The Fantasy Factor (11 page)

The realization struck just as he tilted his head and touched his lips to hers for another kiss. And then he fingered her nipple through the soft cotton of her shirt and she stopped thinking altogether.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands going to her hips. He paused to knead her bottom through the fitted material of her slacks. Fabric brushed her legs as he slid them down over her thighs, her knees, until they pooled on the floor.

He stood, then slid his hands around to her bottom and lifted her onto the counter. He paused only to grab one of the large wire racks filled with boxes and shove it in front of the door. It wasn’t enough to keep anyone out should they want to get in, but it was enough to buy them some time to grab their clothes should they be discovered.

Walking back to her, he wedged himself between her parted thighs. He urged her backward until her back met the tabletop and then he slowly unbuttoned her shirt and unhooked the front clasp of her bra.

He fingered a dollop of strawberry filling from the pie pan. “I really do like strawberries,” he murmured before touching the filling to one ripe nipple. He laved the tip, spreading the glaze until it covered her entire areola.

His gaze drilled into hers for a heart-stopping moment before he lowered his dark head. His tongue lapped at the side of her breast.

The licking grew stronger, more purposeful, as he gobbled up the strawberry confection, starting at the outside and working his way toward the center. Sensation rippled up her spine.

The first leisurely rasp of his tongue against her ripe nipple wrung a cry from her throat. Her fingers threaded through his hair as he drew the quivering tip deep into his hot, hungry mouth. He suckled her long and hard and she barely caught the moan that rippled up her throat.

She caught her lip and clamped down as he licked and suckled and nipped. Her skin grew itchy and tight. Pressure started between her legs, heightened by the way he leaned into her, the hard ridge of his erection prominent beneath his jeans. She spread her legs wider and he settled more deeply between them. Grasping her hips, he rocked her. Rubbed her. Up and down and side to side and…

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The knocking barely penetrated the haze of pleasure that gripped her senses. Panic bolted through her and she went still.

“Wait.” She grasped his muscled biceps to still his movements.

“You can moan for me, beg for me, scream for me, but otherwise, no talking allowed.”

“But someone’s coming.”

He leaned back, his gaze drilling into hers, so deep and searching, as if he was doing his damnedest to see inside her. “No,” he finally said, his fingertip tracing the edge of her panties where elastic met the tender inside of her thigh. “No one’s coming, Belle.” His finger dipped into the steamy heat beneath. “Not yet.”

One rasping touch of his callused fingertip against her swollen flesh and she arched up off the counter. She caught her bottom lip and stifled a cry.

With a growl, he spread her wide with his thumb and forefinger and touched and rubbed as he dipped his head and drew on her nipple.

It was too much and not enough. She clamped her lips shut and forced her eyes open. But he was there, filling her line of vision, his fierce gaze drilling into hers. Searching and stirring and…
no!

Her hands trembled and she fought against the pleasure beating at her senses. She stiffened, her hands diving between them to stop the delicious stroke of his fingers.

As if he sensed her sudden resistance, his movements stilled. His chest heaved and his hair tickled her palms. Damp fingertips trailed over her cheek in a tender gesture that warmed her heart almost as much as her body.

“I want to hear you, Belle. I need to.” His gaze was hot and bright and feverish as he stared down at her, into her. But there was something else, as well. A desperation that eased the panic beating at her senses and sent a rush of determination through her.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The noise echoed in her head, but it wasn’t someone beating on the door this time. It was the frantic beat of her own heart, because she no longer cared if the entire town stood on the outside of the door, waiting and listening.

It wasn’t about what everyone else thought about her. It was about him. What
he
thought about her. What
he
felt for her. What
he
wanted from her.

And what she wanted from him.

Reaching down, she tugged at the button of his jeans, pulled his zipper down and freed his hard length. She squeezed him, stroking him from root to tip before sliding her hands around and cupping his buttocks. She massaged him for a moment before working her hand into his front pocket and retrieving a small foil packet. She opened the condom and spread it on his throbbing penis before pulling him closer, until the head pushed just a fraction of an inch inside of her. Pleasure pierced her brain.

She lifted her legs and hooked them around his waist, opening her body even more. He answered her unspoken invitation and with one deep, probing thrust, he filled her.

Her muscles convulsed around him, clutching him as he gripped her bare bottom. He pumped into her, the pressure and the friction so sweet that it took her breath away.

