A SEAL's Seduction (5 page)

All she had were her hips, and those were in his hands. Still...

Calling on her thrice-weekly pilates training, she constricted her core muscles, her glutes flexing so she could grip him tight, like a fist, as he slid inside her.

He gasped. Groaned. His next thrust was hard and deep. Then he sucked in a breath and yanked himself back under control.

Oh, so he thought he could resist, did he? She gave a wicked grin. And clenched him again, this time swirling her hips against his.

The move sent yet another orgasm spiraling through her, her clitoris quivering, her breath rasping in and out.

That’s all it took to send him over.

He thrust, hard, out of control. Intense, pounding pleasure poured through her as he gave a low moan, his body shaking as he poured out his climax.

Alexia’s head dropped against his shoulder, her thighs trembling too hard, muscles too liquefied to keep them wrapped around him any longer. So she let them drop, her toes sinking into the soft sand. She felt as if she’d run a marathon while having a deep-tissue full-body massage and eating herself into a chocolate coma, all at the same time.

Pretty damn incredible.

Blake shifted, just a little, making the sand beneath her feet cave in a few inches. The sounds of music, of the partyers’ voices, carried on the night air, dancing just above the surf.

Suddenly, awareness poked its sharp fingers through the fog of sexual delight. Made Alexia aware that she was practically naked, although her dress kept her modesty intact. That she’d just had three screaming orgasms with a virtual stranger, on a public beach, with a bevy of other strangers just yards away.

Holy cow, what had she been thinking?

Where had her good sense gone?

And why did she know, without a doubt, that given the chance, she’d do it all over again? What did that say about her? And, suddenly going all girlie, she cringed and wondered what Blake thought about her actions. Other than gratitude for one hell of a fine ride.

Cold, even though the temperature hadn’t changed, she stepped out of his embrace. Unable to look at him, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms and made a show of looking around for her underwear.

“Well, I guess you showed me,” she said, her words as shaky as her laugh. She would have pushed her hands through her hair, but between his fingers earlier and the sea air, she knew she was probably already rivaling Bozo in volume. So she settled for twining her fingers together.

Alexia jumped when his hands closed on her upper arms. She automatically looked into his face, meeting his gaze. Warmed by the calm affection in his blue eyes, she felt a little of the tension drain away. Why was she ashamed? Healthy sex, between two consenting people? She gave a mental eye roll at the sudden, silly and totally not-her inhibitions that’d taken hold.

And wished like crazy that the eye roll was enough to make them go away.

Blake let go of one of her arms, reaching up and rubbing his thumb over her lips. A gentle caress quickly followed by an equally gentle kiss. When he pulled back, she sighed.

“I’d say we showed each other,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a promise or declaration. It probably wasn’t even meant to be a reassurance. But she felt as if it was both. A promise that he didn’t think less of her and the reassurance that he’d stepped just as far outside his normal as she had.

“I guess we did.” Her smile was about as big as her lips would stretch, but still not even close to how large and bright the bubble of joy inside her chest felt. “I suppose you should get back inside and meet that friend?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, anxious to hear his response. He didn’t make her wait long.

“Nah. We can go inside and have another drink if you’d like, though.” He didn’t sound excited. But he didn’t let go of her, either, so she took his lack of enthusiasm to be for the drink, not the company.

Alexia took a deep breath. She’d told herself one night. And she’d already proven that she wasn’t a chaste good girl who required a ring—or hell, even dinner—for a sex romp. So there was nothing to stop her from grabbing on to her
entire
night.

“Did you want to go back to my place?” she asked. “I just have to call a cab.”

His lips shifted, a slow, sexy smile curving his mouth. The kind that lit up his eyes and made her want to hug him close because he was so damn cute.

“I’ve got my truck.” He let go of her and reached into his pocket, handing over her panties. “You might want these, though. I held on to them so they wouldn’t get all sandy.”

“Aren’t you the gentleman,” she teased, gratefully taking the tiny scrap of silk.

“You know it. And I’d like to think the only abrasions you’re going to have on your thighs are coming from my whiskers.”

Alexia’s breath caught. Her heart danced. And her body—which should be sexually satisfied enough to last for weeks—did a giddy little cheer.

