A Thousand Kisses Deep (15 page)

They explained the nature of their business.

Sly shook his head. "Sorry I can't help you. I haven't been off the boat all night. And I haven't seen a man in his twenties with a long brown ponytail and a tattoo of a raven on his left shoulder."

The fact that Eva had given the police a false description of her attacker did nothing to ease Sly's anger. He would thank her for that small favor after he strangled her.

Back in his stateroom, sprawled on his bed, he drank more whiskey, and nursed his wounded pride. Another hour passed and then the phone rang. His mood black as the sand beaches the island was known for, he let the answering machine take the call. But when he heard
her
voice, he turned slowly and stared at the machine.

"Are you there? I … I just wanted to make sure you were—"

Sly hit the speakerphone switch. "Dead or alive?"

"Where are you?"

He took a long pull off the whiskey bottle and emptied it.

"Are you all right?"

"A little late to care about that, isn't it?"

"You sound strange. Have you been drinking?

"It's an effective painkiller. I'm about ready to start on bottle number two."

"Why do you need—You're in pain? Oh, God, were you shot?"

"Gotta go."

"Sly, wait! What can I do?"

"You've already done it."

"Where are you?"

"Like I'm as crazy as you. Not a chance."

"Where? I never meant for you to get hurt."

"Forget it."

"Sly … please tell me where you are. I need to see for myself that you're all right."

"With Simon's watchdogs following you. I don't think so."

"I need to explain. I'll come alone, or I won't come. Please."

She had given the police the wrong description. It was the only reason Sly considered giving up his location. And even then, he needed his head examined. "If you sell me out, I'll kill you."

"Where?"

"The
Hector.
A yacht three hundred yards east of you. Listen, Eva … Eva?"

What the hell was she thinking? She'd almost gotten him killed.

The obvious answer was she hadn't been thinking at all. But then whose fault was that? He shouldn't have said those things to her. He shouldn't have touched her. Kissed her.

"That's what you get," Eva chastised herself as she passed by the mirror in a flurry to get dressed, "when you allow your emotions into the game."

She knew better than that. Knew it, and still she was going to go to him. But only to make sure he was all right. She had to. He'd been shot, and he was drinking to dull the pain.

The man was made out of steel girders. If he was drinking that meant it was serious. He could die.

She slipped into the hall wearing a black wraparound dress and flat sandals. If she was stopped, she would say that tonight's ordeal had set her nerves on edge and she was unable to sleep.

To her relief no one stopped her, and once she was off the
Ventura
and out of sight, she finally let herself believe that she'd made a clean getaway.

She was accustomed to sneaking around. She'd had years of practice. Years to perfect a number of survival techniques. Even before she'd gone to live with Simon, she'd learned at the age of twelve how to flip the switch on the electrical box so that the house alarms wouldn't go off. Then she would escape out a window to explore the neighborhood where she had lived.

Yes, she was good at sneaking around, and that's why she'd been able to meet with Dr. Fielding for a year without Simon knowing about it.

When she spotted the
Hector,
it was all she could do not to run to it. But that might draw attention to her, and so she kept the same strolling pace, as if she were truly out for a walk to enjoy the moonlight harbor after
midnight
.

The yacht was bigger than she thought it would be. Long and sleek, built for speed and endurance. A modern seagoing vessel, with a touch of vintage craftsmanship that guaranteed it would last and last.

She boarded without any fanfare and slipped down the stairs before someone caught sight of her. Worried about Sly, she barely noticed the clean galley or plush sitting room where a large green velvet couch curved along the wall. Her eyes drifted to the end of the hall. A door stood ajar, and she hastened her steps and pushed it open.

She scanned the room, her eyes settling on the built-in wooden berth that took up an entire wall and half of another. Sly McEwen was there, his broad back propped up against a carved headboard. There were lantern sconces on either side, above his head. He wore a nasty scowl, and held an even nastier-looking gun, leveled straight at her head.

If you sell me out, I'll kill you.

Eva leaned against the doorjamb and tried to look confident. She dismissed the gun, and sent her gaze down his bare chest to a gash that stretched along his side. It was awful-looking, a strip of wide tape across it holding it together. Moving down his body, she saw that the rest of him was intact, and she sighed in relief.

