Forbidden Fruit (9 page)

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he told his frowning reflection before heading back to the bed.

She was sitting up, still looking a little dazed.

“Have you seen my clothes, Jagger?”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He pushed her down onto the pillows, and she smiled at him.

“I’m not?”

“Give me about three minutes to recover and I’llshow you why.”

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his already hardening cock. “I don’t think you have to explain.”

Lord, this woman! He couldn’t wait to get inside her again. So damn good, everything about her. The sex, her beautifullbody, her face. Everything.

Yeah, everything. But he didn’t want to think about it all right now. Not the way his pulse hammered just looking at her. Just talking to her. No, right now all he had to know was that he would fuck her again. Again and again, as many times as his body would let him.

There would be plenty of time to deallwith these other ideas later, when he was too tired to do anything else. When she had gone and he wouldn’t be as likely to say something stupid to her.

He didn’t want her to leave.

Don’t think about it now. Just touch her. Make her
come again. Yeah.

For tonight, he could foollhimself into thinking that was all that mattered, even if beneath all that he knew it was bullshit. There was a lot more to it than the sex. He was that kind of guy, even if Mia Rose wasn’t that kind of woman.

But for now, she was right there, under his hands, her sweet thighs already spreading for him. He bent his head and buried his face in her body, lost himself there. It was morning before he thought about anything else.

Karalee unlocked the door to her house and Gideon wrapped his hands around her waist, pushing her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. She swore she could still smell the scents of motor oilland exhaust from their session in the parking structure earlier, could practically feellit all over her skin. It was even more apparent now, in the confines of her smallhouse. Something incredibly sexy about that smell.

“Bedroom,” he demanded.

Karalee smiled to herself as she took his hand and led him to her room. The man was insatiable. Lucky for her.

He was already pulling her clothes off, untillshe was completely naked, small, soft piles scattered across the dark blue and gold Persian rug on the floor.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Karalee,” he told her, his voice low, predatory in that way he had when he was about to do something dirty. “On the bed.”

She sat down and started to slide toward the middle of the mattress, but he grabbed her and pulled her to the edge, pushing her onto her back with one hand between her breasts.

“Here. Right here.” Then he spread her thighs roughly, went down on his knees, and buried his face between her legs.

He went to work right away, his tongue sweeping over her already hard clit, then sliding down her damp slit, pushing inside her. He was kneading the flesh of her hips, his hands hard and bruising. And she was panting, breathless, shivering with desire.

“Jesus, Gideon.”

He slipped one hand between her thighs and pushed his fingers inside her while he sucked hard on that swollen nub of flesh. Harder, rougher. In moments she was writhing, bucking, whimpering. He reached up with his other hand to twist one of her nipples. Sensation shot through her, from her breast to her sex, settling in the center of her body. Like fire, like liquid heat, blistering hot.

His hands, his mouth, were relentless, hurting her, driving her on. Pleasure crested, paused for one electric moment. And then she was plunging over that edge, coming, crying his name, crying in pain.

But she loved every single moment. Every single sensation.

Before she had a chance to catch her breath, Gideon stood, unzipped his fly. He pulled a condom from the pocket of his jacket—he was still wearing his jacket!—and sheathed himself. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back, wrenched her thighs apart even wider, and shoved his cock right into her.

Another shock of pleasure, nearly as powerfullas her climax, ripped through her. He began to pump. Over and over, hard, driving thrusts. His hands were rough on her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples, sending shocks of sensation through her system. But he was going too hard and fast for her to do more than lie helpless beneath him, lost in pleasure, in pain that was pleasure.

“Christ, Karalee.”

“Yes, Gideon. Harder!”

“Fuck, yes…”

His hips plunging, fucking her, fucking her, and she was coming again, coming apart beneath the fury of his driving hips, his pummeling cock.

She was half out of her head. She didn’t care. This was all she needed from him. All she’d ever needed.

You know damn welllit’s a helllof a lot more.

She pushed the idea away. Easy enough with him stiffening, shuddering, ramming into her as he came.

Then his weight on top of her, the zipper of his jacket biting into her naked flesh. And the sweet relief, the serene knowledge that this man had taken her over completely.

This
was what she needed. The thrill of being caught was obviously what drove Gideon. For her, it was allabout allowing this man to take her over.

This man, who was the first one strong enough to do it.

Jagger woke to the sounds of traffic moving in the streets below, alone in his bed. He felt…empty.

Something he’d never wanted to feellagain.

He sat up, scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. Jesus, he could still smell her on his hands. Allover the bed.

