Ricochet (9 page)

She was so damn cute all curled into his big shirt like that, her dark hair spilling over the light blue fabric, the sleeves down to her elbows. “Counteroffer,” he said. “You keep the shirt, give up the bra and panties,
but
…” He held up his index finger and paused, then tapped his own chest, “I get to take them off.”

She smirked. “I think I know who the shark is around here.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Do-do, do-do,” she sang, imitating the Jaws theme song. “Do-do, do-do.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled out of him. “Escargot it is.”

She cried out in melodramatic distress. “Okay, okay.”

He picked up the phone and ordered fondue.

When he pulled out his wallet to put the charge on his card, Rachel said, “No, put it on the room.” Ryker hesitated, and Rachel dipped her chin and gave him a stern look. “They owe me.”

Actually, Ryker was beginning to think
he
owed
them
, but he couldn’t exactly explain that without blowing his chance at the rest of the night with her. So he charged dinner to the room and started back to the sofa, prepared for that always-awkward, between-sexual-acts time period where he and a woman attempted to talk. He’d gotten decent at the meaningless stuff over the years, but had discovered that even if he sucked at talking, women still wanted to fuck him.

“Okay, I get it,” she said, pointing at his Rangers tattoo as soon as he turned around. The classic emblem of the Army Rangers, a star with two rifles crossed in the background and a ribbon cutting across the image, took up most of his left flank. “Rangers. That’s, like, a football team, right? But what are the guns? Are they for, you know”—she lifted one arm and pretended to flex her biceps—“
these
guns?”

A split second passed before he realized she was completely serious. And he—completely unexpectedly—burst out laughing. The humor released his tension and became cathartic, which kept him laughing and sucked every ounce of stress from his body. Eyes watering, side burning, he bent and pressed a hand to the sofa arm as control returned.

“What did I say?” she asked, laughing at his laughter, those brown eyes sparkling.

He shook his head and wiped his eyes. “You’re just…priceless, that’s all. Most people don’t get that from this tattoo.”

To keep her from digging deeper about the tat, he crawled onto the sofa and lay out on his stomach. Propping his chin on one forearm, he reached out and slid his other palm down her smooth calf.

“We should take care of that underwear now.” He moved his hand back up her leg and under the hem of his shirt to her thigh. “Before the food gets here.”

She stretched her leg forward, giving him more skin to grope, and covered his hand with hers. It was so small, so perfect compared to his big, scarred one. Her nails were mid-length, manicured, and unpainted. Nothing like the long, blood red, fluorescent orange, or sparkling purple nails of the last three women he’d fucked in New Orleans.

“You’re not naked,” she said.

“First things first.” He pushed up onto his elbows, hooked a finger into her panties at each hip, and tugged. They slid low, showing the neat dark strip of hair down the middle of her pussy. “Jesus, you make my mouth go dry.”

She bit her lip with a sexy smile as her panties passed her silky thighs, her toned calves, her pretty little feet. Then she curled back into the shirt.

He pulled her foot out again by her toes, making her laugh, then stroked her leg until she relaxed. With his chin in his other hand, he met her eyes. “Tell me about Rachel. Your job is pretty, I don’t know, unusual. A beautiful woman, working around all those hunky guys, rich actors, powerful producers. You’ve got to have men after you all the time. What possessed you to pick up a nobody like me at a bar?”

Her smile disappeared, and a frown of disapproval created a crease between her slim brows. “Nobody is better than anyone else,” she said, voice soft. “Especially not based on fame or money or power or looks.”

Huh. Hit a nerve.

He massaged her instep with his thumb. “What about the guys you work with. You may think of them as brothers, but I can promise you, from a guy’s perspective, they don’t think of you as a sister. You’re way too sexy.”

Her frown eased into a smirk. “I don’t mix work and sex. Period. My job is hard enough as it is.”

His chest decompressed, but he had to be sure. “I don’t get how a hot little thing like you is unattached. Did you just get out of a relationship?”

