Midnight Man

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “Making sure you don’t get those pretty shoes wet. Now, are you going to use that umbrella to cover us or are you going to catch the rain with it?”

  With a start, Suzanne realized she’d been holding the umbrella upside down. She righted it. The only way to protect them both from the needles of sleet was to hold the umbrella behind his neck, embracing him. Her face was inches from his. Lips inches from his.

  He moved smoothly down the street, carrying her easily. Their mingled breath condensed in the cold night, forming a little cloud around them.

  Suzanne’s cheek brushed his as they walked. This weather made for treacherous footing. It was icy out and the street was filled with puddles. If she’d had to walk the distance, she’d have made it only by moving carefully and watching her feet.

  Not him. He wasn’t having any problems. Even carrying her, even unable to look down at his feet, his pace was steady and sure, as if he were out on a stroll on a warm spring evening.

  Suzanne’s arms were around him. At first, she tried not to touch him, but the umbrella was heavy and moved in the wind. She was only able to keep it steady by bracing her right arm along his back. In a perfect position to feel the bunch and play of his strong shoulder muscles as he carried her.

  His breath warmed her cheek, smelling of wine and chocolate, heady and hot. Hot. His body heat penetrated through her coat. She had to work to keep her breathing even, staring resolutely over his left shoulder at nothing at all.

  They stopped and she turned her head, practically nose to nose with him. This close up, she could see features she hadn’t noted before. He had a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, lifting it into an inverted V and giving him the look of a devil. His nose had been broken once, maybe twice and a very thin, white scar ran from behind his ear toward his chin, stopping just under the jaw, as if someone had gone for his jugular with a knife and had been stopped just in time.

  Who knew what other scars he had on his…body.

  Heat surged through her.

  Oh God, think about something else, anything else. Think about the sleet and the dinner and maybe the scar over his eyebrow but not his body. Not while he was holding her in his arms, not while she could feel him, feel his body heat through who knew how many layers of clothing.

  It had been bad enough wondering about his body after he’d left, when the mere thought of him naked had turned her legs to jello. It was much easier to imagine him naked now that he was holding her.

  He turned his head slightly and wham. Their eyes met and she knew—she just knew—that he could tell what she was thinking. Even worse, what she was feeling. He’d felt her breast at dinner, felt her nipple.

  He knew.

  She stopped breathing.

  They stared at each other for a second. His head dipped, and her senses went on red alert, heart thumping, but he was just reaching down for the door handle.

  “There you go,” he said softly, and lifted her into the passenger seat. A few seconds later, he was in the car and had started the engine.

  The sleet was turning into snow, building up under the windshield wipers as he drove across town. Suzanne waited for her heartbeat to get under control as she tried not to look at him. But it was impossible.

  His hard profile appeared, disappeared then reappeared as the street lights flashed by.

  There was no small talk to be made. The atmosphere in the cabin was so sexually charged that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t betray her agitation. Her voice would tremble if she opened her mouth. Even her breathing was erratic.

  In the end it was easier to say nothing and watch him as he easily battled the worsening weather. He was fascinating to watch. She’d be in a sweat if she had to cross town in this weather, but he was calm and relaxed, big hands easy on the wheel, movements loose but controlled.

  Maybe they taught driving through sleet and snow in the Navy. Maybe he had a medal in it.

  He parked just in front of the short sidewalk leading to the entrance. Snow was already building up along the wrought iron fence.

  The snow muffled all sounds. When he opened her door and reached for her, it was as if the entire world had hushed so she could lean down into his arms.

  Linking her arms behind his neck seemed like second nature by now.

  “You don’t have to carry me,” she protested. “It’s only a few steps.”

  A muscle danced in his jaw as he looked down at her. “Delighted to do it, and you’re welcome.”

  The trip in his arms from the Yukon to the front door took forever and was over in seconds.

  He put her down at the door, keeping one big arm around her, holding out his other hand. “Now’s a good time to give me that copy of the key. And to give me the security code. ”

  “Oh, of course.” Suzanne bent her head to rummage in her purse. “Seven two four six one three nine. See? I memorized it.”

  “Good girl.” He took the key she handed him, punched in the code and opened the door.

  Suzanne usually relaxed once she walked through her door, out of the dangers of Rose Street and into the warm and welcoming environment she’d created. But now she stood tensely, still half in John Huntington’s arms and shivering with what she told herself was the cold.

  “Turn the alarm off,” he said. Her hands were shaking as she punched in the code again to finish the sequence. Only the lobby lights were on as they walked down the dark hallway. Again, he made no sound at all. The only sound was her own shoes, tapping nervously, in time with her own nervous heartbeat.

  Her hallway wasn’t long. Before she could gather her senses they were at her door. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her key, holding it so hard the jagged edges cut into her palm.