She was vaguely aware of the voices on the other side of the door. But then he touched her nipple and trailed a hand down her stomach, his fingertips making contact with the place where they joined, and all thought faded in a rush of sweet desire. She met his thrusts in a wild rhythm that urged him faster and deeper and…
yes!

Her lips parted and she screamed at the blinding force of the climax that picked her up and turned her inside out. He buried himself deep inside her one last time and a shudder went through him as he followed her over the edge.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him and, oddly enough, the fact that she would have to walk out of here with Houston Jericho, past whoever beat on the door, didn’t bother her now nearly as much as it should have.

The heat, she told herself. It was hot in the storeroom and so she wasn’t thinking clearly. Because no way would she want anyone to know that she and Houston had hooked up again.

That would stir gossip and speculation the likes of which Cadillac hadn’t seen since Bernice Marshall had come home from the Christian Women’s Convention in Austin with a boy toy she’d met and married after partaking of one too many glasses of communion wine.

The very last thing she needed was to tarnish her image. Unfortunately, what she needed and wanted were two very different things, and at the moment, the only thing she really wanted was Houston Jericho.

In her bed and her life.

Temporarily, of course.

W
HAT HAD STARTED AS A
personal visit to Miss Esther’s house for a flower consultation had turned into a full-blown landscaping project. Sarah had tried to tell the woman what to plant and where to plant it, but Miss Esther was too old to make such drastic changes to her own yard.

And so Sarah was here now doing it herself. She rolled her palms around the base of the potted hibiscus before turning it on its side and easing the flower and soil from the plastic container. She placed it in the large hole and filled in the area with rich, dark potting soil, packing and smoothing until the plant sat securely in the main flower bed that now spanned the front of Esther Clooney’s house.

She repeated the process five more times until she’d filled the area with four-foot-high hibiscus blooms in various colors. The front of the house was perfect for the tropical flower because there were no trees to shade the area. The hot, blazing Texas sun spilled over the lawn, drenching it in light and heat.

She pulled off her gloves and wiped at the sweat that beaded her forehead, then reached for her bottled water and took a long drink. A drop spilled past her lips and trickled over her chin, down her throat and over her frantic pulse beat.

Her mind went back to Saturday and the storeroom and the way he’d licked her fingers.

It was just a memory, yet her body responded as if he were standing next to her, murmuring into her ear. Her nipples pebbled and her thighs ached and her heart pounded.

That’s the way it had been for the past three days since their sixth encounter. It was as if he’d unlocked something inside of her and she couldn’t seem to shut it again.

She’d managed after the shower and the movie encounters. She’d slammed and latched the door on her desire and walked away from him.

But he’d walked away from her in the storage room before she’d managed to gather her control and push her guard back into place. She’d had no reason to bolster her defenses, no need to gather her courage and push him away, because he’d pushed away first.

Strictly
sex.

She’d obviously gotten her point across to him. He was clear on their objective.

She should have been happy. Relieved. Instead, she felt even more restless than she had before he’d stepped into her shower last week.

More frustrated. More needy.

Because she wanted more from him than the Sexiest Seven.

She shook away the thought. She’d obviously been out in the sun much too long.

Adjusting her hat, she climbed to her feet and spent the next twenty minutes picking up empty soil bags and plastic flowerpots until she’d cleared the area. She tossed everything into the back of her skunk trunk—she’d yet to kill the smell completely—and climbed behind the wheel. Gunning the engine, she shifted the truck into Reverse and backed up to the end of the drive. She needed to get back to the nursery and relieve Arnie. Not to mention, she had a stack of deliveries scheduled for that afternoon and…

The thought faded as her gaze shifted to Miss Esther’s yard. She hit the brakes and just sat there.

The newly landscaped yard breathed life into the old gray house. The flower beds added not only color, but a rich, potent vibrancy that complemented the straight, clean lines of the house’s frame. The creeping ivy mixed with the white juniper she’d planted in the window boxes flowed over the sides, drawing color and light that reflected off the diamond-shaped glass panes that had been virtually invisible before thanks to the thick window frames and shutters.

She’d always appreciated the clean lines and thick construction of the old farmhouse, but she’d never actually admired the architecture until now. The house was truly beautiful. Even more, it reflected the sweet nature of the old woman who lived inside.