The question
how do you feel?
seemed redundant. The empty whiskey bottles beside the bed guaranteed he was in a degree of pain, but not enough to have drunk himself unconscious. His eyes appeared clear, the gun in his hand steady.

There was a bloody towel in the middle of the floor. Eva took another step into the room, said, "Did you get the bleeding stopped?"

"For now."

"I just came to make sure you were all right."

"We both know why you came, and there's more to it than that."

"That's true. I said I wanted to explain why I…"

He came off the bed smooth and easy, stalked toward her without faltering a step. She was right, he was made of steel. The wound had slowed him down only slightly.

She backed up through the door. The most important thing was to stay out of his reach. "If you need something, I can get it for you."

"I need something all right. But I'll get it myself."

She didn't like the look in his eyes. "Don't touch me," she warned, backing farther down the hall. He ignored her plea and when she reached the sitting room, she turned and headed into the galley. There she spun around, no longer willing to run.

She was up against the counter, not a good place to be, she realized. He wasn't touching her yet, but it looked like it wouldn't be long before he did.

She shivered with the thought of his hands touching her. Just one touch and it would start again. That strange bone-melting desire she couldn't explain.

On paper Sly McEwen was the too tough dangerous agent with a record for never giving up. He'd said that earlier—no regrets, no remorse. And the way he was looking at her, she was afraid he wasn't going to give up tonight, either.

She remembered how warm his lips were, and she sought them out. Stared.

He closed the distance, brought his body in alignment with hers. Eva's stomach did a slow flip in anticipation. And then she realized as his head lowered, that she had been doomed from the minute she'd stepped onto the
Hector's
deck.

He was right. There was something between them, something that had been born that night in
Atlanta
.

Eva sagged against him as he took her mouth in an explosive kiss. She struggled not to lose her head, but he seemed to know what she wanted, what
she needed, even if she didn't.

She felt his hand glide over her hips, his fingers pulling up the hem of her dress.

"No," she whimpered when she felt his warm fingers move slowly over her thighs. Her stomach.

His fingers were inside her underwear and slipping between her legs before she could stop him. She squirmed nonetheless, tried to dodge his fingers, but it was impossible. His thumb moved along her slit, stroking her sensitive flesh. She moaned, tried to push him away, making one last weak attempt to save herself. It didn't faze him. In one smooth maneuver, his free hand lifted her off her feet, while his fingers pushed into her.

Her cry was stifled by another scorching kiss, and then he was carrying her back into the sitting room to the couch that wrapped the wall. He sat down, cradling her on his lap.

"Sly, please," she pleaded, burying her head against his bare chest.

He sent his fingers deeper, pumped then quickly in and out. Then again in a way that told her he knew what he was doing, what would render her helpless.

Her dress was bunched at her waist, his hand deep in her panties. She was squirming on his fingers, dying of shame, dying from the desire she could no longer deny.

He was rubbing her everywhere. Rubbing everything. Touching her in ways she'd never even touched herself.

"So wet. So hot."

Eva felt a rush of sensations, the beginning of something wonderful. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. Her hips arched on their own, and then the beginning of a spasm sent her clinging to him.

"That's it." He brushed her hair away from her face, kissed her parted lips, thrusting his tongue into her in the same manner as his fingers. "It's mine," he whispered against her mouth. "Give it to me."

As if he were dragging it from her, the spasm pitched her over the edge and she rode his fingers, wanting him to stop, wanting him never to stop.

"Come for me," he coaxed, sending his skilled fingers over her sensitive nub.

Emotions rushed her senses and ignited her body, and the orgasm that followed came in waves so raw and potent that they demanded Eva cry out. And so she did.

Chapter 11

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S
ly
slipped his fingers out of Eva's body and pulled her close, shifting her so she had no choice but to let him kiss her. He used his tongue again, possessively taking and giving at the same time, in the same manner his fingers had taken her body, and given her pleasure in return.

It was like in the dream he'd had, and he let the scent of her climax fill his head and fuel his blood.

He felt her resurfacing, felt her shoving her dress down. He ended the kiss and she sat up, avoiding his eyes. He let her go when she slid off his lap and stood, sensing she needed time to accept what had just happened.

She had told Dr. Fielding she'd had sex twice with the gardener's son. He had listened to that tape a dozen times, and all those times he had heard something in her voice, a regret and at the same time a lingering question.

I thought something was wrong with me so I did it with him again a few days later. The results were just as disappointing … with some men it's all about them. Tony was a greedy little bastard.

