Best of Temptation Bundle Page 28
“We should go by Moana’s place.” She held the folded address toward him, noticing the paper had wilted in her moistened grip.
“At this hour? Even a phone call should wait ‘til morning.”
Harley slipped the paper into her purse, thankful the action could cover her tiny grin. If Grant was so anxious to get rid of her, wouldn’t he pound on Moana’s door no matter the hour? At least insist they place the call before they left the club?
She could have been wrong about his motives. Maybe he really only wanted to help find out who she was—not because of his circumstances, but because of hers. She needed her past and her memories before she could regain her life.
But at this moment, she only needed Grant. “Then I’d like to go back to your place.”
As he nodded and grabbed the doorknob, a hint of disappointment flitted across his features like a shadow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. The evidence was as clear as the bulge in his slacks. But she couldn’t see either one of them admitting to their desire aloud. He had his career to protect—and his conscience. So long as she remained unsure of herself, Grant Riordan would keep his distance.
And so long as she remained unsure of herself, she couldn’t allow him to take any more risks than he already had. She had enough trouble justifying his sacrifices, excusing his risks.
She crossed in front of him and headed straight for the side door exit. Odds were that by morning, she’d be on her way home and out of his life forever—with or without her memory intact. If Moana turned out to be a friend like Harley suspected, she’d have no need to rely on Grant’s hospitality further.
And yet, the thought of never knowing the depth of Grant’s desire gnawed at her more than the possibility of never rediscovering who, or even if, anyone missed her.
HARLEY DECLINED GRANT’S invitation to join him in a late-night swim. She already felt herself on the verge of drowning. What she needed was a relentless workout. Her muscles screamed to be stretched out and pumped up. The monumental tension building in every fiber of her body had to be burned away. She must have been a regular fitness freak.
If only she had the nerve to initiate a workout that would satisfy her need for Grant.
Last night, she’d gone to Grant’s room, not for seduction, but for comfort. The passion she’d experienced in his bed came in a wave of surprise and desperation. Tonight was different. She now knew the kind of man he was. Powerful yet kind. Driven yet selfless. Controlled yet secretly wild.
And it was his wild side she longed to see in a more natural habitat.
She’d dialed Moana’s number from the kitchen phone as soon as they returned home. When an answering machine with a standard, mechanical voice answered, she hung up. Why disturb this woman in the middle of the night, if she was home at all? Harley wanted Moana to help her, not hate her. She resolved to try again in the morning, when her own attention was better focused.
After slipping into a knit tank top and shorts she’d purchased this afternoon, she grabbed a towel from the bathroom and headed to the home gym she’d found during her exploration of his house. Fully equipped with free weights, a padded floor, full-length wall mirrors and various Nautilus machines whose every purpose she knew, the work-out room would provide a total exercise experience.
In the living room, she perused the CD storage unit, searching for something upbeat. She recognized the artists and titles—even some obscure ones—and for the briefest instant, she wondered why she couldn’t remember something as simple as her real last name. She stopped and closed her eyes tightly, trying to burst through the brick wall erected between her and her memory.
It was no use. Though she’d cracked a chink or two, the barrier remained intact. Pushing herself did nothing but give her a headache.
But the pain in her temples disappeared when she caught sight of the perfect music for her workout. In the morning, she’d worry about her real name and her real life. Tonight would be about fantasy. About things you want, but know you can’t have. About opening a window when Fate slams the door.
She grabbed the CD and headed to the back of the house.
GRANT DOVE BENEATH the water and swam the full length of the pool. When he reached the shallow end, he flipped and pushed off in the opposite direction, deciding not to surface until he had his emotions under control. By the time he reached the other end, he reconsidered. He couldn’t hold his breath that long.
Instead he came up for air beneath the diving board. Grasping the fiberglass, he lifted himself up and down several times, wishing the cool water that dripped down and completely surrounded his body would ease the incessant ache constricting his groin.
No such luck. Nothing could ease his pain except Harley.
If she hadn’t regained her memory, he couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t be responsible for taking advantage of a woman who might be married, engaged or the mother of four kids who still cried for her. No matter his personal discomfort, he had to keep his hands to himself—at least until he found out whether or not he had the right to claim her.
Once again he submerged, this time spanning the pool leisurely, trying to think only of the wetness surrounding him instead of how wet he would make her when the time came. He’d secretly hoped she’d reconsider his offer to join him in the pool. He’d even stuffed the condom Gus had left him in the small pocket of his swimming trunks before his conscience berated him for such a presumptuous action. Maybe it was better she’d said no. Floating beside her amid the sensual lapping waves, he never would have been able to control himself.
Reaching the pool’s stairs, he swung himself around as he emerged, balancing on the edge and facing away from the house. He’d been in the water for nearly half an hour and the chlorine he’d recently added stung his eyes. When he twisted around and grabbed his towel, he noticed the lights in his home gym were on and the stereo pounded at full capacity, rattling the wall of glass doors.
He dried the water off his face and nearly choked.