  Suzanne turned slightly and looked up at him.

  Again their eyes met. Held.

  She was acutely aware of the fact that they were completely alone in the building.

  He was going to kiss her. It was there, in his body language, in the glitter of his eyes, in the tightness of the skin across his suddenly flushed cheekbones.

  And she wanted him to kiss her. Her body was telling her clearly what it wanted. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Her breasts were full and aching, her nipples painfully erect, and she tingled between her legs. He knew it. Those dark eyes saw everything, noted everything.

  John’s arms came up and the hairs on the nape of her neck rose. But instead of pulling her into a tight embrace, he rested his large palms on either side of her head against the brick wall and looked down at her.

  Neither spoke. John bent his head slowly, eyes on hers, gaze so intent she finally had to close her eyes at the first touch of his mouth to hers.

  Soft. His lips were so soft, she thought dreamily. Everything about his face seemed so hard and cold and yet his lips were so warm and soft. Gently, gently, his lips slid over hers, keeping the pressure light. He tasted so good, of chocolate and man and, intriguingly, of the wine they’d had for dinner.

  Was that why her head was starting to swim? His mouth opened a little, his tongue glided over her closed lips and she opened her mouth eagerly for a better taste. His mouth lifted, then settled again, still gently. The light behind Suzanne’s closed lids turned golden as her head tilted back slightly. Just enough to offer her mouth more to him.

  He kissed the edges of her mouth and her lips curved slowly upwards. Who would have thought that big bad John Huntington, soldier, commando, would turn out to be such a gentle kisser? Her blood wasn’t pounding in her veins anymore with anticipation and sputtering nerves. It was moving slowly through her body like warm honey.

  She clutched the lapels of his overcoat, needing to hang on to something, to anchor herself. The material felt soft and warm beneath her fingertips. Just like his mouth.

  His mouth moved slowly on hers, the only point in which skin touched skin. He sipped, sucked gently and her own mouth moved languidly under his. She sighed
against his mouth in a haze of pleasure and opened her lips further. The soft caress of his tongue against hers electrified her, sending pleasure pulsating throughout her body.

  Lazily, Suzanne opened her eyes, expecting him to look as dreamy as she felt. She jolted as she took in his expression.

  Not dreamy, not tender. His face was hard, predatory, lips shiny from hers. A muscle twitched over his left cheekbone. His eyes glittered and with a small shock she finally realized what color they were. The color of gunmetal.

  The fierce intensity of his gaze, so strong she felt as if hands were touching her, made her turn her head away, only to receive another shock. His big hands curled whitely against the brick wall on either side of her head. He moved his hand and brick dust drifted down to the floor.

  He was clinging to the wall so hard he was gouging holes in the brick.

  Suzanne brought her gaze back to his. She’d never encountered anything like this, like him, before. Every cell in her body was pulsing and alive.

  That kiss had been gentle, but she had seen with her own eyes the cost to him of keeping it that way. That leashed power aroused her far more than any other man’s kisses had ever done.

  She could feel his body heat, coming in waves and overwhelming her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her.

  She liked kissing—what woman didn’t?—but it was a minor pleasure, like good food or a new dress. A kiss had never rocked her world before.

  If a soft kiss, lips barely touching, a brief meeting of tongues, had her pulsing with desire, what would it be like to be held tightly as his mouth devoured hers? She’d been held tightly by him before, briefly, but long enough to feel the power of his body against hers. She’d been kissed by him, too. Gently.

  She wanted to have—had to have both—at the same time. She had to know what it was like to kiss him and have him hold her tight. She wanted to feel that powerful chest against her breasts, wanted to arch against him, rub against him.

  A light brief touch of her nipples in the restaurant had set off shock waves inside her. Rubbing tightly against his chest might make the ache go away. This was a degree of passion she had no idea her body could feel. She wanted more. Like a drug addict needing a fix, she stood on tiptoe, touching her mouth to his and closed her eyes.

  He had aroused her in the restaurant. Everything about him excited her. His size, that air of danger, his complete…otherness from her. When his big hand touched her breast, she’d nearly jumped in her seat.

  She wanted more.

  She sometimes kissed a date just outside her door. Very few men made it past her door for a nightcap and even fewer into her bedroom.

  Outside the door was a nice place to kiss a man goodnight. If you liked it, you could contemplate taking it a little further. If you didn’t, you just whispered “good night” and slipped into the door.

  A goodnight kiss said a lot about a man and about how she reacted to that man. A nice safe testing ground.

  Though nothing about John Huntington seemed safe to her.

  She wanted him to kiss her hard. What would it be like to feel all that strength, all that power, all that male energy focused on her, her body tightly held close to his?