Knowing what he knew about Parish, it was safe to assume that she hadn't been touched the way he had touched her. And from what just happened, as hard as she'd climaxed, he'd venture a guess that she hadn't soloed much, either. If ever.

"There's a bathroom in my stateroom."

"Thank you."

She still hadn't looked at him, but he was looking at her as she left the room and disappeared down the companionway.

If she thought that was it, she was wrong. They weren't finished. Hell, they had barely gotten started. But from here on out things would slow down.

He let a few minutes tick off the clock, then followed her. Inside his room, he closed the door and leaned against it. He heard the water running, a few more minutes lagged, and then the door opened and she stepped out brushing the hair away from her face. She looked pale.

"I didn't hurt you?"

"No." She wet her lips, raised her chin. "I'd like to leave now."

"You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"Yes. I mean, no. You didn't."

"Then what's your hurry? You said you came to explain something. We haven't gotten around to talking yet."

"It doesn't matter anymore. I was going to give you all the reasons why we couldn't…" She shrugged. "It seems my explanation comes too little, too late. It's over."

Sly shook his head. "It's not over, Evy. Not nearly over."

"You move fast, Sly McEwen. Too fast for a woman like me."

He shoved away from the door and started across the room, watching her with every step he took. "I can move slow if you like that better."

She hadn't cracked a smile since she'd arrived, but she did now. But when her eyes lowered to his crotch, the smile faded.

"You said you're not afraid of me."

"It's not fear that I'm feeling."

"Then what is it?"

"You want something from me and you think by seducing me you're going to get it. But—"

"I told you I don't need the Chameleon's location from you any longer. I already have it. He'll be here tomorrow."

"Continuing this would be a mistake."

"I think the only mistake so far was letting you off my lap." With that, Sly took three steps and pulled her against him. This time, however, when he kissed her, he didn't take. He teased her lips into joining him, into sharing the moment.

He felt her shiver, and on her breathless sigh, he slid his tongue inside, while she wrapped her arms around his waist. When she grazed the bandage, she stopped suddenly and tried to pull away.

"Easy."

"You've been shot. You need to be in bed."

"I agree. In bed with you."

"Sly, please. This is real, not some crazy dream."

The word
dream
caught him by surprise. "Explain that."

"Explain what?"

"What you just said. Have you been dreaming about me?"

"No, of course not."

"Spoken too fast, with guilty eyes. Have I been visiting you while you sleep, Evy, like you've been visiting me?"

His confession seemed to surprise her. "On the balcony at the taverna you kissed me like you had kissed me before. Like I had already given you permission. Did I give you permission in your dream?"

"Yes."

"Was it over there?" Her eyes focused on the bed in the corner.

"Yes."

"In my dream there was music playing."

"Mine, too."

"Do you have it? The music in your dream?"

"Yes."

"Put it on."

Her body had relaxed, and she was no longer looking at the door like she could bolt any second. Sly stepped away from her and walked to the built-in entertainment center and opened the cupboard. He put the music on that he used at night to relax. A favorite was an instrumental CD that was a mix of guitar and ocean waves rushing a lonely shoreline. When he turned around Eva was taking the clip from her hair and shaking it out to fall around her shoulders.

"This is a mistake. I'll tell you that up front. But I want more than the dream to remember you by. And I'm prepared to live with the consequences. But you have to promise me something first."

"What's that?"

"Simon is somewhere in the city tonight, but he'll be back in the morning to take me to breakfast. He'll be back to pick me up on the
Ventura
's
deck at
eight o'clock
. Do you promise to wake me if I fall asleep?"

"I promise. You'll be there." Sly held out his hand.

"And so the stranger seduces the fox and she willingly lets him devour her in a single bite. Did you get yourself a copy?"

"As a matter a fact, I did."

She looked as if she didn't believe him. He pointed to the bookshelf within arm's reach of the berth. "Red spine."

She glanced at the book, her expression a little puzzled. "Come here."

She looked at his hand stretched out to her, then walked to him slowly and clasped it, the other hand sliding up his chest. She leaned in, swayed to the music.

"Did we dance before you put me on the bed?"

"No," Sly admitted. "I don't dance."

She rubbed herself against him, then turned her back into him and brushed her sexy ass against his crotch. "When we were on the balcony I liked the way your arms felt around me. Put your arms around me, Sly McEwen, like you want to protect me from everything bad and ugly."