Dressed in tiny gray shorts and a snug tank top tied below braless breasts, Harley relentlessly worked his Stair-master. Her demanding pace, in double time against the steady, pounding beat of the music, spoke to the passion he’d already witnessed in her so many times. Her body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. A triangle of perspiration soaked the back of her shorts. Her thighs and calves, bare and tan, constricted with each downward step, accentuating her sculpted muscles and smooth, tight skin.
Grant tossed the towel aside and submerged himself once again. His own muscles cramped as if he worked out alongside her. His lungs burned for air just as his hands burned to touch her, his lips to kiss her, his sex to bury deep inside her. Still, he forced himself to rise slowly, bracing his feet firmly on the pool’s tiled floor.
He shook his hair, surprised at the new sensitivity of his flesh. Each and every droplet of water tickled as it glided down his back and chest. He only wished the sensation came from Harley’s fingertips instead of from cold pool water.
He didn’t need a genie to make that wish come true. Just make the first move. She wants you as much as you want her. Every signal, every sign revealed her mutual desire—her incredible hunger.
Yet he held back. Not just because of his job or his overwhelming sense of correctness.
He feared Harley. She embodied his most secret desires, his most delicious fantasies. With as little as a glance, she picked at him like a master locksmith. Once the door to his needs opened, how could he ever contain the passion he’d shut away?
And once he let her in, would he ever manage to release her?
Just at that moment, Harley looked over. With the lights glaring inside and the pool area darkened, he knew she couldn’t see him. Still, she knew he was there.
Watching her.
Wanting her.
The reflection of that knowledge shaded her hooded gaze. She adjusted the tension gage on the control panel until her steps on the Stairmaster slowed, but didn’t stop. Her actio
ns became more deliberate, wrenching the maximum tension from her straining muscles. Her breathing slowed. Her breasts rose to a tantalizing peak as she inhaled long and deep. She tilted her head back and arched her spine, practically inviting him to ponder the roundness of her breasts, the generosity of her cleavage.
He braced himself at the edge of the pool and pulled himself out in one swift movement. Without a second thought to the towel or the water or his fears, he took long strides to the sliding glass door. Only then did he register the song blaring over his stereo system.
George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.”
7
HE OPENED THE DOOR. Her timed steps on the exerciser faltered, but she recovered before he slipped over the threshold. A breath of warm night air pushed through the air-conditioning, embraced her, and left her panting. Yet the heat and the strain and the sweat didn’t matter.
Grant wanted her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have come inside the gym. He could have easily slipped out of the pool and gone upstairs without disturbing her workout.
But he didn’t. He wanted her—hopefully as much as she wanted him.
He stalked slowly, accelerating her heartbeat with his every step. She watched his progress in the mirrors across from her. Pool water darkened the carpet where he stepped. His hair, slicked back and dripping, curled around the corded muscles of his neck. His chest and abs bore the clear signs of a devotion to exercise—something she’d guessed at when snuggled against him the night before, but never could have verified until he’d shed his conservative career clothing. Nearly naked, eerily silent and obviously aroused, this approaching man showed little resemblance to the Grant she’d met at his office, or who’d accompanied her to the strip clubs. His eyes were darker. His nostrils flared. His mouth curved with hunger.
His wild side had emerged.
When he stood directly behind her like a shadow, the mingled scents of chlorine and natural musk overrode her senses. He shook his head, sprinkling her with cool droplets, showering her with lusty rain.
Music pounded in her ears. She slowed her stair climbing to a steady crawl.
“I’d forgotten this CD,” he said, his voice low and rumbling, yet clear over the braying beat.
“It’s perfect for a workout.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself. Aren’t you worn out?”
She stopped and stepped off the machine. Her shoulders touched his chest and chilled her with dripping pool water.
“I’m just getting started.”
Without facing him, she slid away from the Stairmaster to a hulking Nautilus gleaming with polished chrome. She grasped the elongated handle above her head and pulled down, testing the stack of weights attached to the other end. She adjusted the tension level by resetting the pin, and then took the bar again. Wrapped in black foam rubber and suspended from a silver pulley, the bar was thick in her small hands—forcing her to assess the outline of Grant’s wet swim trunks as he joined her.
“You could hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he warned, again advancing at a lazy pace.
“I know what I’m doing.”
She pulled the bar down halfway, sucking in air at the burning tautness in her arms.
“Care to share the knowledge?” He spoke from directly behind her, his breath coiling around her neck and shoulders, sending a tingle skittering across her skin. “I’m eager to learn.”
With a muffled grunt, she eased the bar completely down and held it steady at her waist. Her arms shook, her heartbeat pounded. The strain reddened her face. “So am I.”
She released the weight quickly, sending the stack of steel weights clanking down. Spinning to face him, she jumped, not just because of the metallic clatter of falling weights. His brown eyes, so comforting the night before, were nearly black with raw need.
“This could be a dangerous lesson to learn.” The muscles in his neck, shoulders and arms tightened. His stone-written rules of responsibility and duty could easily destroy the tenuous cord of desire binding them together.
