Now all of her was trembling. All her breath left her body as he fit his penis to her and slid inside, slowly, completely. He was huge, but she was ready. In a very real sense, she’d been waiting all her life for this moment.
He moved his big hands to her hips, then around to her buttocks, and lifted her until her legs went around his hips. He leaned heavily into her, so deep inside her now it was as if he reached her heart.
She felt everything. His dark chest hairs against her breasts, rough and prickly, the hard defined muscles of his abdomen against her belly, the rough mat of his pubic hairs against the sensitive skin of her sex.