Sinful Temptation (11 page)

Magic.

Except that her little shorts were in his way, and he couldn’t have that, now, could he?

So he worked his fingers under the elastic waistband, stripping shorts and skimpy panties down her legs in one fell swoop.

There she was. His prize—the last and only one he’d ever want. Waxed and bare, the thick folds ruddy and engorged. Glistening. He dipped his head, and she obligingly spread her thighs so he could smell her. She had that raw musk, the earthy fragrance of an aroused woman, and the scent, in combination with the lush fruity scent that was purely Talia went straight to his head in an intoxicating rush.

He licked her, needing a taste.

Her responsive cry was sharp and unabashed, and hot enough to drive him over the edge into insanity if he didn’t get inside her
now.

No, but wait—condoms.

Cursing with impatience, he levered up over her body, reaching for that drawer again, where he kept some ancient condoms from before his last stint overseas. Hopefully they hadn’t disintegrated into rubber bits by now.

He was in luck. By the time he’d ripped the package open and peeled one out with his fumbling fingers, she’d taken care of his boxer briefs, yanking them down far enough for his erection to spring free.

He covered up, managing a shaky laugh. “I’m dying here.”

She laughed, too, swiping at her sparkling eyes. “So am I. You have no idea.”

Smoothing her forehead, he kissed it as he lowered his hips down into position. “So why are you crying?”

“Because I’ve wanted this.”

That wasn’t
quite
what he needed to hear. “Wanted…?” he prompted.

“You. I’ve wanted you.”

He took his penis in hand and ran the swollen head back and forth between her folds, gasping at the slick heat.

“Since when have you wanted me?”

Another shimmering tear fell and, Jesus, he’d swear she melted as he eased inside her tight body, sighing and crooning as her eyes rolled closed. Watching her…feeling her…possessing her…it was all he could do to control his body’s shudders as he tried to master a rhythm rather than fall into the frenzied thrusting that his surging blood demanded.

“Always,” she said as their bodies began to rise and fall together, and her silver bracelets clinked in time to their movements. “I’ve always wanted you.”

At that point, talking became impossible. Everything became impossible except his frantic effort to get close enough to her and to hang on to her once she splintered in his arms, calling his name and demanding more…harder…
now,
as she gripped his ass and took everything he had.

When he came, his body convulsed and he felt his face twist with ecstasy. He cried out, throwing back his head and letting loose with a hoarse shout that was full of joy, triumph and perfection.

It wasn’t that he was perfect, God knew, and the haunted shadows behind Talia’s eyes that she refused to share with him also made her less than perfect. They had issues, and he knew it—issues individually and as a couple. The thing was, though, they were perfect together. Perfect for each other.

Which worried him, because his life, thus far, had certainly not been a model of calm seas and smooth sailing. Anxiety niggled at him for as long as he let it, which was about two seconds. And then he shoved it in its dungeon, extinguished the torches and turned the key in its lock.

Later for that. Maybe never.

There…that was better. He felt lighter already.

Being with Talia felt like opening the door on a whole new world of possibilities. As though he was finally moving out of the black-and-white portion of his life and into high-def color. As though he could finally get out from under death’s shadow.

Exhausted and emotionally spent, far beyond managing anything as complex as a smile, he stared down at her, wanting to make sure she was okay. Her brown eyes were wide and clear now, warm and intent. There were things he wanted to tell her, but now with their bodies and gazes connected, he had the feeling that she’d already seen and accepted everything about him.

“Talia,” he began anyway.

“Shh.” Sliding her hands up his shoulders and around his neck, she pressed him back down, took his full weight, anchored her legs around his and flipped the linens over them both. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Wrapped up warm and tight, with his love in his arms, Tony lowered his head and fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 8

T
alia didn’t sleep.

She watched Tony, which was much more interesting. He was a starfish, hogging the entire bed with his arms and legs spread wide, and he seemed to spend equal amounts of time on his back and stomach. He didn’t snore, nor did he seem to dream, although he did murmur her name once. In sleep, his face was smooth and relaxed, and it was possible to believe that he’d never been to war or suffered.

But what had he told her? The war always comes back?

Yeah. That.

She’d been fighting her own war this past year, hadn’t she? In the morning, that fight would be back. Again.

So she didn’t sleep.

When the first streaks of orange light crept around the edges of the drapes, she got up and tiptoed out of the room, trying not to disturb him. He didn’t move, poor baby. God knew when he’d last slept well.

After a quick shower back in her room, she threw on a white tank and button-down shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and her electric-blue wig.

Blue was appropriate, she thought. No doubt she’d be ending the day in the depths of despair, so why not dress the part? Hell, she might as well put on a little Miles Davis while she was at it;
Kind of Blue
pretty much covered it.

Wow. Wasn’t she the queen of self-pity this lovely morning?