If she let them.
“Tell me what you want. Honestly.” She hid her shaking hands behind her back, twining her fingers into a tight knot. “Forget about my amnesia. Forget about your job. Forget about everything except how you feel right now. This moment.”
His darkly lashed lids lowered until his eyes were nearly closed. His breath came in a ragged shudder. “At this moment, I want to make love to you.”
Tentatively, she laid her flattened palms on his pecs, savoring his rapid heartbeat. “I want to make love with you. Now. Tonight. Who I am or who I’m not doesn’t matter. I’m making a choice. I choose to be with you.”
With amazing gentleness, he wrapped his large hands around her trembling fingers. “Harley, we don’t know the fire we’re playing with. We could both get very burned.”
She adored his talent for being the voice of reason, even when reason didn’t apply. “Burn me, Grant. I want the heat. Don’t you?”
With a growl that stopped her heart, Grant grabbed Harley’s buttocks, her hands still twined with his, and thrust her against him. His lips and tongue attacked hers like a starved beast—stealing the air from her lungs. Full and hard, his erection jammed against her belly. He lifted her and pressed her even closer, forcing her body’s throbbing rhythm to match his own.
Liquid heat frothed inside her. Her nipples bit through her sopping tank top, aching for the moisture only he could give. When he tore his mouth away from hers and greedily kissed and bit and soothed her neck and shoulders, she gasped. Her eyes flew open. The room spun in a Technicolor whirl.
Trapping her arms behind her, he maneuvered both her hands into one of his, freeing his other to slip beneath her shorts and knead her backside. When he found the flimsy strip of lace panties, he twisted his fingers around the side strap and tugged until they ripped apart. Though he sucked the exposed skin just above her nipples with furious urgency, he removed the torn underwear slowly, pulling from behind so the sandpaper texture of the lace scraped through her sensitive flesh like a thousand tiny fingertips.
“Oh, Grant.”
He tugged her panties free from her shorts and tossed them aside, then kissed his way back to her mouth. With gentle teeth, he nipped at her lips, licked her, withholding his mouth from hers until she fought his grip.
His chuckle resonated through her. “You wanted to burn. Let me show you my version of fire.” He raised her arms above her head and hooked them over the suspended bar. “Are you game?”
In his eyes, she witnessed a promise of true pleasure, a vow to cast away every bond, every wall that might keep them from achieving complete intimacy. He sought to open himself to her—and to do so by bringing her over the edge of her own desires. By the end of the night, she would know him better than anyone. Perhaps, she’d even know herself.
“I told you last night, Grant. I trust you.”
His smile touched every inch of his rugged face—except his eyes. They remained serious. Focused. Intense. “Then, hang on, honey.” He wrapped her fingers around the foam rubber bar, then kissed her knuckles. “Don’t let go. No matter what. Think you can do that?”
She could only nod and tighten her grip. Wicked intentions now danced in his eyes, and the anticipation of his loving made her skin prickle with gooseflesh.
His hot tongue burned a trail down the stretched muscles of her left arm, then dipped into the side of her tank top, laving the outer swell of her breast. His hands spanned her bare midriff, his palms scorching her belly, his fingertips teasing her rib cage under her shirt. Kissing across the thin material of her shirt, he surrounded one nipple with his mouth and sucked until the nub puckered and strained. Warm moisture seeped through the cotton, promising an even deeper pleasure once she was topless.
She squirmed, her body throbbing. He made no move to undress her and she considered letting go of the bar and removing her shirt. Yet his look of clear warning made her grip the bar even tighter.
“Mmm. Please.”
He slipped his hands out of her shirt and snapped the thin shoulder straps. “How much did you pay for this shirt again?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t remember. She didn’t care. She just wanted his wet mouth on her aching nipples. She wanted him to taste her, knead her, drive her to complete mindlessness. “A dollar. Two maybe.”
“I can afford another.” He kissed her neck. “Hold on.”
He tore at the stretchy cotton. When the material didn’t immediately give way, he dug in with his fingers and pulled until she heard a welcomed rip. Again, he slid the material away slowly, like the shedding of skin. Under the weight of his hungry gaze, her breasts seemed fuller, rounder.
He stepped back. “Absolutely perfect.” He perused her nakedness leisurely, appreciatively, making her feel more beautiful than she’d thought possible. Moisture pooled between her legs and her thighs quivered. “But I want to see all of you. All at once.”
If he looked to her for approval, she missed it. Her eyes drifted closed in heightened expectation. Her knuckles ached as she clung to the bar. A long moment passed before she felt his hands on her again, grasping the waistband of her shorts.
He tugged slowly, kissing her bared hip, her inset navel, the top of one thigh, the inside of her knee. The material dropped to the floor. He lifted one ankle and then the other, seducing her instep while he slipped her shorts away.
Instinctively, she drew her legs together, fighting the building pressure at the apex of her thighs. He chuckled and slid her ankles apart just enough to allow the cool breeze from the vent above to mingle with her warm feminine moisture.