  She had to find out. She wanted another kiss from him. Like before, only harder, deeper. Standing on tiptoe, she closed her eyes and touched her open mouth to his again. Her tongue came out to touch his lips and she moaned, deep in her throat.

  It all happened at once. Like a whirlwind.

  In a second, she was backed up against the brick wall, pinned there by his huge body. His mouth slanted over hers, hard, tongue deep in her mouth. In a second, her coat puddled on the floor and in one slashing movement, his hand moved down her front.

  She heard her pearl buttons pinging on the floor and a ripping sound and then her breasts were free. She knew that because he picked her up and clamped his mouth over her nipple and suckled, hard.

  The pleasure was so intense, it was almost pain and she gave a sharp cry.

  He was holding her high enough so that her mound was level with his erect penis. Her back was against the wall - there was no escaping it.

  He was steel-hard and ground into her, rubbing his penis over her. A hard hand reached around to her buttocks and tilted her pelvis forward until he nestled in the folds of sex and she rode him. If it hadn’t been for her clothes, and his, his penis would have been inside her.

  He shifted his hold and he licked his way to her other breast. His mouth was hot, avid. He licked her nipple as he suckled. Her other breast, still wet from his mouth, felt cold. She shivered.

  Suzanne didn’t even have time to be shocked or react in any way. Too late, she remembered his hard words outside the restaurant. “When I start kissing you, I won’t be able to stop.”

  She opened her mouth to say “Stop”. Surely she was going to say—stop.

  This was insane.

  Given the type of man John Huntington was, she’d been prepared for a kiss to knock her socks off, but she hadn’t been expecting this.

  You’ve got to stop this. Had she said the words or just thought them?

  And how could she ask him to stop when what he was doing was so mind-numbingly fantastic, so intensely erotic? How could she say stop when the last thing she wanted him to do was stop?

  She wanted more.

  He lifted his head, as if he’d heard her unspoken words and shifted her higher, until her face was almost on a level with his.

  How could she ever have thought his lips soft? There was absolutely nothing soft about his face. His features could have been carved from a rock, except for his nostrils, flaring with every breath he took. They stared at each other.

  This was insane. This had to stop. She gazed into his gunmetal eyes and opened her mouth to tell him. He dipped his head again, catching her mouth. His groin moved strongly against her mound, rhythmically, and she forgot everything, even her name. All she knew, all she was, was concentrated between her legs.

  A flash of heat billowed up, enveloping her. Her wild cry echoed in the hallway. Just like that, she was close to orgasm, so close…she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, every sense concentrated on her loins, on the fire between her legs, just one more second and she would explode…

  He pulled away.

  “Not like this,” John growled. “I want to be in you.”

  Holding her with one big hand, he reached around to unzip her skirt, pulled it down and off, then skimmed up her leg until he encountered the top of her stockings, grunting with satisfaction when he realized they were thigh-highs. His hand continued up and with one hard wrench tore her panties off.

  His big hand moved between them and she gasped as she felt his touch. She was on the edge…

  He freed himself and a second later drove into her.

  Suzanne cried out, the sound echoing in the hallway, high and wild. His eyes bored into hers. A muscle twitched over his cheekbone. His hot breath washed over her face.

  It was so incredibly, impossibly erotic. Except for her stockings, she was naked, completely open to him. He was fully dressed, except for where he was buried in her. Her naked breasts rubbed against his overcoat, still wet and cold from the outside, almost as exciting as his mouth.

  His jaw muscles bunched. Still pinning her with his gaze, he pressed more deeply within her and, just like that, she exploded, shaking wildly with the force of her orgasm, shuddering and crying, pulsing wildly around him.

  He moved strongly then, as if released from bonds, and started hammering into her. He was big and so rough she knew he’d be hurting her if she weren’t so completely aroused.

  The entire evening had been a form of foreplay, moving toward this, this wild lovemaking against a wall. Pulsing, shaking, shuddering, the explosion went on forever, until he gave a shout, grew impossibly larger and harder inside her and exploded in turn.

  He clutched her so tightly she knew there’d be marks tomorrow.

  Their breathing was loud in
the empty hallway. His big head hung down on her shoulder. His broad chest heaved and the friction of his coat against her nipples continued to excite her body. Her treacherous body.

  What had she done?

  Suzanne’s head slowly tilted until the back of it rested against the wall. John leaned against her so heavily she could feel the individual bricks against her back. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but words choked in her throat.

  He lifted his head. “Suzanne—“ he began.

  Oh God, oh God, she couldn’t deal with this. Not in any way.

  Whatever he was about to say—‘Hey, babe, that was great, let’s do it again sometime.’ Or, worse, ‘That was nice, but let’s pretend it never happened.’—she was lost. Whatever he said, she couldn’t deal with it. Her behavior had been so way off her personal radar, she had no tools, no way to cope.