Why had she left without saying anything? What the hell did that mean? And why was he being such a girllabout it, anyway?

He was fucking losing it.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, went into the kitchen to get coffee going. The day stretched ahead, as empty as his bed was this morning.

This was ridiculous. He needed to get out of the apartment, distract himself. He put the coffee filters back in the cupboard. It was still early. He’d head down to the farmers’ market, look at the produce, and buy his coffee there, pick up some mangoes for Leilani to make up for his flaky behavior lately.

Maybe he’d get some flowers. Red roses for Mia Rose. Yeah. They’d look great against her pale skin.

Jesus. Flowers.

Flowers were for a relationship. Flowers were when a woman meant something to him.

He ran a hand over his hair, dug his fingers in, and gripped untillit hurt. So, Mia Rose meant something to him. So what? That didn’t mean he needed to get his heart stomped on again. He wasn’t going in blind. He understood this woman was not relationship material, that she didn’t want to be. He could handle it.

Shaking his head, he moved across the apartment to the bathroom. Maybe a long, hot shower would get his head back on straight. A cold shower would probably be more effective. He had to do something.

Because he really was losing it over Mia Rose.

How the hell had this happened? And more important, what was he going to do about it?

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, as he had the night before. He looked like the same person, if a little scruffier, a little bruised around the eyes from lack of sleep.

He should never see her again. It’d be the best thing for him. He had spent over a year learning to be the kind of guy who could shut his feelings off. He’d learned to protect himself. And who the hell did he think he was, anyway, getting Mia Rose to open herself up to him, when he wasn’t willing to do the same in return? Not on that deep level, where it really mattered. He was not that sensitive guy anymore, the guy who could get hurt.

No, he should never see her again. But he knew damn well he wasn’t going to do that. Because being with this woman, watching her change, watching her blossom, had changed him in some elementallway.

After being with Mia Rose, he wasn’t the same person at all. He might never be again. And the scary part was, he wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

MIA PACED HER KITCHEN, HER ARMS

WRAPPED AROUND HER body as though she could protect herself from the emotions pouring through her.

This was all wrong. Last night should never have happened. Bad enough that Jagger was her student, that she’d jeopardized her career. She’d also jeopardized her emotionallwell-being. She’d known it going in, known that what Jagger made her feellwas more than a simple case of lust. But she’d done it anyway.

She was a fool.

The question was, what would she do now? Now that her body
knew
his. Now that his scent was so firmly ingrained in her mind she could never forget it, that blend of clean soap and dark patchouli.
Him.

She paused in her pacing to put the kettle on the stove for tea, pulled a mug and a tea bag from the cupboard. A longstanding source of comfort she’d picked up from her grandmother. Grandma had always thought almost any trouble could be soothed away with a good cup of tea. But Mia knew she was in deep trouble this time. Her situation with Jagger was going to require a lot more than tea.

Standing in front of the window, she looked at her little garden, at the dew clinging to the few remaining rose petals, gleaming drops reflecting shades of pink, yellow, red. The rest of the garden was lush green, except for the sky, which was as heavy and gray as she felt inside.

She could not see him again. He got under her skin too much. Made her open up. Open up to him, open up inside. He made her remember Ben, her first love. Her
only
love. The beginning of her obsession.

And the intense pain of loss. She didn’t want to remember how that felt. But she couldn’t help it now.

Ever since she’d met Jagger, she was coming apart inside, in some beautifulland utterly terrifying way.

The kettle whistled, startling her out of her dark musing. She turned the stove off, poured the steaming water into her cup, and stood watching it steep, trying to get her mind to calm, her body, which was still buzzing with the aftereffects of orgasm after orgasm.

She shook her head in the empty room. She had to stop thinking about him, and she couldn’t do it here.

It was too quiet. She was too alone. She needed to get out, maybe walk in the park or go down to the beach and watch the cold, crashing waves. If she stayed in the house one more minute, she was going to pick up the phone, call him, ask to see him.

Taking her tea, she went into the bedroom to get dressed, and only a few minutes later she was in her car, her tea mug cradled in the cup holder in the center console. She sipped as she drove, stillunsure as to where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do with her day. And her heart was stillbeating at a million miles an hour.

There was a great bookstore down by the wharf.

She could lose herself for hours in there. Maybe she’d try to find a new cookbook for her collection.

She turned onto Van Ness, shifted as she climbed the hill and headed toward the bay.