Her words reminded him of how she'd been forced to live, and he vowed that before this was over, he would find a way to protect her.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she countered his move by sliding her hands along his thighs. She angled her head and he lowered his to cover her open mouth. Still holding on to the kiss, she turned in his arms and pressed herself to him.

"What's next, Sly? How did the dream start?"

He scooped her up into his arms and strode to the bed. "My dream starts and ends here. You came to me while I slept."

She smiled. "So I pursued you? And I suppose I was naked."

"No. You were wearing white satin. You looked like an angel come to rescue me."

"And did I rescue you?"

"Yes, you did."

"Did we do it more than once?"

Sly smiled, laid her down on the bed. "Do it?"

"Or were we animals all night long?"

His smile spread. "Something like that."

"I like your smile."

He gave the bed his weight and rested his hands on either side of her slender waist. "Are you through talking?"

"When I'm nervous I talk."

"Nervous, not afraid?"

"No, but by the size of that stick you carry around in your jeans, maybe I should be?"

Sly laughed out loud. He hadn't done that with a woman in a long while. He stretched out beside her and pulled her close. "In my dream you liked my stick."

"Mine, too," she said, softly searching his eyes.

He kissed her nose, then her mouth again, his need for her driving him forward to the next level. She responded by caressing his bare chest, then curling her finger around his neck to pull him closer.

He deepened the kiss, his hand slipping underneath her dress to touch her satin-smooth thigh. The room turned hot as passion smoldered between them. Sly was breathing heavily and Eva was clinging to him when he pulled away and climbed off the bed. When he came back to her, he made a point of letting her see the condom he'd pulled from the dresser beside the bed. Tucking it in the bookshelf, he lay down beside her again and gathered her close once more.

She shoved him to his back, her mouth moving over his chest with featherlight kisses. When her hand again brushed over his crude bandage along his ribs, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I—"

"Shh…"

She sat up and untied the wrap belt and slowly slid the dress off her shoulders leaving her in a black camisole cut low enough to expose a generous amount of cleavage. She stretched out on his bed again beside him and said, "Show me how we made love, Sly. Make the dream real."

He rolled to his side, her request sending him on a mission. He lowered his head, kissed her pretty mouth, then began to touch her in all the ways he had touched her in the first dream.

Caressing her breasts, he said, "You liked me touching you."

"I do like you touching me," she confessed, arching up when he pulled her camisole aside and tasted one ripe perfect breast. Gathering the nipple into his mouth, he sucked and licked, stroked and nipped until she was shivering and moaning.

He slid lower, shoved the camisole high and kissed his way past her sexy navel. Anxious to put his mouth on her where his fingers had been, he shoved her panties past her hips. She sucked in her breath as he worked the elastic past her knees.

"In all my dreams you like it when I taste you here." With his words, he sent his thumb over her slit encouraging her to open her legs for him. He slid the thick pad of his thumb over her clit and as he did, he looked up at her.

She hadn't closed her eyes, and he liked the way she was watching him.

Sly lowered his head, ran his tongue over her. She gasped. Moaned. He urged her to open for him wider, sliding his hands beneath her ass. "This is about you, Evy. This is for you."

Then he was there, stroking and licking, and bringing her quickly to another explosive climax. She arched her back, dug her fingers into the mattress. Her body convulsing, his name on her lips as she reached for that perfect pleasure.

She was spiraling back to earth when Sly felt something wet along his side. He eased back from loving her and saw that he'd reopened his wound.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Sly?"

He pressed his hand along his side, shifted forward. "I'm sorry, baby, but my side's bleeding. Don't move. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

It was perhaps the most delicious feeling Eva had ever experienced in her life—Sly McEwen's mouth adoring her flesh.

If she lived to be an old woman with a cane, she would never forget this moment in time. Sly had just shattered her reality, and doomed her for all eternity. As the saying went, you can't miss what you've never had.

But now she'd experienced the fantasy, knew it was possible to feel cherished outside of the dream. Knew why women gambled, and were willing to play life's unfair games.

This is about you. This is for you.

His words fed her like none other could. He wasn't even aware of it, but he had reached down inside her and touched her deepest secret, arresting her darkest fears. It was like he'd always known her. Had tapped into her most private desires.