Let's Misbehave (12 page)

Her gaze roamed the rest of his body, snagging on the black paw that peeked out from his waistband.

Sitting up, she pushed him onto his back. “What’s this?”

“My tiger.”

“He’s all locked up.” She undid his belt and took her time unzipping his pants. She could feel him, hard and eager, underneath, and it made her wet, but she wasn’t going to rush this. She looked into his eyes. “Should I let him loose?”

“He’s coming out regardless,” Merrick said, his voice a husky growl.

Flashing him a wicked smile, she grabbed the waistband of his pants and underwear and tugged it down.

He helped her by raising his hips, and she pulled it all the way to his knees before she allowed herself to look up.

His tiger lay low on his belly, in the same sparse tribal style of the tattoo at his neck, only with splashes of orange. The paw reached up to his belly button while the body stretched between, its tail curling down.

Way down.

She put her fingers on the paw.

He flinched a little, hissing through his gritted teeth as if just that touch were unbearable.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered, tracing a path down the length of his cat. “Or does it hurt good?”

“Touch me, damn it.” He took her hand and put it over him, curling her fingers tight around his hard shaft. He arched back, agony and pleasure etched on his face.

Gigi felt powerful in a way she hadn’t in a long time. She touched him, clasping him, running her hands up and down his length. She hummed, loving the way the tiger undulated under her grip.

Merrick reared up, setting her on her back. Somehow, he got both of them naked, without tearing any more clothing.

He sat up, breathing heavily. He let his gaze take a leisurely path up her body, stopping at all the intriguing places in between.

She stretched out, letting him get his fill. “I have no tattoos. I had a different adolescence than you.”

“No groupies?” he asked with a self-deprecating smile as he ran a hand from her neck down her body.

Arching into the luxurious caress, she shook her head. “My father was very proper and disapproving. I was determined to prove that I was a serious actress.”

“Does he approve now that you’re successful?”

“He died last year.”

Merrick paused. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance to cover up the sadness she hadn’t expected. “I wasn’t close to him.”

“I’m not close to my parents, but if something happened to them I’d be regretful.”

“It’s old news.” She smiled enticingly, trying to bring the sexy back. “I never snuck out as a girl either. Now I’ve done that and made out in a park. I wonder what else you’ll help me experience.”

“Why don’t I show you?” he said, reaching in the nightstand table and pulling out a condom.

“I may want you to show me a lot.” She watched him roll it on, shifting in barely contained excitement to feel him in her. She swallowed her anticipation and continued in feigned patience. “I never realized how many things I wanted to try until right now. I usually take the most direct route to the end result. I’m not very daring.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Merrick said huskily, covering her with his naked body.

“The video? It was the only daring thing I’d done, and look how that turned out.” She sighed, her legs wrapped around his thighs. “But he’s not worth the thought, especially right now.”

“You’ll forget his name before I’m through.” Merrick took her hands and held her wrists over her head in one hand. With his free hand, he reached between them and rubbed himself against her. “I promise.”

The first slow glide was always breathtaking, and this was especially wonderful. She gasped at the feel of him sliding in her, wiggling to get him closer even though it was physically impossible.

He held her hands up, pinning her down. Cupping her face he kissed her, hard and demanding, so when he lifted his mouth she was gasping for breath. “Open your eyes, Imogen. I want you to see who’s making you scream.”

Oh, she knew. No one had ever made her feel this way. She moaned, arching up against him. She forced her eyelids open, her gaze locking on his.

His eyes glittered with passion—the intense need for her so stark. She gasped, lifting her wrists enough to feel the bite of his hold.

He growled, holding her down, pumping into her at a slow, consistent pace. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Why would I want to? I’m right where I want to be.” She bit the base of his neck, right where his tattoo started. “I think your kitty is starting to purr.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re taunting me?”

“Only because you like it.” She thrust her hips up, arching her back. He hit her in the right spot, and she cried out. She did it again, rubbing herself on him until she was panting hard.

