Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) (24 page)

She knew he meant
she
had years to make up for, but let herself roll around in the pleasure of the “we” anyway. They did have years to make up for.

“We should have done this back in college.”

Her jaw loosened in surprise at the statement.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, but… Nick, we don’t have a missed history or anything.”

He looked hard into her eyes, his smoky and dark with arousal. “We do have a missed history, Willow. Yes, I was nice to you because of your dad, but I also liked you. You made me laugh. You were real, and all those other girls were fake.”

She considered that, liking the sentiment, somehow believing it, or at least talking herself into believing it. “How did you lose your virginity, Nick?”

He didn’t answer, instead ran his finger over the lacy trim of the high-end bra that lay loose on her now, brushing her skin, but also concentrating on each little loop and flower on the lace. “Some girl whose last name I don’t remember. I was a junior in high school, a hormone time bomb, and I met her at a football party. We were a little drunk and…” He shrugged, lifting a shoulder. “Stupid.”

“Bet it wasn’t stupid at the time.”

“It wasn’t much of anything, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “It wasn’t what I want your first time to be.” He lowered the lace, revealing more of her breast. “I want your first time to be so incredibly special that every time you think of it, you can’t help but smile.”

She smiled then. “You know what I want my first time to be? Soon.”

“Not yet, Little Miss Impatience.”

She gave in and rocked her hips, glaring at him. “I’m dying down there.”

He knelt up, revealing a huge tent in his cargo shorts. “Me, too.”

“Well…”

He shook his head. “This is my operation. You want a siege. I want…” He slid the bra strap down her shoulder, moving the cup away to reveal her hardened, swollen nipple. “An indirect counteroffensive.” Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and took it in his mouth, sending a white-hot spray of pleasure through Willow’s body.

“Nothing offensive about that,” she whispered, instinctively clutching his head to press him harder. He licked a circle around her nipple then put it between his teeth, nibbling oh-so-softly, making every cell dance with fire and forcing a cry out of her lips.

He kissed his way over to the other breast, holding her securely from his kneeling position, cupping and caressing, getting her bra off with remarkable ease, leaving her upper half as naked as his.

He didn’t miss an inch, sighing and sucking and stroking her until she no longer fought the waves that rolled between her legs, letting her hips rock in a natural rhythm, aching and screaming for his touch. But he refused, giving one hundred and ten percent to her breasts and throat and mouth and oh, back to each distended, aching nipple again.

“Nick, I have to, I have to…”

He took her hand, prying the fingers from the velvet, and sliding her hand into her pants. “Do what you want, baby. I’ve got this territory to control.”

He controlled everything. Including her hand as he nudged it down between her legs, and she couldn’t fight. She touched herself, shocked at how slick and wet and pulsingly ready she was for his hand and his body.

“Nick, I want
you
.” Not her hand,
his
.

“When we’re ready, you’ll have all of me.”

Damn it, she was so, so ready. He squeezed her breast and sucked some more, dragging his tongue across her nipple over and over again. Losing control, she rubbed her sweetest spot, knowing exactly where to touch to make herself come, but never, ever having it happen with a hot, wet, skilled mouth and masterful hands touching her somewhere else.

He kissed her mouth, murmuring instructions into her lips.

Telling her what he could do, what he would do. Her imagination exploded as she closed her eyes and dreamed of the night—very, very soon—when he would fill her with his enormous and sexy manhood.

“Inside,” she muttered. “I want you…”

He chuckled softly. “You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

And just the thought of it, the image of him out of control from merely making love to her breasts, put her over the edge, making her spiral and moan and finally give in to the best orgasm she’d ever given herself.

Fiery, numb, twisty, achy, perfect.

She couldn’t take an even breath for ten minutes, and the whole time he continued his upper-body assault until she was certain there was no inch of his territory unassaulted.

In the best possible way.

Including, she thought with a wry smile, her heart, which happened to fall dead center in the middle of his target zone.

Chapter Twenty

Nick stayed firmly on the floor, not trusting his own body one minute on a skinny piece of furniture that wasn’t a bed or a sofa with Willow. His hard-on had gone way past discomfort into pain, but that finally subsided like the bright pink flush on Willow’s chest.

She didn’t talk, kept her eyes closed, and didn’t seem to notice a strand of her hair caught in her lips.

He plucked it out gently, stroking her cheek, full of wonder and amazement and no small amount of man-pride. She might have used her hand, but he got her there.

“Nick,” she finally whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Can you go write five more chapters? They can be short. A page each, tops.”

He laughed softly, trailing a finger from her chin to her chest, watching her shoulders quiver in response. “Not satisfied yet, Willow?”

She turned to face him. “You’re not.”

“I’m fine. This wasn’t about me.”

“Why not? I’m an equal opportunity virgin.” She nestled her face into his hand. “And I want more.”

He stared at her for a long time, memorizing every angle, every beautiful slope, every detail of her face. “There will be more,” he promised.

“At the risk of sounding whiny and desperate, when?”

He laughed again, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I believe that’s at the crux of my problem.”

“I mean, you don’t get why I’m doing this.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “You want to make my first time special. You want to have a real connection so I don’t have a vacant, empty feeling when it’s over. You want to make up for turning me down in college. And…” She narrowed an accusing eye at him. “You want me to stick around long enough to be your muse until this book is done, so you’re dragging it out.”

He considered every single reason, nodding slowly. “Actually, all of those things are true, but you’re missing one, and it’s the one that matters most to me.”