Nice job, Talia. You’re a regular role model to women everywhere, aren’t you?

Well, it was time to get started on the mural. If nothing else, she’d been hired to do a job, and it was now first thing Monday morning, so she might as well hit the clock and get to work.

Okay, she though, surveying her work area. Where had she put her sketches? Were they back in the—

“Hey.”

Oh, God.

Tony came around the corner from the other wing, stretching and smiling a sleepy, sexy morning smile. Apparently modesty was not a virtue he struggled with, because he hadn’t bothered throwing on any clothes. His boxer briefs—they were gray, she saw in the morning light—were slung low over his notched hips, and there was an interesting bulge in front.

Her body tightened accordingly, which was ridiculous. Last night, she’d had the most amazing sex of her life and she really should be satisfied for a while.

She wasn’t, though.

Tony crept closer, all gleaming skin, rippling muscles and sinew. But something in her face must have troubled him, because his steps slowed and he stopped short without touching her.

He stared at her, growing wariness in his brown eyes. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I slept great.” His dimples emerged, color flooding his sharp cheekbones. “You probably noticed.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.” His voice dropped, becoming husky and seductive. “Come back to bed. I was really looking forward to waking up with you.”

“Tony—”

His shoulders stiffened, squaring off, and a shadow darkened his expression. She hated doing this to him.

Hated everything about what would happen next.

“Don’t do this to me, Talia. Not after last night. Don’t push me away.”

“I’m not. But…we need to talk.”

Reaching out, he stroked those gentle fingers over her forehead, tracing an eyebrow…the bridge of her nose…the curve of her bottom lip.

“I don’t want to talk. I want to make love.”

“So do I,” she admitted.

“Then what’s stopping us?”

She swallowed, working hard to master the growing lump in her throat. “I’ve put this off long enough.”

Behind them, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Mickey rolled out, already speaking in midsentence. “I just thought I’d swing by and make sure— Hey! Whoa! How about you two giving a guy some warning?”

Talia wasn’t up for facing Mickey just yet, but Tony spared him a quick glance, waving a hand.

“Give us a minute, Mick,” he said quietly.

“Happy to,” Mickey muttered, backing into the waiting elevator again and punching the buttons five or six times. “Anytime you’re marching around in your Skivvies, you can include me out.”

The door slid shut again, leaving them alone in the heavy silence.

Somber now, Tony hit her with that intense gaze of his, so earnest she could almost hear the snap of her heart as it broke in two. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever it is—it can’t be that bad.”

If only that were true. She couldn’t speak.

“Talia? You’re scaring me right now. It’s not that bad, right? You’re not married, are you?”

Married. That would be so much simpler. “No.”

“In hiding? An escaped criminal? Is that it?”

Talia opened her mouth, forcing each word out, because she knew that each syllable was a nail in the coffin of their fledgling relationship.

“I—I’ve…had some health issues.”

He nodded grimly. “I knew it. I’m going to get you checked out—”

God, this was hard.

She shook her head. “I already know what’s wrong.”

Now he was the one who couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“What…is it?”

Just say it, Talia.
“I have Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

Tony went utterly still, all expression draining out of his face. She stared into his eyes, but he no longer seemed to be there, inside his body.

“Hodgkin’s—?” he echoed softly.

“—Lymphoma. They used to call it Hodgkin’s disease. Cancer, Tony. I have cancer.”

Tony backed up a step, leaning into the wall for support. The color leached away from his skin, giving him a greenish tinge. “You have—”

“Cancer.”

Blinking hard now, nostrils flaring, he fought a mighty internal war of some sort and seemed to master his emotions. He swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was firmer.

“What, ah…where are you with your, ah, treatment?”

“I’ve had chemotherapy. Radiation. And surgery.”

His brows contracted. “Surgery?”

Without a word, she unbuttoned her shirt, revealing the puckered scar that ran between her collarbones.

She knew how it looked, but seeing the dawning comprehension on his face made it a million times worse.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “How did I miss that last night?”

“We were busy with other body parts last night, weren’t we?”

The joke did nothing to lighten the mood.

“So when you stopped writing to me—?” Tony wondered. “And all your dark paintings?”

“Right. I’d just been diagnosed. I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I didn’t think it was fair to encourage you when I was still seeing Paul.”

The mention of the name did something to Tony, and a bucketload of what might have been anger replaced the glazed look in his eyes.

“Paul?”

“He said that he loved me and he could handle anything.” Bitterness made her voice harder than she would have liked. “And he hung in there, too. Up until my hair started falling out.”

Reaching up, she pulled off her wig, deciding that she might as well hit him with everything at once. It was a relief, actually. The air felt cool against her scalp, and her hair was beginning to grow back. But it was taking forever, and she only had a scant half inch of silky curls at the moment.