She was surprised at how hard it was to find a parking space, then remembered there was a farmers’ market around the corner on Sunday mornings. Maybe she’d wander through there before hitting the bookstore. Finally a spot opened up and she pulled in, slipped into her jacket, and grabbed her purse as she stepped out into the foggy morning air, heavy with salt this close to the ocean. She could hear the low murmur of the crowd two blocks away, the strumming of a guitar as she passed one of the locallstreet musicians and threw a dollar into the cup at his feet.

She reached the rows of tented booths and wove between the throngs of people. There was color everywhere: piles of vegetables and fruits, stacks of homemade bread, jams, honey. And there were flowers at every stand, it seemed.

She stopped to buy some gorgeous purple Japanese eggplants, a bouquet of fresh basilltied with string, a small bunch of Roma tomatoes. Such a lovely distraction, the sights and smells, the people.

She was beginning to calm down, her pulse slowing, even if Jagger’s face was in the back of her mind the entire time.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of his image, the scent of him, the taste of his skin stilllingering on her tongue…

“Mia Rose?”

Her heart slammed into her chest like a hammer blow.

God.

“Jagger. What are you doing here?”

He seemed momentarily stunned. Well, so was she.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Is this where you went when you left this morning?”

“What? No, of course not. I just got here. I just…”

But what could she say? She’d crept away while he was sleeping. It had felt necessary at the time. She realized now it had been rude, at the very least.

“Jagger, I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I had to leave.”

He nodded his head, his face somber. Had she hurt him?

“Yeah, it’s alright. No problem.” He paused, ran a hand over his hair. “I was just wondering what happened to you.”

“Well, I’m fine, as you can see.”

What a lie that was.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

They stood in an uncomfortable silence while her pulse fluttered in her veins.

Finally he asked, “Do you want to get some coffee?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He was silent for a moment, his softening gray gaze on her face. Then he said quietly, “Come on, Mia Rose. I know why you left. I probably would have, too, if it hadn’t been my house.”

Her face went hot. “What are you saying?”

“That this is scaring the shit out of me, too.”

She had to look away, to look at the ground. What he’d said was all too true. And she felt like an absolute coward. Brave of him, to be so honest. He was a hell of a lot braver than she was. Maybe more grown-up about the whole thing, despite being so much younger.

“Mia Rose.” He said her name softly. And it reminded her of the way he’d whispered to her in the middle of the night before pulling her into his arms, kissing her, pushing into her body. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her skin.

Looking at him, she caught his gaze. God, his eyes were beautiful, like two pieces of quartz in the morning light.

“I don’t want us to run away from each other, Mia Rose. Can we…just not do that? I understand why you left, at least on some level. I know why
I
want to run. And I want to talk to you about it. I don’t know why.” He paused, ran a hand over his hair once more. “Lord, I know I’m not making sense.”

“No, you are. And you’re right. I am scared, Jagger.

Of a lot of things.”

He took her hand, folded his fingers around hers, and squeezed. She wanted to cry suddenly. And when he pulled her in she didn’t resist, didn’t pullaway when he bent his head and gently kissed her lips. Instead, she inhaled, took the scent of him into her body, leaned into him. Let it feellgood.

His voice was low, as gentle as his kiss. “Come on. I could really use some coffee.”

“Okay.”

She let him lead her away, through the crowds of people, past the booths of produce. She left her hand in his, let them both have this moment of tentative connection that was so unfamiliar to her.

She couldn’t stop being afraid, not entirely. But for now, she could simply let things
be
between them.

Somehow Jagger admitting his fears made her own a little easier to handle. It was a revelation to her, that sharing her fears seemed to make them fade into the background.

Jagger was a revelation to her on severalllevels, and she had a feeling she’d only scratched the surface of who he was, what he had to offer. And for the first time in too many years, she gave herself permission to find out.

The telephone rang, waking Karalee from a deep, dreamless sleep. She rolled over onto her stomach, her arms and legs achy, but pleasantly so. She smiled to herself, remembering the night before with Gideon: in the parking lot, and then again here at her house. He was even rougher with her in bed than he was when they were in public, as though he needed that when the element of risk, of being discovered, wasn’t there. Not that she minded.

She grinned to herself as she picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Karalee.”

Gideon.

Her sex gave an involuntary squeeze simply hearing his voice.

“Hi. Good morning.” Oh yes, she could almost feellhis hands on her again. She shivered.

“What are you doing?”

“I just woke up. You kept me up untillafter three. I didn’t even hear you go, I was so tired.”

“How soon can you be ready?”

“For what?”

A long pause, and then, “You don’t really think I’m going to answer that, do you?”