“Not just. It’s been a while. And I like it this way. I’m busy, my life is complicated, full. I don’t have room for anything permanent or demanding.”

She almost couldn’t be any more perfect. One last clarification… “And the last relationship, it wasn’t with one of the guys you work with?”

“No.” She laughed and gave him a what-is-your-issue look. “I am very capable of drawing a hard friendship-only line. Of course”—she grinned—“my boss’s ‘Hands off Rachel’ policy is also helpful.”

Ryker chuckled and refrained from punching his fist in the air. “Smart boss. Nothing would get done if they were fantasizing about you all the time.”

“Oh, Nathan,” she sighed. “You haven’t been in LA long. After a few days, you’ll realize this part of the country is wall-to-wall glamour. And, honey, you will have those hotties flocking to you by noon tomorrow. I’m lucky I caught your eye before they did.”

Her fingers sank deeper into his hair, and her head lowered, resting against his. The gesture made the last bit of tension drain from Ryker’s shoulders. Made his eyes slide closed. But whatever connection they’d made in this short time created an uneasy ache in his chest too. One too similar to the loneliness he’d suffered since his men had been killed. One that made him a little edgy. A little desperate.

He turned his head and kissed her mouth. She hummed in pleasure, her lips sliding easily along his. That was all it took to haze the unease. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to keep it away.

Ryker hooked a hand around her neck to keep their mouths fused and rolled to his back. A little moan slipped from her throat as her tongue stroked his. Fire erupted immediately. And now that fire was mixed with the gasoline of some dark emotion he needed to burn out.

Kneeling above his head now, Rachel’s hands slid down his chest, his abdomen, then back up to his chest, and a delicious sound of sexual need rolled from her throat. Her fingers stoked his nipples, zinging excitement across Ryker’s skin and making him suck a sharp breath.

She broke the kiss, her lips traveling over his jaw and down his neck on a sigh. Her hair fell forward, the soft, sweet-smelling strands trailing across Ryker’s face. She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his shoulder, then kissed a line toward his belly button His own T-shirt brushed his face as she leaned forward, and he dragged in the sexually intoxicating smell of their mingled scents.

Her lips closed over his nipple, and he flinched with a shock of pleasure. Warm and tight, her mouth sucked, and sensation spread like a starburst. Ryker groaned, stretched his hands up to mold his T-shirt to her body. With her breasts positioned directly over his face, he tugged the fabric up, pushed the lace away, and pulled her nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily.

Her high-pitched, “Oh,” vibrated against his skin, and the pinch of her teeth on his nipple made him groan and suck her harder.

He felt for the clasp to her bra, twisted the clip open, and pulled the fabric off her arms. Her breasts fell free, and he moaned at the delicious sight, cupping them with both hands and pressing the small, firm mounds together, licking her cleavage. Rachel’s sighs, moans, and mewls were like drops of gasoline on a fire.

Her hands slid over his abdomen, one stroking his erection through his pants, the other sliding his zipper down. Then her hand crept beneath his boxers, and they were skin to skin.

“God.” Ryker’s mouth broke from her nipple. “Rachel,” he panted, lifting into her touch. “Dinner’s going to be here soon.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She released his cock, rose up on her hands, and moved farther down his body, her hair sizzling a trail over his abdomen as her own belly came into view. Her hands pushed at the waistband of his jeans, and her intention hit him full force. Fierce hunger slammed his gut. Blood surged into his cock.

Christ, this woman was one wild surprise after another.

And he was all fucking in.

He gripped her waist and pulled her belly down to his mouth, kissing, biting, and licking his way lower. Rachel had his pants all the way down to his calves, and he kicked them off as she closed one hand around his cock and cupped his balls with the other. An electric jolt of pleasure made him flinch. He tilted his head to glance down, past her full breasts, and watch her lick her hand, then slide her palm over his length. Heat and pressure and friction slammed his lower body. He closed his eyes and lifted his hips.