And of course he’d had his hands on her head last night.

“I don’t care about your hair,” Tony told her.

Ah. Funny. Where had she heard that before?

Still, Tony was a different man from Paul. Maybe Tony actually thought he meant it. Maybe he did mean it.

His mouth worked, producing no sounds. He was so busy editing his words that he couldn’t get anything out. She couldn’t blame him. The process of dumping a sick woman could be pretty tricky, as she knew from painful experience.

“What’s, ah, what’s the doctor saying?”

That almost got a smile out of her. Really, he should’ve been a diplomat. He had the chops for it.

“What’s my prognosis? I don’t really know at the moment. I’m going to have another round of tests and scans soon. I’ll know better then.”

Tony’s face contorted, but she felt the hurt. His pained expression exactly matched what she was feeling in the center of her scarred chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

That made her laugh. “I did tell you. I told you I didn’t have room in my life for—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he roared.

“Why? So I could see you look at me exactly the way you’re doing? With pity for the poor sick woman who’s probably going to die soon? Are you serious?”

“Don’t say that,” he cried.

“Why not? It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

He backed up a step.
“Don’t ever say that again.”

She shrugged, suddenly too exhausted to speak.

It didn’t matter.

Another backward step took him farther away from her, as though he needed to get out of her radius of contagion.

“I’m going to need some time with this,” he told her.

Wow. Could she predict the future with eerie accuracy or what?

“Of course you are,” she said bitterly, turning her back on him and resuming the search for her sketches.

Tony’s only warning that an invasion was imminent was the jangle of keys in the lock of the penthouse’s front door. And then the door swung open.

It was his sister, Arianna.

A visit from her was the last thing he needed at the end of this hellish week, when he’d retreated to the city to work at the auction house and get his mind wrapped around Talia’s illness.

“Tony!” Opening her arms to him, she smiled with such extreme delight that the guilt threatened to suffocate him. “Oh, my God! It’s so good to see you!”

“Hey.” Working fast, he rearranged his features into something approximating a smile and caught her just as she flung herself at him and wrapped him up so tight he had to wonder if she’d grown an extra arm or two. “What, ah—what’re you doing here?”

Letting go of his torso long enough for him to gasp in a breath, she planted her palms on either side of his face and smothered him with kisses.

“You knew we were coming!”

“Was that today?”

Arianna pulled back, eyes aglow with happy tears. Motherhood really did agree with her. She was still pleasantly plump from her pregnancy but, if anything, it increased her beauty. There was a peaceful serenity about her that was so powerful it almost kept her feet from touching the floor.

“Yes, it was today.” She squinted, giving him a critical once-over. “You don’t look happy. What gives?”

Tony floundered around for an excuse. He was happy enough to see her, he supposed, but it would be better if she’d ease up, just a little. She had a real mother-hen thing going, and he could do without the incessant coddling just now.

He’d seen her back in Cincinnati already, right after the baby was born, and she’d tested the limits of his sanity with all the hovering and worrying. It was a blessing to be back from the “dead,” of course, and a double blessing to be back with a sister who loved him so much, but—

“I just need a little space.” He kept it gentle and to the point, hoping she’d understand. “I’m trying to get my bearings, and I don’t need you fussing around me all the time, so I—”

“That’s why we won’t be here long,” she sang, in what she evidently believed was a reassuring tone. “Just a couple weeks or so.”

A
couple—
?

“Great,” he muttered.

Arianna completely missed his lack of enthusiasm. She was patting his face again, smoothing her thumbs over the hollowed spaces under his eyes. “You’re still too thin. I need to work on fattening you up a little. If I don’t, who will?”

Irritated, he shrugged away from her clutching hands. He’d been eating just fine, and when you’d spent time as a POW, you were allowed to look haunted and gaunt for a while.

“I don’t need—” he began.

“Excuse me,” said a sarcastic male voice from the hallway, “but can you siblings suspend the bickering long enough for me to come into the house?”

Startled, they stepped back to allow Arianna’s husband, Joshua Bishop, over the threshold. He gave Tony a grim nod as he passed.

Yeah. Tony didn’t much like him, either.

For one thing, Joshua had served time in prison. He’d been freed through one of those innocence programs, true, but prison was prison, and God only knew what kinds of things he’d learned from the real felons in the joint.

Second, he was bulging with, as far as Tony was concerned, a thuggish amount of muscle and had a tattoo of some Adinkra design on his neck. His
neck.
Tony’s tattoos, of tigers’ eyes and dragons, on the other hand, were much more tasteful and were limited to his arms and torso. Where tattoos belonged.

Third, Joshua had an attitude that could best be described as…guarded. Moody. Surly. Suspicious. He was loving enough with Arianna, true, but with everyone else he was reserved to the point of being sullen.