She laughed. “Give me thirty minutes. Where shall I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

He hung up and she rolled onto her back, let her hands drift down her body, pausing to cup her breasts. They were heavy, wanting, her nipples two hard peaks beneath her own fingertips. Jesus, he’d turned her into a nymphomaniac.

Slipping her hands between her thighs, she brushed her mound. She was swollen and wet already. But she didn’t have time to indulge her needs. Besides, she knew Gideon would take care of those later. He always did. How decadent to know she had that to look forward to.

With a sigh she got out of bed and headed for the shower. Almost too tempting to take the sprayer, aim it between her thighs, and make herself come.

She’d done it many times before. That sprayer was a single woman’s best friend. But it was also too tantalizing to force herself to wait for Gideon.

She got through her shower and dried her hair, pulled on a silk camisole and matching thong in a pale shade of blue that looked good against her skin, topped it with a pair of jeans and a sweater in the same shade as her lingerie. She wrapped a narrow, cream-colored scarf around her neck, slipped on a pair of brown leather boots, and at exactly the appointed time, her doorbell rang.

She opened the door, her wallet and her short tan leather trench coat already in hand.

Gideon looked great, as always. He was casually dressed today, in khaki cargo pants and a fisherman’s sweater. But he still looked sophisticated, like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

“Good, Karalee, you’re ready.”

He smiled, that dashing smile. Such an old-fashioned word, but he really was dashing. Like some old-time film star.

“I wouldn’t think of keeping you waiting.” She smiled as she said it, but it was true. Gideon had an air of command about him she couldn’t resist. She didn’t want to.

He offered her his hand; she took it and let him lead her out to the car. He opened the door for her, handed her in, and she loved the gallant gesture, as she loved everything he did.

He got in and pulled into the street. She watched him as he drove, the way he handled the car with the same assurance with which he did everything else.

The way he shifted gears seemed purely sexuallto her. She could watch him all day if she didn’t need so badly for him to touch her.

“So, not even a clue, Gideon?” she asked him.

He turned to her, smiled. He didn’t say a word.

She sighed, shook her head at him. But she knew she’d find out soon enough.

They drove up Fulton Street alongside Golden Gate Park, then he made a turn into the park itself, wound between long expanses of green beneath the ancient eucalyptus trees. She rolled down the window a little so she could smell them, the pungent perfume that seemed to be released whenever the air was damp, which was much of the time in San Francisco.

“They smell good, don’t they?”

She turned back to Gideon, surprised. “They do. I love them, their scent. I love the cool, damp air. It allseems to make for a certain mood about the entire city.”

“That’s one of the things I missed, the scent of this place, when I was away.”

She couldn’t figure him out. He was so mysterious, completely closed off to her in so many ways, and yet there were moments like this when he said something revealing, something that showed a more sensitive side, hidden away beneath his slick facade. And even though most of the time she was perfectly content with his air of mystery, when he let these deeper glimpses through, she found herself wanting to know more.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you moved away, Gideon?”

“Maybe someday. Why do you need to know?”

“It’s not so much that I need to. I’m just…curious.

People are interesting to me. I always want to know things. My mother couldn’t stand that when I was growing up. I was always asking questions.”

“Maybe the problem was that she didn’t know how to answer them.”

She wrapped her fingers around the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “Maybe.”

“There aren’t stock answers to every question, Karalee.”

Suddenly she knew they were no longer talking about her mother. “Yes, you’re right about that. Life isn’t always clear. Sometimes I don’t even understand my own reasons for doing certain things.

Or not doing things, as the case may be.”

“Here we are.”

He pulled over and parked along the street, next to a long strip of grass leading to a tree-covered hillside.

“Where are we, exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

He got out of the car, came around, and helped her out. She knew enough already to wait for him rather than jump out herself.

He laid a hand lightly at her waist and they moved down the sidewalk, turned at the corner, and she saw across the street the big building that housed the Academy of Sciences behind the leafless fruit trees and the rows of wood benches that made up the music concourse in front of the bandstand, like an enormous open seashell.

A little farther up the sidewalk and he nodded at the high red-painted gates set between towering bamboo: the gates to the Japanese Tea Gardens.

“I didn’t know you liked tea,” she joked, but he just smiled, led her through, paid their fee at the smallbooth just inside the gates.

“I like it here,” he said as they moved down the meandering paths set between small, beautifullbonsaied cypress trees and delicately leaning willows, the pools with their stone lanterns and painted wooden bridges, the orange and black koi fish darting between the water lilies. “The whole idea of this sort of Zen architecturalldesign appeals to me, even if this place is a little over the top. I like it best early in the day, or off season, as it is now, when there aren’t too many tourists around. When it’s quiet.”