Overnight Sensation (10 page)

He nodded. “Uh, yeah, pretty much.” He cleared his throat, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the subject, but he didn’t look away. If anything, the expression in his eyes appeared almost challenging, as if he half expected her to scoff at him. “It happened just like it says in the script.”

“So there you were, injured and unconscious, and she had no choice but to remove your clothes and tend your wounds, even tearing strips from her own clothing to use as makeshift bandages.” Ivy arched a eyebrow. “They didn’t have a first-aid station at the mission?”

“Yeah, well, the place was swarming with cartel, and she didn’t want to risk being caught carrying bandages and medical supplies into the church.” He turned away to pull two bottles of beer out of the small fridge in the makeshift kitchen. He slid her a sideways glance. “I was delirious, and she spent hours sponging my brow and body with cool water. She never left my side. When I finally regained consciousness, there she was…my guardian angel.”

His voice was impersonal, as if he disliked talking about those days. He turned back toward her as he pried the cap from the beer in his hand and extended the bottle to her. “And that was it. The rest, as they say, is history.”

The tightness in Ivy’s chest intensified, making it difficult for her to catch her breath, and a moment passed before she recognized the tightness for what it was—longing. That longing to experience firsthand what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Garrett’s attentions. Even now, when he was being politely deferential and keeping his distance, he was compelling. She could only imagine how completely irresistible he would be when he set his mind on seduction.

She accepted the beer from his outstretched hand. “So far, you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know. I mean, all that is in the script.”

She sounded peevish, but she couldn’t help it. She was unprepared when he set his own beer down on the stone counter and closed the short distance between them, invading her space until she instinctively stepped backward. Her rear encountered the edge of the rough-hewn table, but still he came, crowding her.

She gasped when his big hands encircled her waist and lifted her onto the table, and he stood between her knees. The movement pushed the skirt of her dress high up on her legs. The sight of her bare thighs bracketing his denim-clad hips momentarily transfixed her.

“So what is it, exactly, that you want to know?” he demanded softly. He cupped her jaw in one warm, callused hand and tilted her face back, searching her eyes. “What it was like when I kissed her here?” He traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, his gaze never leaving hers. “Or here?” He stroked the back of his fingers along her jaw and down the side of her neck, causing shivers up and down her spine. She stopped breathing when his fingertips trailed over her collarbone and came to rest on the smooth skin below, exposed by the open collar of her dress. “Or how about…here?”

Ivy dragged in a shuddering breath as her body reacted to his touch. He was so near she could see the stubble that shadowed his lean jaw. She breathed in his male scent. Everything about him was pure, unadulterated male. The rough fabric of his jeans brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and she had an overwhelming urge to wrap her legs around him and draw him nearer still.

The cold beer fell from her nerveless fingers, but she scarcely noticed as the bottle rolled off the table and clattered onto the floor in a froth of fragrant foam.

“What is it you want to know, Ivy?” His voice was low and insistent, his lips a mere breath from her own. He splayed his fingers across her upper chest until she was certain he could feel the frantic beating of her heart. “Tell me.”

“Everything,” she whispered raggedly, and watched, mesmerized, as he lowered his head toward her.

GARRETT COULD SCARCELY believe it. After two years of fantasizing about this woman, here he was kissing her, and this time there was no chance they’d be interrupted. Any second, he’d wake up and realize it was just another freaking dream, and he’d find himself alone and frustrated.

But this was better than any dream he’d ever had.

Her lips were incredibly soft. She tasted like wild honey and sweet arousal. It was a total turn-on. Garrett wanted to devour her, to spread her across the table and take her in the most primal way there was.

Instead, he used his lips to test hers and coax a response. She stiffened at the first touch of his mouth against her own, and beneath his palm, her breathing stopped. Still, he continued, planting small kisses along the closed seam of her mouth. He used his teeth to nip at the fullness of her lower lip.

He knew the moment her resistance melted. She exhaled on a helpless sigh and her entire body sagged. Garrett made a sound of approval and slanted his lips across hers, licking and nibbling and taking complete advantage of her small sigh to gain access to her mouth and sweep his tongue inside.

She tasted dark and hot and potent. He cupped the lush curves of her buttocks and pulled her forward, to the very edge of the table. Through the thin material of her dress, her skin was warm against his palms.

She moaned softly, before winding her arms around his neck. One hand tangled itself in his hair, while the other clutched his back and drew him nearer.

Garrett complied, drawing her into his arms until her breasts were crushed against his chest. He urged her hips closer, pushing himself against the juncture of her thighs until he could feel her, hot and needy, against the front of his button-fly jeans.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard for a woman. His blood roared in his ears, and his senses were filled with the taste and feel of her.

“Oh, God,” she panted, dragging her lips away. “I don’t—I didn’t mean—” She broke off. Her breathing was ragged, her expression dazed.

“Hey,” he murmured, cradling her face in his hands and smoothing a thumb over her lip. His own breathing was a little uneven. “It’s okay. We’re just moving too fast.” He bent his head so he could look into her eyes. “I’ll slow down. Okay?”

When she raised her eyes to him, Garrett’s heart nearly stopped at the raw desire on her face. “Is that how it was with Helena?” Her voice was husky. “Slow? Did you go slowly with her?”

He tilted his head in bemusement. “What?”

For several endless seconds, he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. Then he remembered. Damn. One kiss, and he’d forgotten all about Helena and the reason Ivy was even there in the first place. It wasn’t because she was hot for him; it was because she needed pointers on how to make her on-screen love scenes rock.

“No,” he growled. “We didn’t take it slow.” He didn’t want to talk about Helena, didn’t want to tell Ivy that he and the missionary hadn’t taken it slow, fast or otherwise. They hadn’t taken it, period.

