Make Me Lose Control (18 page)

He pressed the side of his face against her temple, and she slid her hands under his T-shirt to the burning skin of his back. He groaned as she explored the heavy muscles there, and it aroused her unbearably to feel them bunch beneath her palms.

Emboldened by his obvious pleasure in her touch, she found the hem of his shirt and started yanking, trying to bare his magnificent chest. But he was tall and still holding on to her and she growled in frustration as she tried to make the shirt magically disappear.

His laugh was low, amused. “Wait, honey,” he said. “I’ve got this.” Then he half stepped back and reached one hand between his shoulder blades to grasp the cotton and pull it free.

She stared. She’d been stealing glances at him after his half-naked runs, and now she could trace the contours there with one fingertip: his pectorals, his abdominals, those incredibly sexy angled indentations at each hip that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

He flinched when she drew a faint line just above the denim. “God, Shay,” he said, and she saw his hands fist at his sides. “You want to kill me, don’t you?”

What she wanted next...she decided to show him. Dropping to her knees, she grasped the top button of his pants. He groaned, his whole body tensing, and she saw the thick column beneath his zipper jerk beneath the heavy fabric.

Shay wanted to see that naked, too.

He went absolutely still as she worked at unfastening. Beneath the denim he’d gone commando, and he was hot and incredibly hard in her hand as she drew him free. Above her, he breathed in and out in rough pants and she glanced up to see his eyes were fever-bright and that color edged his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Still watching him, she leaned forward to draw her tongue around the silky head.

He gasped, his eyes closed, and one hand shot out to brush the top of her hair. She drew him into her mouth, wetting the sleek skin as far as she could take him. His fingers tightened in her hair, not directing, just holding on as she took up a soft, sucking rhythm.

She shuffled forward on her knees to take more, catching the material of her nightshirt beneath them, causing it to tighten over her breasts that felt so heavy, almost too full. Her eyes closed as she moaned around the column of flesh in her mouth. The intimacy of the act was causing something to come undone inside her. She was heated, molten at her core, but some brand-new sensation was swirling in her chest and rushing through her blood, something wholly unknown to her.

Jace’s fingers tightened again, the small pull a delicious little pain that raced across her scalp. As she moaned again his other hand caught her arm and he pulled her up.

“Hey—” He silenced her protest with a kiss, deep and erotic, and she swayed into his body, his broad chest holding her up.

Then he was moving forward, using his strength to herd her toward the bed. She stumbled a little on her feet, and he swung her up again, only to lay her against the covers like precious treasure. Standing over her, he stared down, and the look of him set her heart thumping against her ribs. His features were hardened by desire, his bare chest moved up and down with heavy breaths, his arousal jutted forward through the open placket of his jeans.

She remembered Poppy saying he looked at her like he needed utensils and she saw it now, that hungry gaze, the greedy need on his face that matched the same simmering in her belly and below.

Nothing could appear more primitively male. He was the victor, she the spoils. The conqueror and the maiden. It was every single romantic, erotic fantasy she’d ever had...

And it was Jace.

His magnificent body and golden eyes. His delicious weight that came down on top of her. She parted her thighs as he tilted his head and found the perfect angle for another long, inebriating kiss.

His hands moved, drew up her nightshirt and flung it away. She pressed up, arched her naked breasts against his chest, her nipples rubbing into the crisp hair there.

Jace’s mouth lowered again and sipped at her skin. He tongued her neck on the way to her breasts and he sucked and toyed with them, murmuring praise.
You’re so beautiful...perfect...you taste like flowers...lift up while I take off your panties...oh, there you are...so soft, so hot.

Shay didn’t have legions of lovers to compare him to, but she’d never had a man speak to her like this during sex. His words slurred together a little, like he was getting drunk on the taste of her flesh. He circled her navel with his tongue, he bit lightly on the curve of her hip, he lifted one hand to examine her fingers and his mouth rubbed over each joint.

It was as if he were cataloging her, inch by inch, and it seemed to take her to a higher plane, to a cloud maybe, where she floated in a sexual haze.