A woman who was now standing on her front porch, a tear sliding down her cheek as she eyed Sarah’s handiwork.

Excitement rushed through her, followed by a feeling of pride the likes of which she hadn’t felt since she’d opened that letter from the University of Texas architectural college and found out she’d been accepted.

Crazy. These were just flowers and plants and dirt. They weren’t a real accomplishment. Anybody could plant flowers and make an old woman smile. And anybody with halfway decent grades could get into architectural school.

But making it all the way through to become a big-time architect…that was something altogether different. It took talent and drive and courage. Even then, there was no guarantee. But that’s what had made the notion so appealing in the first place. She’d always liked taking risks and putting herself out there. Sometimes it hadn’t paid off, but most of the time it had. She’d been a nerdy schoolkid with no social skills, but she’d wanted to be popular and so she’d put herself out there. She’d been bold and it had paid off. She’d actually managed what most Chem Gems had only dreamed of—she’d crossed over to the land of the popular. She’d ignored the five scholarships that had been offered to her based on her chemistry test scores and had applied to University of Texas. There’d been no scholarship waiting to help her achieve her dream. She’d been ready to work her way through, to make it happen no matter what. She’d been ready to say those three words to the wildest bad boy at Cadillac High School, even though she’d known deep down inside that the odds were against her. She wasn’t pretty enough or big-breasted enough or special enough to win Houston’s love, if he was even capable of the emotion. But she’d been willing to take the chance.

She’d liked taking chances.

Until Sharon’s death.

Until she’d seen her strong, resilient grandmother turn a pale ash and suffer a heart attack right in front of her eyes.

Sarah hadn’t realized her own mortality at that moment. She’d realized her Grandma Willie’s. The woman was old and frail and Sarah had been pushing her right over the edge with her wild ways.

“Don’t ever leave me, Sarah. I need you. I couldn’t bear it if something ever took you away from me. Not after losing your mother. I’ve lost too much already.”

Her grandmother’s words as the paramedics had loaded her into the ambulance echoed in Sarah’s head. She stiffened and shifted into Reverse.

But even as she left the yard and her silly, long-ago dreams behind, she couldn’t shake the feeling of pride. It stayed with her as she headed back to the nursery to finish her day.

For the first time, she didn’t feel so restless when she sat down in her tiny office at the nursery to check on her new inventory. She didn’t feel resentful as she stood out in the hot sun and watered the tropical plants. And when she glanced over at the courthouse across the street, she didn’t feel the same sense of oppression she’d always felt. Instead, she felt pride because she’d planted the rows of azalea bushes that lined the winding drive and tapered around toward the sidewalk. Just as she’d planted the lilies that clustered around the base of the sprawling oak trees. And the Texas sage. And the chrysanthemums and the circles of bluebonnets that dotted the sprawling green lawn.

Sarah realized then that while the dream that she nurtured had once been someone else’s, it was now her own.

She loved making things beautiful.

Almost as much as she loved Houston Jericho.

Love?

The minute the notion struck, she pushed it aside. She’d never been the type to fall in love. Back in her wild days, she’d lived for excitement, not the goal of finding her own Prince Charming. While she’d toned down, she hadn’t changed her opinion of the emotion—namely, that love wasn’t for her. She didn’t want to fall in love with someone, to need him, to have yet another reason to sacrifice when she’d already sacrificed so much for the emotion.

For the love of her grandma Willie.

No, she couldn’t help but love her grandma. But she could help loving someone else. She could keep herself from falling in love, even with a man like Houston Jericho.

Especially a man like him.

Because he didn’t believe in the emotion any more than she did.

“C
OME ON
.” H
OUSTON GRIPPED
her elbow, ushered her outside and steered her toward his truck.

“Where are we going?”

“Time for number seven.” His gaze hooked on her for the space of a heartbeat as he loaded her into the passenger’s side and her heart kicked up a beat.

“Where are we going?” she asked again when they turned off the main strip through town onto Farm Road 582.

“I told you. Number seven.”

“Shouldn’t we be at the courthouse or the library? They’re the only two buildings in town with elevators.”

“One’s a two-story and the other is three stories. That means five minutes max if we stop between floors. This is going to take longer than five minutes, Belle.”

His words made her heart beat all the faster. They spent the next hour in silence, the tension building around them, between them, the awareness at fever pitch by the time they reached the San Antonio city limits. Lights twinkled and buildings filled the horizon.