“Imogen. Sweet, sweet …” He lowered his head to her nipple, taking it in his mouth and sucking it between his lips.

She cried out again, her fingers curling and seeing stars as she came.

He groaned, stiffening above her, roaring as he climaxed. He collapsed on top of her, rolling them so she was on top. He let go of her wrists, taking one of her hands and bringing it over his heart.

Gigi lay there, boneless. She should get up and salvage what she could of her clothing to leave. Mornings were awkward, and she didn’t want to risk being discovered, with a politician no less.

But then his hands began roaming over her body—over her back, down to her buttocks, and teasing between her legs. She felt a zing of awareness at her core as she felt him stir inside her. “Yes,” she sighed. “Again.”

“Again,” he agreed, holding her hips and thrusting into her.

She’d go soon, she decided, as she lifted her lips to his kiss.

Chapter Eleven

Merrick was losing control, and it was Imogen’s fault.

Two days.

He stalked back and forth in his office. Two days since she’d snuck out of his bed like a thief. Two days since he had anything from her except flirting texts.

Two days where all he could think of was losing himself in her again. He remembered every moment of it—every kiss, every sigh, every lick.

He’d been useless since. He should have been ensuring that he had all the support he needed to get his bill passed. Instead he was mooning over a movie star with wicked eyes and the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted.

He dropped into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his neck. He needed to get a grip.

The gnome grinned mockingly at him from its perch on his desk.

“Easy for you to be self-righteous,” Merrick told him. “If you met Imogen, you’d understand what the fuss was about, too.”

The little guy looked at him disbelievingly.

Merrick turned the statue around and stood up. This was ridiculous—he couldn’t have Imogen. He had to talk to Howell about the safety act.

He tried to justify taking his Ducati—because it’d be more efficient in the late afternoon traffic and not just because he liked going fast.

In the end, he took the Jaguar. He went to the House of Lords, figuring they’d be sitting in session, but they’d had an odd break for the day. He went to the Carlton Club. He even went to the tennis club he knew Howell belonged to.

No luck.

Agitated, he went home and prowled through the dark, empty corridors. Restless energy beat at him, the walls closing in.

“Bugger it,” he murmured, grabbing his leather jacket and motorcycle keys.

He tried to talk himself out of it, but once he was standing alongside his Ducati he knew he couldn’t resist. He geared up and took off. Weaving in and out of traffic, he raced as fast as he could go. He wound his way through the suburbs on a road out of town.

At some point he realized two things: it was dark, and he was on a country road. He turned around and headed back to London, only he couldn’t stand the idea of going back to his house.

Instead he went to Imogen’s.

He pulled up out front, cutting the engine. The night became still, the residential neighborhood sleepy. He took off his helmet and did a visual sweep of the area. Nothing happening, no one about.

Safe to call her to come down.

A smart man would go home now. He didn’t need this complication in his life. Imogen had the power to ruin his carefully laid out plans.

One taste, his tiger prodded him. What was the point of denying himself something no one would ever know about?

Shaking his head, Merrick kicked out the stand and took out his mobile to text her.
Come outside
.

A light came on upstairs, and he saw her face peek out the window. A couple minutes later she exited the front door, closing it with care before walking to him.

She wore a trench coat and sunglasses. Her legs were bare, capped with heels so high it was a wonder she didn’t break her ankle with each step. Her hair was down, flowing past her shoulders, shiny and inviting to touch.

She walked right up to him. “You’re in plain sight. What if someone saw you?”

“I checked to make sure there was no one around.”

“Clever of you.” Her smile spelled trouble. She held her hand out for the helmet.

Giving it to her, he watched her put it on. His body clenched as she hopped up behind him and wrapped herself around him. “Let’s go,” she told him in her molten voice.