He tipped her face up, ignoring her gasp. She was so close that his breath disturbed the loose tendril of hair that had fallen against her temple. Her own breathing was shallow and rapid. Her fingers still curled around the back of his neck, and he was still pressed against the warm, sweet cradle of her hips. He felt her fingers tighten fractionally, and then she looked at him from beneath her lashes.

“Then I don’t want to go slow, either.”

The words emerged in a rush, and Garrett needed a few seconds to process what she’d said, and what it meant.

She didn’t want to go slow.

“Sweetheart—”

“Shh.” Whatever he’d been about to say, she halted him with her fingers against his lips. “Don’t talk. Just show me—show me what it was like to be her…with you.”

Her eyes searched his, and seeing the need in those shimmering espresso depths undid him. He groaned and slid his hands along her jaw, cradling her face in his palms and stroking the sensitive skin with the pads of his thumbs. But despite the fact that every male hormone in his body raged for him to take her, a part of him needed to make her understand his desire for her was real and had nothing to do with Helena Vanderveer. To tell Ivy fictitious stories about what had supposedly transpired between him and the missionary was one thing. To take advantage of Ivy like this was another thing altogether.

“Wait, Ivy,” he rasped, covering her fingers with his and pulling them away from his lips. “There’s something important I have to tell you—”

“I don’t want to know.” She squeezed her thighs around his and tunneled her hands into his hair, drawing his face down for another soul-wrenching kiss. “I just want to feel,” she breathed against his lips. “I want to feel what Helena felt…see what she saw…know what she knew…”

As if to make her meaning clear, she gave him a deep, openmouthed kiss, while at the same time wrapping her legs around his hips and pressing against him in an unmistakable invitation.

It was his undoing.

All thoughts of spilling his guts vanished, along with any vestiges of self-control. He’d wanted this for too long. If Ivy knew the truth—that there had been no romance with Helena—she’d be gone quicker than he could say hasta la vista, baby.

With a groan of surrender, Garrett slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her off the table. She made a soft sound of surprise, but didn’t protest. She just deepened the kiss and hung on.

Gripping her luscious bottom, her bare thighs clenched around his waist, Garrett turned and, in three easy strides, crossed to the bed and shoved the mosquito netting aside, then lowered himself onto the pillows. The weight of Ivy’s body on his was exquisite torture, but with her now straddling his hips, he had free access to her delectable backside.

He pushed his hands beneath the bunched-up skirt of her dress and stroked his palms along the outside of her thighs, reveling in the feel of her bare skin. She squirmed on top of him, rubbing herself against the hard ridge of his arousal. He wanted badly to touch her, to slide the insubstantial barrier of her panties aside and explore her thoroughly.

Instead, he reached up and pulled her ponytail free of the elastic band that held it. Her hair tumbled forward around her face in a fragrant mass of springy curls. He thrust his fingers into the silken corkscrews and caught her lower lip between his teeth, alternately nipping and then soothing the tender flesh with his tongue.

She made a soft sound of pleasure, and then her hands fisted in the material of his T-shirt, pushing it up until she could slide her palms beneath the hem. His stomach muscles contracted beneath her fingers. She pushed higher, smoothing her hands over his skin and trailing her fingertips across his nipples, pausing there to explore the hard nubs. She dragged her lips from his and, as he sucked wind, skated her mouth along his jaw until she caught his earlobe between her teeth.

Heat jackknifed through him, spiraled through his midsection. When her hands slid lower and lingered over the button of his jeans, he stopped breathing. For the space of a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Sensing her hesitation, Garrett reached down and captured her hand in his. “I want this, babe,” he rasped, “but only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Her breath hitched. “Please…let me.”

Garrett groaned again. He was riding a wave of pure, unadulterated lust, and nothing short of an act of God would prevent him from letting Ivy have her way.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said, his voice husky, “I’m all yours.”

IVY KNEW SHE WAS GOING too far, but she was too far gone to care. Even the knowledge that she was just a substitute for the woman he really wanted wasn’t enough to cool the molten heat of desire that flowed through her. His touch, combined with the hot, sexy expression in his eyes, was enough to make her lose her head. She could actually feel her brain cells blinking off one by one.

With one hand braced on his muscular chest, she used her other to unfasten the button on the front of his jeans. Her knuckles brushed against the hard thrust of his erection beneath the denim, and she didn’t miss how he sucked in his breath at the contact. The knowledge that she could affect him—a tough, uncompromising soldier—with a mere touch was heady stuff. It was almost enough to make up for the fact she was no more than a stand-in for the woman he really wanted.

Ivy slowly unbuttoned his jeans and then, sweet heaven—the guy was going commando. Ivy didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as gorgeous as his long, thick erection, dark against the paler skin of his abdomen. Desire, sharp and fierce, knifed through her. More than a year had passed since she’d been in any kind of relationship, and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to want a guy so badly she physically ached; to anticipate touching him, tasting him…taking him.

She swallowed hard and glanced up at Garrett’s face. His features were drawn taut, and his eyes glowed in the indistinct light as he watched her. He used one hand to sweep her hair back from her face, and then bent his free arm behind his head. The gesture said clearly she could do as she pleased.

Emboldened by the heat in his eyes, Ivy slipped her fingers around his shaft, her heart thudding in her chest. He was large, no question about it; he was probably impressive even when not aroused. If this is what Helena Vanderveer had glimpsed when bathing Garrett’s injured body, no wonder she’d wanted to nurse him back to health with her own hands. The guy gave a whole new meaning to the term hardened soldier.

“Oh, my,” she murmured in appreciation, devouring him with her eyes. He has like hot silk beneath her hand. In awe, she smoothed a thumb across the blunted head of his erection. When it came away slick with moisture, an answering heat pooled in her center. Unable to resist, she circled her fingers around him.