The Seductive Impostor (18 page)

Besides, being drunk might actually slow her down. Mellow her out. And, he hoped, calm the urgency that seemed to explode between them whenever they touched.

He really would like to make love to Rachel slowly and not let her work him into a sexual frenzy with her wonderfully feminine hands, her hot and delicious mouth, and that damned head of wild hair that turned his cock to stone every time he touched it.

Kee wiped a trembling hand over his face again. What was it about her that she had gotten under his skin so quickly and so completely?

It wasn't just her wildly passionate nature, or even the sexy body that passion came packaged in. No, it was all of her—her courage and intelligence and spunk. It was her willingness to stand up to him, to lie right to his face and smile while she did, and her loyalty to her sister that was so strong she was willing to put herself in an impossible position.

But mostly, he thought, it was her spunk.

Kee turned and quietly closed the bedroom door, but left the light on. There would be no groping in the dark tonight; it would be a slow and tender lovemaking with both of them able to see and appreciate each other.

He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it on the floor, and, with much difficulty, unsnapped his jeans and took them off. He carried his pants with him, taking out the three condoms and placing them on the table beside the bed.

He slowly worked Rachel's pants off her legs, stopping long enough to look at her right knee. It seemed pretty well healed, with only two small red scars dotting each side.

News in town was that she had torn her cartilage hiking Gull Mountain. It was also being bantered about that she'd given the rescue team hell the entire trip down.

Rachel muttered something unintelligible and tried to wave her trapped arm in the air, as if swatting at a fly. Kee smiled, sat down on the bed beside her, and went to work on her bra.

Of course it had to be one of those damn bras that hooked in the back, and he had to lift her up and hold her against him with one hand and undo the clasp with the other.

She made a sweet little noise that sent blood rushing straight to his cock, and her hot little lips brushed over his chest and zeroed in on his left nipple.

Sweat broke out on his forehead again, and Kee ended up using both hands to rip the bra hooks apart. He quickly untangled her arms, tossed the ruined bra on the floor, and gently pulled her mouth from his chest only to find her eyes open and watching him.

She smiled. “I've never met anyone with more beautiful eyes,” she told him in a slurred whisper.

“Can you even see my eyes right now?” he asked, staring into hers, which appeared glazed with one too many daiquiris. There was a strawberry stain on her cheek, and a hull from the fruit was stuck in her hair.

“I don't have to see them,” she whispered dreamily, letting her head fall back. “They're forever imprinted on my brain,” she trailed off in a mumble, rolling until she was snuggled against his side, one of her now free hands tucked uncomfortably close to his groin.

“I want to make love to you,” he said, shaking her slightly.

“Okay,” she mumbled into his thigh, her warm breath sending tremors coursing through him.

“I kind of need your help, Rachel.” He chuckled desperately, turning her onto her back. He covered one beautiful breast with his hand, his blood starting to simmer at the feel of her nipple pushing into his palm. “You need to stay awake,” he rawly petitioned.

He darted a glance at the bedside table. Maybe he should just put the condom on now, while he could still think. He stood up, grabbed one of the foil packs, and ripped it open with his teeth.

“No, come back,” she moaned from the bed, flopping her arm toward him. “I'll stay awake, I promise.”

Holding the foil pack in his hand, Kee looked over at Rachel, then down at his cock, then up at the ceiling.

“Damn,” he growled, tossing the packet back on the table. She couldn't even keep her eyes open.

Kee walked to the door, snapped off the light, and walked back to the bed. He picked Rachel up, pulled back the covers, laid her down, and crawled in beside her.

It was a tight fit. “Why in hell is a grown woman still sleeping in a twin-sized bed?” he muttered, yanking her up against him, sucking in his breath when she snuggled her bottom into his groin.

Teeth gritted, Kee repositioned his cock so it didn't get any ideas of its own, and he even went so far as to tuck the blanket between them. He threw one leg over Rachel, more to anchor himself than to hold her, and wrapped his arms around her with a deep-winded sigh.

It was going to be a very long night.

S
he was ungodly hot.
And she must have forgotten to braid her hair before she went to bed, because it was tickling her nose.

Only it didn't smell like her hair usually did, or even like her shampoo. She sniffed. It was a familiar smell…like a spice of some sort, with a hint of strawberries.

Good God, she was hot. Had she left the furnace cranked on high? And she'd gotten all tangled up in the blankets and couldn't move.

But it was the dull pounding in her head that finally made her remember. Strawberry daiquiris. Willow. Rum, and even more rum. Drunken, fragmented conversations.

Rachel refused to open her eyes because she just knew it was going to hurt. Hell, she already hurt. It felt as if a Mac truck was sitting on her chest, and something was poking her thigh.

And something else was softly breathing by her head!

Rachel snapped open her eyes and found herself nose to chest with Keenan Oakes. She knew it was him—his smell, his feel, the very essence he exuded, and the fact that every nerve in her body was wide awake, once again proving her proximity problem.