Crazy erotic. Crazy good. Ryker pulled her hips down and buried his face in her soft lower belly, biting the skin there to ease the intensity of his pleasure. Then suckling to ease the sting. Rachel rose up on her knees again, gripped one of Ryker’s thighs, and pulled it wide, then the other. He did the same with hers and slid his hand between them, over her pussy. Soft. Warm. And wet again.

“Oh
God
…” Her pussy tightened at his touch. Her wetness slid over his fingers. She was swollen and pink and perfect.

Fuck fondue. He was eating now.

He gripped her hips to pull her down to his mouth at the same time Rachel sucked the head of his cock between her lips. He pulled a sharp breath, tensed at the wash of pleasure through his shaft, his balls. “Fuck, baby…”

She stroked him with her tongue, sucked and sucked, then pulled him slowly from her mouth, only to immediately suck him back in and begin the exquisite torture again. Lust hammered him, and a wicked hunger swamped his body. He pulled Rachel’s hips down and opened his mouth over her pussy.

A surprised sound of pleasure rolled through her throat. She sucked him harder. Licked faster. Driving Ryker to do the same. He stroked a heavy tongue over her, ate at her, sucked, nibbled. He couldn’t get enough. Rachel’s mouth slid all the way down his cock until the head touched her throat. A twisted growl broke from his chest, and he lifted, pushing a little farther. Willing her to open. Instead, she swallowed, and the movement squeezed his cock in a tight, warm roll.

“Oh,
fuck
.” He dropped his head back. “Baby…fuck, that’s good.”

She hummed and swallowed again. And again. Ryker shuddered with every shot of ecstasy, barely holding off his orgasm. And in the back of his mind, that damn room service knock was coming.

When she took a break and drew him from her mouth, Ryker pulled her folds open, exposing the swollen bud of her clit, and sucked it between his lips. Her moan of pleasure, drove him to give more. He reveled in the respite from her mouth working her clit with his tongue, his lips. Pushed two fingers deep inside her and searched for that swell that made her scream.

Her hips undulated, her hand pumped his cock while she popped his head between her lips over and over. Ryker’s hold on his climax slipped. He growled, nuzzled his mouth deeper, sucked harder.

Her orgasm broke just in time. Her hand clenched his cock on a long, deep cry of release. Her body stiffened and jerked and twisted. Ryker let go of his own climax, and it burst through him in a fiery stream of current and a guttural cry from his core.

Panting, legs shaking, Rachel rolled to her back, thudding onto the sofa next to him. She threw her arm over her eyes, chest heaving. And his own T-shirt, now draping messily over her chest and leaving the rest of her delicious body, was stained a dark blue where she’d pumped out his orgasm. The sight made him smile with a strange combination of lust and...he could only describe the sensation as ownership.

“Jesus,” she breathed. “You’re…” She shook her head. “You’re…”

She licked her lips, sighed, lifted her arm, and stared at the ceiling.

A knock on the door startled them both, and they jackknifed into sitting positions at the same time, then looked at each other and laughed.

“Room service,” a male voice called through the door.

Rachel glanced down his body, then her own, and grinned so big, her dimple curved deep into her cheek.

“One minute,” he called to the guy, then fisted his hand and held it in the space between them. “Rock, paper, scissors?””

Her brows shot up. “Seriously?” She gestured down the shirt that had fallen to cover her body. “You want me to answer the door like this?”

“Chicken,” he teased, pulling her hand into the space between them, closing his own fingers around hers so she made a fist. “Come on. One, two, three.”

He held the fist. She flattened her hand. She laughed, covered his hand with hers, wrapping the paper around his rock, and drew out the word, “Loser.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, grinning. “Best two out of three.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know I’m not answering the door.” She shoved his hand away and flopped back on the sofa. “And hurry up. Now I’m hungry for more than a few pieces of bread and cheese, too, and I’ve got some great ideas for that chocolate dessert.”