“Then let’s see how soon we can make that happen,” she said, wriggling into her panties, then holding out her hand.

When he wrapped his fingers in hers, she began the mental chant
one night, one night, one night.

One helluva night.

5

E
VERYWHERE
B
LAKE
LOOKED
was desert. Weapons fired around him, shots flaring like fireworks, bright and loud. Their quick in-and-out rescue had taken a left turn. Not a problem. SEALs were always prepared. He radioed in to report the ambush while Phil and Cade pulled the rocket launcher out of the pack.

“Knock knock.” Phil grinned.

Blake jackknifed into a sitting position. One fist rose in fury, the other slapped to his hip for his sidearm. But his hip was naked.

Just like the rest of him.

Shuddering, he swiped his forearm over the sweat trickling off his brow and took stock.

Naked. In bed. Sexy female body curled in the sheets next to him. Sunrise was peeking through uncurtained windows. Other than a long dresser and a stack of moving boxes, them and the bed, the room was empty.

Alexia’s condo. Where he’d been for two incredible, sex-filled, erotically intense days. He turned his head. She was splayed across the satin sheet where she’d collapsed after their last round. Facedown, vivid red curls curtaining her face and shoulders, so only a hint of her rose tattoo peeked out, she was totally zoned. Given that they’d slept maybe a sum total of six of the last fifty-two hours, he wasn’t surprised.

But he was grateful.

Wanting air, needing space, he carefully slid from the bed, grabbed his jeans and left the room. He skirted packing boxes, still lined and neatly labeled against the living-room wall. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d just moved from New York. Most of her stuff, except a few large pieces of furniture, was still packed.

He was pretty sure she’d been here a week or two. Wouldn’t most women have hit the boxes, hung the curtains, filled the space with doodads by now?

Not that they’d talked much, but he’d got the impression during one of their between-sex rest breaks that she wasn’t in any hurry to settle in. Why? Missing New York? Not a fan of the California sun? He knew she’d lived here before, but not when. What’d made her leave? Was the job going to be enough to keep her here this time?

And why did he care so much?

Caring, wanting to know she’d be here long-term, curiosity about her past, her present, her future. Those were all off-limits. Bad ideas for a man who played Russian roulette for a living.

He crossed the cool living-room floor, his feet silent on the Mexican tiles, around the dining table and into the nook of a kitchen. A coffeepot, a single pan and a pair of wineglasses were all that were visible. He skipped the glass and stuck his head under the faucet, letting the cold water wash away the remnants of nausea his dream had caused.

He hadn’t used sex to numb the memories, but if he’d been the type to do that kind of thing, it sure as hell hadn’t worked. He shook the water off his hair, grabbing a paper towel to dry his face, and stared out the small window at the smaller garden beyond. Bright tropical-looking flowers bloomed, innocent and welcoming.

He felt happy and alive and filled with the weirdest sort of contentment with Alexia. She made him laugh. Watching her the few times she’d slept had filled him with a scary sort of peace. Her body was a wonderland, one he wanted to explore and lose himself in over and over again.

He didn’t belong here.

He didn’t do relationships, for one. And even though she’d made sounds like she wasn’t looking for one either, she was the relationship kind of woman. Or maybe just the kind of woman who meant relationships to him.

He was due back on base the day after tomorrow. Most likely out of the country before the end of the week. And she didn’t do navy guys. At least, Blake winced, she didn’t when the guy was honest and up front before she’d done him.

Time to cut it short. Say goodbye, get back to real life. His gaze dropped from the view to his hands. Hands that just hours ago had been all over Alexia. Had touched, explored every inch of her delectable body. Hands that were as competent with a weapon as they were at bringing her to a screaming orgasm. Hands that
were
weapons.

He remembered the devastation on Phil’s mom’s face at the service. Blake’s only comfort had been that nobody would be that torn up if he ended up in a flag-covered box. His only relation was his mom, who probably wouldn’t sober up enough to attend. It was better that way.

Better not to get involved with someone. Not to ask them to risk caring, to risk being hurt.

Easier.