“Have you ever,” he said, moving up to drop kisses on her temple, her hairline, the side of her nose, “seen a fairy house?”

Her neck arched as he rubbed his whiskered chin against it. “Fairy house?”

“Mmm.” His lips touched the side of her breast. “Years and years ago, an old lady who knew I liked to work with my hands requested I make her one.”

Now he was focused on his thumb, lightly circling her tight nipple. The close attention made her feel flushed and shivery.

“Well,” she managed to say, “you are very good with your hands.”

He glanced up, smiled.

It made her shiver again. She sifted her fingers through his hair. “Tell me about the fairy house.”

“You make them with natural materials. Moss, bark, acorns.” He took her hand from his hair, kissed it, then placed it, palm up, on the pillow beside her head. The other hand received the same treatment. “The one I built for Mrs. Sugarman was about yea big.” He pantomimed a rectangle, smaller than a shoe box.

Now one fingertip drifted lazily down her center line and her legs moved restlessly. “What did she do with it?”

He tugged on the soft curls at her center. “She had me set it outside, of course.” His glance met hers again. “To attract a fairy.”

She tried imagining it, this so-masculine man creating such a small piece of whimsy.

Leaning down, he spoke into her ear. “You inspire me to make another, Shay. I’d construct it using eucalyptus bark for walls and layered maple leaves for the roof, soft moss as a rug for the floor. Inside I’d place a bed of petals plucked from summer roses.”

“To give to me? A present?”

“Oh, no.” His head lifted so he could look into her eyes. “I’d keep it for myself. Find the ideal spot in my yard, wherever that might be, and set it out...in hopes of luring you.”

Shay’s heart stopped, then it started moving again, a flurry of beats that pushed a new, dizzying, euphoric feeling through her bloodstream. Her skin flushed hotter and she couldn’t move as he placed a kiss in the cup of one palm, and then the other.

“My sweet fairy,” he murmured. “If I was a different man, I’d do just about anything to capture and keep you.”

The words soared, wheeled and turned inside her head.
My sweet fairy. I’d do just about anything...

Then he was over her, his erection already covered by a condom. The blunt tip of him pressed against her soft center and she was so turned on that he slipped inside with little resistance, despite his big size. But he pressed forward in increments, tiny little nudges that made the possession a long, delirious process of exquisite yielding.

Shay was dizzied by all of it, the delicious, gratifying penetration, the heat in his golden eyes, the sound of his voice, murmuring to her again.
Oh, baby...tight...take me in...you’re incredible...hot...so hot.

Finally, he was fully seated and she closed her eyes on a moan. It was as if he’d reached some place that had never been touched before. Another chemical cocktail poured into her bloodstream, some brilliant, electrifying combination of adrenaline and champagne bubbles she’d never experienced.

It both exhilarated and alarmed her. As he started moving, his hips surging in a purposeful rhythm, more euphoria coursed through her. There must be another name for it, she thought, something that would cover all this...this physical sensation and stunning intimacy.

But she didn’t know what that would be...

Unless...

Jace slid his hands beneath her bottom and tilted her hips, allowing him to slide inside her another elemental increment. She gasped, and he filled her mouth with his tongue as he began another devastating kiss.

Her arms came around him and he shifted, so they lay on their sides. Both heads on the pillow, her top thigh propped on his, his body still thrusting, joining deeply with hers. Not conqueror and maiden now, but equals, man and woman.

Jace and Shay.

And then she knew what this feeling was, this thing she’d never felt before. It was—oh, God—it was love.

She was in love with him.

The knowledge stunned her. Scared her.

And yet, her body still moved with his, its commitment made to the act of love, and when he slid his hand between them, his fingers toying with the slick surface of her clitoris, she arched into the touch, letting it take her over the falls and into the deep.

Where she heard a final echo of his voice like the sensation of cold water closing over her head.
If I were a different man...

