“The point is that you’re secretive and manipulative and…sneaky. Why do you get to know all about my sordid past and I can’t even know where you live, or what you do for a living, or that you were married.”
Christian’s eyelids narrowed. “Hilary?”
She lifted her jaw defiantly. “What if it was?”
He moved toward her. “So you think I’m sneaky, huh?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
She stood her ground.
“I think you tell me whatever suits you whenever it suits you.” Her eyes flickered down over his body. He hadn’t showered after the concert, just thrown on a white button-down shirt and bolted, he’d been so anxious to find her.
“I see that you found another shirt to wear,” she said sarcastically. “Girls must take off their shirts for you all the time. The crowd loved it when you gave that girl yours, especially the women. I guess you probably always bring an extra. Or maybe you have to bring several shirts? Maybe you consider just one pair of bared breasts a slow night.”
His lip curled in rising anger. “Yeah, that’s right. Having drunk teenage girls strip for me is just one of my many perverse pleasures. That and seducing twenty-six-year-old virgins. I have to admit, you ladies are kind of a challenge to find, but that just makes the end result so much more rewarding.”
Megan slapped his cheek. Hard. He blinked in amazement. When she tried to get past him, he stopped her by gripping her forearm.
“What’s wrong, Megan?” he asked her in a soft, taunting voice that belied his volatile state. “Isn’t that the line that Hilary fed you? Bored, immoral rock star seduces local innocent for a depraved thrill?”
“I’m not that innocent,” she seethed.
“Oh, yes you are,” he grated out through a tight jaw. “But you’re not going to be for much longer if I have my way about it.”
She gasped when he leaned down and seized her mouth in a searing kiss. Her heat, her taste, her scent: he wanted to drown himself in them.
He ravished her mouth, made free with it. In that moment, he was a slave to his need. He was sick and tired of caution. His stroking hands compelled her, demanding that she recognize her place in their sensual interplay, insisting that she be neither victim nor tragedy, only the woman who made his blood sing like no other had before.
She responded as naturally as a flower opening its petals to the sunlight. She moaned into his mouth and stroked his tongue with growing avidity. His fingertips ran over the silky skin of her back before they swept beneath her arm and caressed her breasts from the side. When his hands cupped her from beneath and shaped her into his palms, she arched her back, molding her flesh to his until he groaned.
Her fingers moved anxiously over his shoulders and back, before they moved to the front of him. She struggled with the few buttons on his shirt feverishly.
“Megan…” Christian ground out next to her lips when she spread her hands over his bare abdomen. Her fingers explored, making him shiver uncontrollably. She burrowed her nails into the hair on his chest. When she lightly scraped a nipple he lifted his head and hissed softly. For a taut moment, their gazes met and held. Then he felt her finger flick over the sensitive disc again, teasing him into a reaction.
He slid one hand behind her neck and pressing the other against her back, so that she was bowed tightly against his partially bared body. He grasped her soft curls in his hand and tugged, tilting her face upwards. He kissed her until his mind went black. It was like diving into a sea of raw need. His fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own. The halter around her neck fell first. He whipped it down between their bodies while his other hand worked on the zipper at her waist. They shared a groan of sensual gratification when her breasts were crushed into his bare chest. He greedily ate her moan of anticipation when the dress fell down her legs and pooled around her sandals.
His hands gloried in the softness of her skin and the way she curved so beautifully into his palms. He’d wanted to touch her for so long without restraint. Sweet, pretty Megan, with the soulful smile and the shining eyes, the calm, elegant demeanor and the fires that leapt just beneath her surface.
Her fires were burning him now.
She started to unfasten his jeans. Christian broke their kiss and buried his face in her neck. For a second, his mind did battle with the words he knew he should utter into her ear. He should force them to pause, ask her if she was certain…
But when her fingers moved, he didn’t take the noble route. Instead, he muttered hoarsely, “Touch me, Megan.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes wide. Her uncertainty melted him.
“I’ve never touched a man. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered anxiously next to his lips.
Without breaking their gaze, he reached for her hand. He covered it in his own and guided her between the opened fly of his jeans. He familiarized her with his shape and texture through the thin material of his briefs. They watched each other with tense desire. Megan began to map his contours on her own. He watched her, captivated. Her uncertainty segued to wonder…and then heat.
She plunged her fingers into his briefs and stroked his naked length avidly.
Christian bent at the knees and spread his hands over the cheeks of her bottom. When he raised himself, he brought her with him. She cried out in surprise at being swept off her feet, but then her legs wrapped naturally around his hips. He kissed her like a madman…like he was starved for her. She clung to his shoulders when he lowered her to the couch. But Christian resolutely removed her hands and stood.
He felt like he was go
ing to explode, implode…he didn’t know what as he studied her reclining, wearing only her sandals and white bikini underwear. He thought of the thousands of ways he wanted to savor her, pleasure her, love her. Then Megan said his name plaintively, and he shrugged out of his shirt, kicked off his shoes and lowered his jeans and briefs.
She looked dazed as she studied him when he stood naked before her. His breath burned his lungs when she raised her hand. Her sensitive, knowing touch was the hallmark of her art.