* * *

A
LEXIA
WOKE
with
a slow, moaning sort of sigh. Every muscle, every inch of her body was soaked in satisfaction. She could barely move, and wasn’t even sure she wanted to wake. Except in sleep, she’d miss out on the fun and games. And she really,
really
liked fun and games with Blake.

With a soft, purring sort of moan, she rolled onto her back, shoved her hair out of her face and scanned the bed. The wide, empty expanse of bed.

She frowned. Where
was
Blake? His belt was still draped over her dresser handle, and his shoes there by the door. She should go look for him, but she needed a break. Time to figure out why she felt so empty waking without him next to her.

That was stupid, she told herself. He was a one-night guy who’d simply extended the party a little. She wasn’t going to be a cliché and start wishing he’d ask for more. They’d both made it clear that wasn’t what they wanted. And she’d be damned if she’d be the one to renege on that. Of course, if he happened to have changed his mind, she wouldn’t say no, either.

Shoving her hand through her hair again, she tugged the curls a few times, hoping it’d shake loose some of the confusion. That her thoughts would line neatly up into nice, manageable rows the way they were supposed to.

Maybe if they talked?

But she’d noticed that Blake wasn’t much of a talking kind of guy. Maybe because his mouth had been so busy doing other things. Delightful things. Deliciously wonderfully sexual things.

Whew.
Alexia waved her hand in front of her face. Shower time. Hopefully the cool water would chill down her thoughts, and her body, so she could focus.

Climbing from the bed with less grace than usual, she winced at the delicious soreness between her thighs. Clearly, her gym workouts didn’t address toning hot, wild sex muscles. The few feet to the bathroom sent new tingles of pleasure through her. Her body a vivid reminder of why she was on them, she took her birth-control pill. As she reached for the spigot in the shower, she caught sight of her reflection.

Her hair was a red halo, framing a face that almost glowed with residual ecstasy. Her lips were swollen, eyes heavy. Whisker rash spread over her entire torso and lower, below the mirror’s view, like a sunburn. Proof that there wasn’t an inch of her body that Blake hadn’t kissed. Worshipped. Pleasured in ways she’d only read about.

With a shuddering breath, she flipped on the spigot, not bothering with the hot water.

Thirty minutes, and not a few shivers, later, she made her way down the hallway with a frown. Why hadn’t Blake come in? Not that she thought she was so irresistible that he couldn’t keep his hands off her for the time it took to shower, but still...

She stepped into the still-unfamiliar living room. Tension she hadn’t even realized was knotted in her shoulders unraveled. There he was at the table, reading the paper with his bare feet propped on a chair. Bare feet didn’t scream
time to run away,
did they?

“Hey,” he greeted. He folded the newspaper and smiled. Friendly enough, but Alexia suddenly felt as if she was under the icy-cold shower again. “I figured on letting you sleep awhile. You must be pretty worn-out.”

“That’s sweet,” she decided, belting her robe tighter and moving into the center of the room. Did she give him a kiss? Just act casual? She wasn’t sure. “But you haven’t had much sleep, either. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m used to going without.”

For his job? Because he didn’t like to sleep?

“Why?”

He got to his feet, offered a half shrug and a smile, then reached out to pull her into his arms.

“Good morning,” he murmured just before his lips covered hers.

Alexia forgot her question—hell, she forgot her name—as his mouth took hers in a slow, decadent morning dance of delight.

“You hungry?” he asked against her lips.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah. I’m starving. I figured I’d wait to make us both something. You ready to eat?”

“Um, sure.” She stood there, a little confused, as he pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, then released her to head into the kitchen.

Food was good. It was a nice, nonsexual way to spend time together, she told herself, wandering after him into the kitchen.

Her toes barely touched the linoleum when he turned and waved her back.

“Have a seat, relax. Read the paper. I’ve got this.”

A guy who cooked and didn’t expect—or want—help? Well, well. Too surprised to protest, Alexia turned right back around and made her way to the couch. Once there, she still didn’t know what to say. He’d booted her out of her own kitchen. To cook for her. Should she be irritated or thrilled?

For a woman who prided herself on her communication skills, she was having some definite issues figuring out how to converse with Blake. Of course, the fact that she couldn’t figure out how she felt about any single thing probably didn’t help.