After ten minutes darting in and out of traffic in the heart of downtown, Houston pulled into the huge circular drive in front of the River House.

While the hotel might, indeed, be located on the river, it was far from a house. Twenty stories reached toward the sky, the lobby plush with cream-colored carpet and gold fixtures. Houston left her sitting on a sofa near a huge marble fountain while he checked them in. Five minutes later, he led her toward the rear of the hotel that faced the San Antonio River Walk and a row of elevators.

They looked like ordinary elevators with steel doors, but when the doors of one of them slid open, she got the surprise of her life.

The elevators were really glass cubicles located on the outside of the building. They slid up and down the side, giving a full view of the winding river and sparkling lights as they climbed to their destination.

“You can see everything,” she murmured as they stepped inside and Houston punched the eighteenth floor. Of course, it also meant that anyone who happened to look up could see everything.

The realization sent a zing of arousal through her and her nipples pebbled.

The reaction wasn’t lost on him. He fixed his gaze on the soft points that pressed against her T-shirt. He reached out, flicking and rubbing one of the tips through the soft material.

There were no more words as they were whisked to their floor. The doors slid open and he steered her down a hallway to room 1820. He slid the card into the slot, waited for the red light and flipped the handle. Sarah found her small suitcase waiting on the king-size bed, but Houston’s bag was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s your stuff?”

“In my room.”

“Your room?” She shook her head as realization hit. “You booked two rooms?”

“This is about the elevator, not the room. You’ve been so dead set on sticking to the list, I didn’t think number seven would extend past the elevator. Once we’re done there, we’re done.”

“And we each return to our respective rooms.”

“Exactly.” His gaze caught and held hers, and she had the feeling that he was giving her a dose of her own medicine, treating her the way she’d treated him during encounters four and five. She’d shut him out under the pretense that she wanted merely sex from him. Specifically the Sexiest Seven.

You asked for it, you got it.

But she wasn’t so sure that she wanted it. Things had changed between them. She’d changed. She’d realized that her hunger for him extended beyond a few fantasies, and she wanted more.

“Relax and get comfortable,” he told her. “I’m going to check into my room and then I’ve got a few things to take care of. We’ll get together later.”

“Later” happened in exactly fourteen minutes—she had little to do but watch the clock. It was that or dwell on the fact that she truly felt something for him, yet wasn’t ready to sort through her emotions right now.

If ever.

Better to anticipate the coming encounter, a feeling that heightened when she heard his deep “Meet me on the top floor” when she answered her ringing phone.

She freshened up, left her hotel room and headed down the hall. After punching the Up button, she waited, her heart pounding as the elevator made a slow descent.

“Going up?” she asked when the doors whisked open and she found him standing inside.

“I’m already up.” And then he tugged her inside and into his arms as the doors slid shut and the elevator started humming. They climbed four stories before he punched the Stop button and stalled them between floors.

She stared down at the River Walk below. People filled the outside patios of several nearby restaurants. A boat overflowing with sightseers wound its way down the river. People strolled up and down the sidewalks.

“All anyone has to do is look up and they’ll see us,” he said, coming up behind her and pinning her to the glass. His hands came around to push up her T-shirt. He flicked her bra open and bared both breasts. “They’ll see your pink nipples.” He fingered the stiff peaks and she caught her bottom lip. “They’ll see me touch them and stroke them.” He turned her around and dipped his head. “They’ll see me taste them,” he murmured before he drew the aching tip deep into his mouth and sucked her so hard that she felt the pull between her legs.

She shuddered as he released her to drag his hot, wet mouth to her other nipple and catch it with his teeth. He flicked her with his tongue, over and over, making her squirm until he opened his lips and suckled her again.

Heat spiraled through her body and pleasure gripped her for several heart-stopping moments. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Frantic fingers grappled at his shirt, pulling and tugging until she found her way underneath. Warm, hair-dusted skin met her fingertips and she trembled. Muscles rippled beneath her palms as she trailed them over his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans.

She unbuttoned his jeans with several fierce, frantic tugs. He sprang hot and huge into her hands and she stroked him. Her fingers slid back and forth, tracing the bulging head, the hard, smooth length. She cupped his testicles and massaged them, and his arousal pulsed against her.