Well, wasn't this a pleasant surprise? It wasn't every day she woke up to find a demigod sleeping on top of her.

What to do….

What should she do…?

She could poke him in the ribs and push him out of bed, and then give him hell for having the audacity to come sneaking in here while she slept.

Or…or she could just make love to him until he woke up, and then see if they couldn't put whatever was poking her in the thigh to good use.

“If you keep that up, I'm going to pounce without asking permission,” he whispered, lifting his chest away from her mouth.

Rachel hadn't realized she'd been running her lips back and forth over his soft, sensuous chest hair.

He leaned up even further, so he could look her in the eye. “How's the head feel?”

“Pounding.”

“So,” he said on a sigh. “It's only our second date, and already you're complaining of a headache.”

“This is a date?”

He nodded.

“Ah…did I have fun on this date?”

“Not yet. But I can fix that.” His eyes tenderly searched hers. “Though it might be hard with a headache.”

“But my head will ache whether I'm having fun or just lying here being miserable, right?”

His beautiful Atlantic-blue eyes sparkled in the stingy morning light trying to push through the window. “Having fun might even help that headache go away,” he suggested.

“An old family remedy?”

He nodded. “Passed down from my father's father.”

Rachel wiggled her arm until she could free one hand, and immediately ran her finger down the side of his face, tracing the angle of his jaw, feeling the rasp of his stubble, and then moving on to his bottom lip, rubbing it back and forth.

“I'm not up for athletics,” she warned. “But a slow romp in the sheets sounds like wonderful medicine.”

His smile was warm and tender as he carefully moved to free the blankets from around them. He settled back beside her, his wonderfully naked, searing hot body pressed full-length against hers. She tickled his shins with her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck while kissing his throat, rubbing her nipples through his chest hair with a moan of pure pleasure.

He shifted, leaning more fully over her and laying one leg across her thigh. “This is going to take some finesse,” he whispered. “It's a damn small bed you sleep in, Miss Foster.”

“It wasn't built for demigods,” she mumbled into his neck, just before she lightly nipped his shoulder.

“A demigod, huh?” he repeated, running his fingers through her hair as he rained kisses over her face, her eyes, her nose. “Are demigods better than cavemen?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, sliding her hand down the length of his back until she came to one finely muscled butt cheek and squeezed, eliciting a very male groan. “In fact, if you cross a caveman with a demigod, the results can be quite amazing.”

“For instance?” he asked, his question turning to a groan when she pulled his hips forward—that little thigh-poking problem now poking her belly.

Rachel's insides tightened as a succession of shivers raced down her spine. She couldn't get enough of him. Would
never
get enough of him. He was so…so intrinsically male, in a wonderfully lustful way.

His velvety skin covered such unyielding strength. His hands—oh, God, his hands—were so large and strong and tender, leaving tingles of salacious pleasure in their wake as he moved them over her with deliberate care.

Heat built inside her and moisture gathered between her thighs. She became restless and eager, anticipating where his hands would explore next.

And his mouth. He whispered wildly erotic things to her as his mouth moved over her face and throat and shoulders, kissing and nipping and then soothing each shiver he created.

Her own mouth played over his skin, sipping the dew of his own building heat, and she flexed her fingers into his back as she lifted her hips up, yearning to feel him inside her.

“For instance?” he repeated, nibbling her earlobe.

“Wh-what was the question?” she gasped, when one of his roaming hands found one of her nipples.

He tugged, soothed, and then rolled it between his fingers, teasing it to a sensuous peak that made Rachel moan in ecstasy and bury her face in his chest.

“I can't remember.” He chuckled in a pained whisper. “Something about demigods and cavemen. I want you, Rachel,” he said, his voice raw, as he lowered himself down her body until his head was even with the breast he'd been tantalizing.

Rachel arched up when his mouth found its target, keening her pleasure as he gently suckled her nipple. He centered his hips between her thighs and began attending to the other nipple, pushing her breasts together, feasting first on one and then the other.

Rachel went wild, bucking her hips as he pleasured her to the point of torment. The hot, bulbous tip of his shaft pressed against her moist folds, enticing, probing, and then slowly entering her.

He flexed his hips, only slightly, moving just a bit deeper as he nuzzled the sensitive outside of one breast. Rachel felt herself stretching, the mounting pressure causing every nerve in her body to hum. Need and want and building passion sparked like fireworks through her mind, making her dizzy, making her yearn for more.

She moaned as his shaft teased her entrance, withdrawing then returning, each time a little bit deeper. She splayed her fingers through his hair, gripping him fiercely as the tension mounted, her own head thrown back on the pillow until she was drawn as taut as a bowstring.

His tongue traced a maddeningly erotic path back to her nipple, and he suckled, and nipped, and tugged with his teeth until she clenched in a spasm of desire.

He drove into her fully, exploding her orgasm into a million fragments of pulsing sensations, tearing a cry of surprised joy from her throat. She floated, suspended, for the merest of seconds, riding the passionate storm of his pounding thrusts, and then crested again—this time with a violence so powerful he was pulled into the maelstrom with her.