Might as well quit worrying and just enjoy the experience, she finally decided.

As delicious as two days of naked romping, rolling and rocking were, even rabbits had to take a break from time to time. Knees a little weak as she recalled their last naked, rolling romp, Alexia snuggled deeper into her silk robe and watched Blake scramble eggs.

What was sexier? A man in the kitchen whipping up something delicious and nutritious? Or the sight of him, jeans unsnapped and slung low on his slim, tanned hips.
Oh, baby.
Alexia sighed, propping her chin on her fist. The man’s body was a thing of beauty. Pure muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His shoulders were wide, his skin golden in the morning sunlight that streamed through her kitchen window.

“I didn’t even realize I had eggs in the refrigerator,” she said, her brain starting to awaken from its sexual stupor. She tore her gaze off his body to look at the counter between the condo’s living room and kitchen. Orange juice, toast, a bowl of grapes. “Did you go to the grocery store?”

“Just next door,” he said. “I borrowed some food from your neighbor.”

Then he turned, frying pan in hand, to face her. Alexia actually felt her brain sputter as it sank under the waves of sexual heat again.

“I’m sorry. I should have had something here to feed you. A guest having to forage for his own breakfast fixings? That’s a loss of major hostess points.” She felt guilty as she slid to her feet. His eyes narrowed, locked on her body, then heated. Suddenly aware that her robe was gaping open, Alexia adjusted it with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched. Her pulse raced.

She’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d shared, the multitude of ways they’d pleasured each other’s bodies. She shouldn’t be reacting like this. So hot, so easy. Shouldn’t she know more about him before feeling so much more than desire? Shouldn’t they have spent a lot more time together, clothed, before she started wishing he’d be giving her Halloween orgasms and Christmas orgasms and oh, please, Valentine’s orgasms?

“I like cooking. Besides, you fed me dinner last night,” he said with a shrug, dismissing the guilty apology she’d almost forgot she’d issued before diving down the emotional rabbit hole of worry.

He divvied eggs onto two plates, added toast and pushed them across the counter. Alexia frowned at the unspoken command—the guy was good at that—but picked them up and placed them on the table anyway. She came around the counter to get silverware while he carried juice and fruit to the table and sat.

“I fed you leftover fettuccine and steamed vegetables out of a freezer bag,” she said with a laugh as she added forks to their plates. She pulled out a chair, but before she could sit, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto his lap.

Giggling, delighted, Alexia wrapped her hands behind his neck and tilted her head to the side. Her still-damp hair was chilly against her bare skin where the robe gaped yet again.

His eyes darkened to a midnight hue, narrowed with desire. She knew that look now. Knew the promise of it. Blake was demanding in bed. And in the shower. And on the balcony at two in the morning. Wherever their lovemaking took place, it was as if he grabbed inside her, took every bit of pleasure she could offer and then found a way to give her even more.

“I’ll bet eggs would taste good eaten off your belly, too,” he said, his voice low and husky against the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her throat. “Those noodles were pretty tasty that way.”

That’s what a woman got for not having a supply of chocolate and whipped cream on hand, Alexia thought ruefully. Cold noodles in gooey cheese and butter slurped off her skin.

She wrinkled her nose, ready to remind him what a failure that had been, tastewise, when he kissed her.

Deep, intense. Mind-blowing.

Alexia melted.

Slowly, her lips still clinging to his, he pulled back and arched one brow at his plate.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to. She had no idea where the strength to resist came from, but suddenly it seemed like the most important thing in the world. She needed a little distance, she realized. Some space to get a grip on this...what? It wasn’t a relationship, was it? She didn’t even know his last name. Had no idea what he did for a living. It wasn’t as if the last two days had been silent. They’d shared plenty of words. It was just that most of them were in the form of directions, dirty talk or cries of ecstasy.

“I’d hate to ruin the taste of the eggs with the flavor of my body wash,” she said, giving a little laugh as if it was a joke instead of a blatant excuse.

Blake didn’t complain, though. Nor did he push the issue. He simply smiled, let her go and picked up his fork. He waited until she was seated before digging into the eggs on his plate.