Authors: Kate Angell
No Tan Lines (33 page)
She blushed, and desperately hoped it was too dark in the club for Captain America to witness her embarrassment.
His grin punched dimples, and her whole body flushed. The man was a mind reader.
“Have you eaten?” He nodded toward the buffet. “There’s chicken witch fingers, miniature bat burgers, and Bloody Marys.”
“I’ve had dinner.” Her throat was so raw from shouting, she now sounded like Minnie Mouse. She’d soothe the scratchiness later with a cup of tea and honey.
The music soon turned eerie and hauntingly slow. The floor reverberated with a deep, sexual bass. Goose bumps skated down her spine. All around her couples compressed and kissed as if it was New Year’s Eve.
Boldly, the Captain propped his shield against the wall. His hands now free, he made his move and drew her body flush against his. Her booted heels raised her to his height. Her palms splayed across his chest, as solid as armor plate. Her lasso dangled dangerously near his groin.
She inhaled their closeness.
They shared air, breath, and heat. The darkness captured and seduced; their intimacy was compelling. Her heart slammed hard and her stomach shimmied. He consumed her.
The man was physical perfection. For one hot moment, she savored the superhero. They swayed together, their attraction dominant. Her inhibitions slid down her legs like a pair of silk panties.
She could handle one dance before she sneaked into the crowd and out the side door. She’d hail a cab and disappear into the night. Too bad she didn’t have her invisible plane.
Beneath the orange strobe lighting, Captain America’s strong hands now spanned her waist, then worked higher. He brushed the underside of her breasts and her nipples tightened in response. She ached to be touched further.
His warm breath fanned her cheek, a forewarning of his kiss. He claimed her mouth like a conquering hero. The man was all touch, tongue, and temptation. His stubble scraped the soft curve of her chin.
He stroked down her ribs, thumbed her navel.
He squeezed her hips with sexual urgency.
She sighed, and he swallowed the sound.
Wild currents built as she wound her arms tightly around his neck. Her fingers dug into his back.
He grabbed her bottom and their bodies grafted. The spandex made them fluid and seamless as they simulated sex.
She rolled her hips to feel him fully, and his bulge confirmed him super-sized. Friction sparked, and their chemistry shot through the roof. Desire zinged between her legs. She went damp for him.
Time swelled, and his kisses deepened. He bit her lower lip, sucked her tongue. The moments seemed surreal. Caped in darkness and anonymity, they groaned and grew impatient. She clawed his shoulders and he stroked the crease of her ass. The rhythm of the night overtook them. They dry humped, harder, faster, all control lost to her wetness and his rigid inches.
Her skin stretched, taut yet tender.
His erection strained.
His heart seemed to beat in her breast. They were as close to being one as two people could get without being naked. Sensations fogged her brain. His desire branded her. There was no delaying the inevitable.
The intensity was insane.
So crazy, she climaxed.
She came apart in his arms on the dance floor.
Spasms of release left her body liquid, and shame soon cleared her head.
What had she done?
She’d humped a comic book hero at a club known for anonymous pleasure. He’d teased her and turned her on. She’d let herself be taken. She’d fallen to the darkness and decadence and one erect Avenger.
This was so not her. She needed to leave.
Hand-to-hand combat was Wonder Woman’s specialty, and a strong elbow to the Captain’s ribs freed her. She forced long, deep breaths into her lungs, clutched the golden lasso protectively to her chest.
His brow furrowed beneath his mask as sex fuzzed his brain. She hated to be his buzz kill, but her night ended right here, right now.
She backed away from him, one step, then two.
His gaze held surprise and hunger. He spread his hands wide, openly confused by her departure. She couldn’t explain her feelings, how she’d foolishly lost herself in him. She’d walked the dark side and experienced the sexual mystique of Haunt. Instead of satisfaction, she felt hollow and numb. And incredibly easy.
Humiliated, she turned toward the exit. King Kong provided the perfect cover and she darted behind him. She pushed past a Chicago gangster and a samurai warrior. A glance over her shoulder, and there was no sign of Captain America. She picked up her pace, moved faster through the crowd.
A whirling, twirling ballerina knocked the Lasso of Truth off her wrist. It whipped beneath the feet of a dancing bear. Wonder Woman didn’t stop to pick it up, it would only cost her time.
The side exit was in view. A final dash and she cleared the dance door. The bouncer flagged down a cab.
She was gone.
Captain America caught the taillights of her taxi. He imagined her taking off in her invisible plane. A cleared runway, trays in an upright position, and her hanging onto a bag of peanuts. She’d fly full throttle into the night sky. Far away from him.
His gut wrenched over his inability to stop her. He and his overactive libido owed her an apology, yet she’d run off while he’d been bone hard and unable to give chase.
On his way to the exit, Little Bo Beep had snagged him with her pink staff and requested a dance. He’d waved her off. A nun in full habit had invited him to sin. Had he not met Wonder Woman, he might have taken the nun up on her offer.
The heroine had hit him low and left him hard. He wasn’t a man to bring a woman to orgasm on the dance floor. He preferred his privacy. Yet she’d gone off on him, a woman with a short sexual fuse. He’d absorbed her climax, then her uncertainty. She seemed to hate herself for letting go.
He flat didn’t understand.
They’d been damn good together.
A part of him hoped she wasn’t a tease. Or a good girl gone bad for the night. He liked his women stable and sane.
He reentered the club and was immediately propositioned by Olive Oyl and an Indian maiden. He chose to go home alone. His desire for the Amazon Princess held strong.
Head down, he crossed the dance floor. A golden rope was being kicked about by the dancers, and it nearly tripped him. He bent and retrieved the Lasso of Truth. Her scent lingered on the golden lariat, patchouli and spice.
His smile shaped slowly. His life had taken a turn for the better. Wonder Woman had lost a part of her costume. He’d have his administrative assistant contact every Halloween shop in Richmond until he located the customer who’d returned her suit without the lariat.
He’d soon know her true identity.
He had every plan to see her again. If the lasso fit, she’d be forced to tell the truth. He wouldn’t let her run a second time.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2012 Kate Angell
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-7904-0
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