* * *

L
ONDON
DIDN
’
T
HAVE
to do much arm-twisting to get a ride to the community library on Saturday afternoon. Shay was heading out to run some errands and said she’d drop her off and pick her up an hour or so later. Since Colton hadn’t specified exactly what time he brought his sister, London could only hope that she’d encounter him there.

She tugged on the ends of her denim shorts, and Shay glanced over from the driver’s seat. “You look cute,” she said.

The compliment eased London’s self-consciousness a little. The outfit was similar to things she’d seen the teens around town wearing. Paired with the denim shorts was a lacy short-sleeved top in white that had a little swing to it around the hemline. With them she wore these half boots she’d loved the minute she saw them. They were a natural-colored leather and lug-soled, with lace insets on the calf portion. A pretty version of a hiking boot.

As Shay pulled to the curb in front of the library, London flipped down the overhead visor and checked out her face in the mirror. Her highlighted hair hung smoothly around her face. The makeup had stayed where she’d put it—as she’d been shown by the stylist at the salon. A touch of taupe shadow and pink blush. A thin tracing of dark brown liner around her eyes and a light coat of mascara. Berry-colored lip gloss.

With a casual “See you later,” she stepped onto the sidewalk.

The path to the door seemed like a mile, but her life was all about walking forward now, not waiting for things to happen to her. Though her legs still felt too bare, she forced herself not to tug on her shorts again. As she reached the entry, a pair of girls exited. She was grateful to notice they’d rolled the hems of theirs to even greater heights. The white triangle ends of the front pockets showed below.

Once inside, London realized she didn’t know quite where to go. It was an expansive space with shelves of books, rows of tables topped with computers and several seating areas made up of comfortable-looking chairs with nearby racks of magazines and newspapers. In one corner a giant Winnie-the-Pooh hung suspended from the ceiling, which she figured denoted the children’s area.

Knowing to avoid that, London wandered in the opposite direction.

As she passed through stacks of cookbooks—Dewey call number 641, a piece of trivia she filed away to surprise Shay with later—she saw a knot of teens gathered at another cushioned seating area. Her feet stuttered and her stomach did a little pancake flip. Colton was there, along with another boy she thought might be his friend John, as well as a couple of girls.

John glanced her way but his gaze bumped right over her. Of course, she thought, he didn’t recognize her. She wouldn’t have guessed his identity, either, except she’d gotten a closer look at him when he left the boathouse with Bess the other night.

Swallowing, she directed her attention to the row of colorful books, pretending an avid interest. There were two devoted to broccoli alone. Who knew?

Still half facing the shelves, she slid a gaze toward the kids again. Colton was only getting cuter, she decided. He had on a ragged pair of shorts that hung low on his hips, his leather flip-flops and a white T-shirt that emphasized his golden tan. His sandy hair was more sun-streaked than ever. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and she noted the ropy muscles of his arms.

It hit her all over again.
Almost a senior in high school!

Maybe he felt her regard, because his head suddenly jerked her way. Caught, she could only remain still and wait for his reaction. But...

There was none.

Yes, his gaze momentarily seemed to take her in, then one of the girls said something and he returned his attention to the group. It was almost as if...as if...

He hadn’t recognized her!

She didn’t know whether to be insulted or delighted.

Or what her next move should be.

Uncertain, she turned back to the broccoli books, going so far as to pull one free. Her fingers idly turned the pages, though she didn’t actually absorb a single recipe.

A voice murmured close to her ear. “I’m never eating pancakes that look like
that
.”

She clamped down on the urge to jump. “Green is not a good color for pancakes,” she agreed, trying to appear calm as she shut the book and reshelved it. “Hi, Colton.”

He smiled. “Hi, England. It took me a minute to realize it was you.”

Her hand lifted. “I changed my hair.”

He stepped back to survey her from head to toe. She fought not to squirm. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” She shifted a shoulder.

“You made it back to your house okay?”

He was talking about the Seven Minutes in Heaven night. Though it still embarrassed her to think of it, she was relieved that she’d gotten out of kissing Sam.
Wet sloppies!