He couldn’t get home fast enough. When he parked, she grabbed the front of his jacket and walked him to the hidden entrance at the back of his house. Once he let them in, she led the way straight to his bedroom.

She pushed him on the bed and crawled up so her knees straddled his thighs. She undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t missed me at all.”

He looked down at his very obvious erection. “Is that what it looks like now?”

“It looks like the best Christmas now.” She grinned at him. “Maybe Christmas and a birthday thrown in.”

He hissed as she reached her hot hands inside his pants and drew him out. She held him with firm pressure, running her fist down over him until he had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding in her hands.

Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes in time to watch her undo the belt on her coat to reveal perfection in sheer white underwear. It cupped and cradled her in a way that made him almost swallow his tongue. It reminded him of the first time he saw her.

“Do you want to unwrap your present?” she asked, letting her coat slide down her arms. Shoving it out of the way, her shoes still on, she bent over him.

He ran his hands down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her into him. “This is much better than the last present I received.”

She nuzzled his neck. “What was it?”

“A garden gnome.”

She lifted off him, sitting on his waist. “You aren’t serious.”

He nodded. “Valerie was trying to make a point. If you knew her, it’d make some sort of strange sense.”

“What was her point?”

“That I’m dull.”

Imogen tipped her head and studied him with intensity that no longer shocked him as much as it had at first. “Are you?”

“I’m not the boy rock star any longer, Imogen.” He ran his hand down her torso. “I’m a grown man. I have responsibilities. That may seem dull to some.”

“Somehow I don’t think Valerie would care about those things.” Before he could formulate a response, she leaned down and kissed him.

He’d never cared much for kissing. It was necessary—women liked it. If he had a choice, he’d skip it and get on with the sex.

But Imogen kissed as if she was eating the most delicious meal of her life. She tasted and nibbled. She sighed and moaned. She used her whole body to experience it.

He liked that. A lot. He could see kissing her for a long time. He even shocked himself by wanting it more than he wanted to feel himself slide into her.

But she had other ideas. She produced a condom from somewhere and sheathed him quickly. Bracing a hand on his chest, she guided him into her.

They both sighed.

Then she laid her body on top of his and began kissing him again.

It was intoxicating. He felt her head to toe, her soft form pressed against his, the warmth of her enveloping him. He couldn’t breathe, his head swimming, and he gripped her to try to steady himself.

But she rocked against him, bent on pleasure—bent on breaking him.

He was powerless to resist her.

As he felt his orgasm building, he tried to distract himself from it.

Imogen gasped “Merrick” and then he felt her body begin to convulse and clench.

It pushed him over the edge. Crying out, he followed her into pleasure.

She collapsed on top of him, panting. “I’ve been thinking of that since the other night.”

He ran a hand over the gentle bumps of her spine. “But you left early.”

“It seemed better than staying and having an awkward morning,” she said, sounding a little too offhand.

Lifting her chin, he looked her in the eye. “Would it have been awkward?”

“We decided this was only sex,” she replied.

Merrick nodded, but he was oddly annoyed by her statement.

She rolled onto her back, next to him. “It seemed safer to leave under the cover of night. Less chance of anyone catching us. You didn’t want that.”

No, but he didn’t like hearing her say it. “I doubt that anyone will catch on.”

She arched her brows. “Won’t your neighbors become suspicious of a strange woman coming and going?”

“My neighbors have a vested interest in keeping the media out of their lives.” It was one of the reasons his manager had selected this house. Other celebrities inhabited the neighborhood, plus the odd cabinet member who wanted to live under the radar of the public. It was a good place to stick a teenage rock star without proper supervision—especially one who had a predilection for getting into trouble.

“Why did you go into politics?”

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, turning to rest her chin on his chest. “You don’t like talking about your previous public life, which one would interpret as preferring privacy. Yet you selected a public career.”

For Michaela. He touched Imogen’s hair, compelled to tell her about his sister. Instead, he asked, “Why did you go into acting?”