He shouted his own pleasure, his release pulsing deep and hot and hard, his muscles ridged with virile strength, his whole body trembling with his powerful orgasm.

Rachel could only look up at him in wonder, at this demigod who had invaded her room—and who was dangerously close to invading her heart.

“You little witch,” he whispered, smiling through gritted teeth, still holding himself rigid as tiny echoing pulses clenched her insides around his shaft. “You did it to me aga—”

There was another sudden shout just as something crashed over his shoulders, exploding in splinters of wood and ceramics that rained down over them both.

Rachel screamed as Kee fell limply against her, his dead weight pushing the breath out of her. Another crash landed on his back, the violence of the blow making him hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Rachel scrambled off the bed after him, rolling to face the threat, and the room suddenly flooded with light. She blinked—then blinked again at the sight of Willow standing by the light switch, her hair tangled around her angry red face, her eyes wild, holding the remains of the lamp that had been on the bureau.

They both started talking at once.

“Oh, my God, Rachel! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“What are you doing!”

Willow pointed at the floor. “He was…he broke in here and was…he was assaulting you.”

“He was what?”

“I heard you scream. You screamed!” Willow yelled, stepping closer to the bed, holding the broken lamp threateningly. “It woke me up, and I came in here and saw this shadow on top of you, and I…dammit!” she shouted, only to quickly grab her head. She took a deep breath. “I thought he was trying to kill you,” she whispered, her eyes clouding with pain. She dropped the lamp and clutched her stomach. “Oh, God. The room won't stop spinning.”

The room was spinning for Rachel as well. And her head throbbed like the devil, and her stomach roiled.

“It's Kee,” she hoarsely told Willow. “You just assaulted Keenan Oakes.”

Willow clutched her robe to her neck and stepped closer, peering over the edge of the bed. Her eyes widened. “He's…” She looked at Rachel, then back at Kee. “He's…No wonder you can't keep your hands off him. He's…oh, my,” she finished with a moan, grabbing her head again.

Rachel looked down and quickly pulled the sheet over Kee's hips. “I can't believe you hit him,” she muttered, cupping his face. She looked over her shoulder at Willow. “Are you telling me you can't tell the difference between a scream of terror and one of passion?”

Willow walked around the end of the bed and knelt down on the other side of Kee. “How in hell am I supposed to know what you sound like making love? It's not like you're in the habit of sneaking men into the house.”

“I didn't sneak him in,” she said, gently patting his face. “Oh, God, Willy, you killed him.”

“I did not,” Willow defended, prodding him in the shoulder.

Kee groaned, shook his head, then suddenly exploded into motion. He grabbed Rachel and threw her to the floor, rolling until she was behind him and he was kneeling to face the threat.

“No!” Rachel screamed, groping for his arm. “It's Willow!”

His hand stopped in midswing, and he let out a curse foul enough to singe the air. That lethal hand changed direction to cup the back of his neck. “Sweet Jesus,” he growled, lightly poking the lump beginning to rise just below his hairline. “What in hell did you hit me with?”

Willow, her eyes rounded in stark fear, her face pasty white with tinges of green around the mouth, only squeaked as she sat pressed against the wall.

Rachel reached up with a corner of the sheet and dabbed the cut oozing blood down his neck. Kee turned, scowled hard enough to knock her over, and grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around his waist as he stood up.

He tucked the sheet into a precarious knot, then crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet apart, and stared down at the two of them.

Willow's clouded hazel eyes widened even more, and she scooted along the wall until she bumped into Rachel.

Rachel put her arm around her trembling sister and smiled up at Kee. “I'd like for you to meet my sister, Willow. Willow, this is Keenan Oakes.”

Willow squeaked again, darting a frantic look at Rachel. Rachel patted her arm. “He only looks like a caveman, Willy,” she assured her. “He won't bite. I promise.”

“I might,” he growled.

But he sighed instead, and rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes and slowly shaking his head. “I'm beginning to think the safest place for Mikaela is right here with you two deadly little Amazons,” he muttered.

He looked back at them, glaring again. “Willow, go to the bathroom and throw up. And Rachel, get some clothes on!” he snapped, spinning on his heel and stalking around the bed, grabbing up his pants and shirt and striding out of the room.

Willow still wasn't breathing. Rachel hugged her and rocked her back and forth. “It's okay, Willy,” she whispered. “He's not mad at you. He's mad at himself for getting caught with his pants down,” she ended with a chuckle that turned into a moan, as her head started pounding with the force of a jackhammer.

Willow hung her own head in her hands, covering her face and letting out a shuddering breath. “God, my head hurts,” she croaked. “I'm never eating another strawberry.”

Rachel snorted and took hold of the side of the bed and stood up. “I don't think it's the strawberries giving us headaches,” she told her. “I think it's two bottles of rum.”

Willow also stood, took down Rachel's robe from the peg by the closet, and tossed it to her. “What time is it?” she asked.