She thought for a while and then lifted a shoulder. “I have no idea.”

“I want you to know…” He stroked her cheek then flattened his palm on the side of her face, holding her so she had nowhere to look but into his eyes. “That whoever made you doubt how incredibly gorgeous you are inside and out was wrong. Any guy can take your virginity, Willow, and I’m sure you could have a line of willing guys to pick from. But I want to be the one who makes you realize you can not only take off your clothes and be perfect, you can drop that shell of protection you wear like a coat of armor, too.”

She stared for a long moment, long enough for him to see her eyes mist up. “It was my mother,” she finally said.

He knew what “it” was, and he wasn’t at all surprised about her mother.

She sat up and looked around for her clothes, the move so automatic, he could have predicted it was coming.

“You don’t need to cover up to tell me this.”

“Yes, I—”

He pushed her back down. “Just talk.”

“Naked?”

“The only way to fly,” he teased. “And you’re not completely naked, and there’s nothing about your upper half I don’t know.” He smiled and licked his lips. “Quite intimately.”

“Oh, Lord, you’re sexy,” she whispered on a moan. “Will you at least come up here and lie with me so I don’t feel like my girls are on display?”

“Let’s do better. Let’s lie in bed.”

Her eyes widened. “I thought…”

“We can share a bed together and not give in to temptation, can’t we? You’re the queen of resisting temptation.”

“Not where you’re concerned.”

He stood and held his hand to her. “You are not leaving me tonight.”

She didn’t move, eyeing him. “You want me to spend the night?”

“Yes.” He reached for her hand to help her stand, then pulled her into an embrace, the shock of their bare chests touching electrifying him all over again. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy on the optempo, but I don’t want you to leave.”

Before she could argue, he walked her down the hall to the master bedroom, which was dark except for the soft blue glow of the pool lights outside the French doors. He guided her to the bed, but she hesitated.

“Let me use the bathroom to freshen up first.”

He released her and watched her walk to the en suite, the pale light highlighting the muscles in her back and the feminine lines of her body as she walked away in nothing but loose, light slacks. How long would those last?

Long, because he was determined to do this right.

He turned down the bed, changed out of his cargo shorts into a pair of boxers and lay on top of the comforter, waiting for her. His body—specifically, the lower half—was more or less under control, but he wasn’t the least bit sleepy. For a moment, he glanced at the desk where he’d put his laptop, dark and silent.

What was the next scene? he wondered while he waited. It was time to write Christina’s farewell. Would that bird fly or crash?

The bathroom door clicked open, and Willow stepped out in a white Casa Blanca-issued bathrobe.

“You’re cheating,” he said. “You covered up what I just
uncovered
.”

“I’m cold.”

“Then let me warm you, but why do I have to lose the territory I already won?”

Laughing, she came to the bed. “It’s your war games, Lieutenant. Ten minutes ago I was ready to complete Operation Deflower.”

“Not until I know the inside as well as the outside.”

As she reached the edge of the bed, an unreadable expression settled on her features.

“What?” he asked. “You have a problem with that?”

“No, but I don’t get you.” On the bed, she curled her legs under her, wrapping herself in a little protective hug. “Why don’t you want to, you know, do the deed and forget all the ancillary stuff?”

The question actually hurt, surprising him. “Because you’re worth more than that?” He shouldn’t have made it a question, but it seemed so obvious, he was surprised she didn’t realize that.

“But it’s so…” She closed her eyes and dropped her head. After a second, she looked up. “I don’t like to be manipulated.”

“I’m not manipulating you.” Was he? Hell, he thought he should get a freaking medal for being as legit as they come.

“Because,” she continued, “that’s another thing that led me to have this…what did you call it? Coat of armor.”

“Who manipulated you?” he asked.

She gave him a look that said she couldn’t believe he didn’t know.

“Your mother?” he guessed.

“Not that I want any part of her in this bedroom or discussion or, frankly, my life, but since you are so hell-bent on knowing me on the inside, yes, my mother. Ona Zatarain, who would give Machiavelli a run for his money and then insist he have a full-body makeover afterward.”

“How did she manipulate you?” he asked.

“How
didn’t
she, is a better question.” She gave a sharp laugh. “Starting with naming me for exactly what she planned for me to be—a clone of her—then fighting and squeezing and correcting and insulting and pummeling me to try to get that to happen.”

His gut squeezed as he leaned closer. “Did she hit you?”

“No,
no
,” she corrected quickly. “Bad choice of words. She tried to”—she mimed the action of someone kneading dough or clay—“make me into what she wanted me to be. My earliest memory is itching. Itching in clothes I didn’t want to be in, itching in situations I didn’t like, itching to be free of her.”

Neither spoke for a moment as she plucked at a thread in the terry robe.

“I figured out somewhere around, oh, twelve or thirteen that I could stop the itching by eating.” She whispered the last word, closing her eyes as if it shamed her. “For one thing, food was comforting, for another she couldn’t exactly come right out and say I shouldn’t eat—what mother could do that, right? But I knew it drove her crazy that I didn’t have her legendary control when faced with a box of candy.”

“It was certainly a safe way to rebel, considering other things a kid could do to her body,” he said.

“Well, it’s not safe to get that overweight, and I’m not sure I was rebelling, per se. But I could control what I put into my mouth. She couldn’t stop me and, Lord in heaven, she hated every pound I packed on.” She looked up with a sad smile that barely reached her eyes. “And by the time I was a sixteen or seventeen, I knew I’d found the secret to getting her to leave me the hell alone.”