What She Doesn't Know (27 page)

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Authors: Beverly Barton

Tags: #Suspense, #Contemporary romance, #Fiction

BOOK: What She Doesn't Know
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With a ruthless surge, he yanked her to him, both hands under her dress, cupping her bare buttocks as his head lowered and his lips claimed hers. His mouth consumed; his tongue mated with hers. Jolie’s bones dissolved.
Max’s kisses were lethal.
After he had kissed her until they were both breathless, he nuzzled her neck and groaned a reluctant admission. “I feel the same way. Wanting someone the way I want you is frightening. I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do in order to have you.”
As her mind reeled with his confession, Max shoved her gently onto the bed and came down over her, his breathing fast and powerful. He shoved her dress up to her waist, unzipped his slacks, and eased his penis from his briefs. Her eyes widened in surprise when, without any preliminary coaxing, he parted her thighs and rammed into her, taking her swiftly and completely. He filled her mind and her heart as well as her body. The realization that she had never wanted a man the way she wanted Max coaxed her body into compliance, uncaring that his actions bordered on ruthlessness.
His big hands clasped her hips and set a steady thrusting rhythm. As his penis rooted deeply and withdrew, then repeated the process, she writhed beneath him, seeking the perfect position to absorb the friction of every thrust against her clitoris. He was large and hard and hot. He grunted. He groaned. He murmured earthy words of intent and appreciation. As the tension built inside her, threatening her with the pain of unfulfilled need and promising the possibility of an earth-shattering release, she rocked against him faster, urging him to intensify his lunges.
“Oh, God, Max…please…please…”
He jackhammered into her with frenetic energy. She responded wildly as she began climaxing, the sensation intensifying until it exploded inside her and sent shock waves through her body. Within moments after she cried out her completion, he shivered and shook as he came, his orgasm demolishing every ounce of his self-control. He groaned and growled and then collapsed heavily on top of her. It was a weight she bore gladly.
Jolie wrapped her arms around Max and buried her face against his neck, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. And she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this night—and never letting go of the man she loved, who was also the man she hated.
Chapter 26
 
Jolie lay in the bed beside Max, her breathing slow and even, her eyes open and staring up at the dark ceiling. She’d never had sex like that before, so raw and primitive, so all-consuming. The very intensity of her need for Max frightened her. How was it possible to want someone so desperately that all rational thought ceased to exist once you came together? She had considered him her enemy for so long that even now, after having shared with him the most mind-shattering sex of her entire life, she guarded her heart from him. She didn’t dare let him know he possessed the power not only to hurt her but to destroy her.
“I hate you,” she said softly.
“Yes, I know. I hate you, too, for making me lose control. I pride myself on being able to handle my emotions.” He rolled out of bed and stood. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller. A part of me likes it, but another part of me despises it.”
Suddenly realizing that her sundress was still hiked up to her waist, Jolie jerked the red cotton material down to cover her nakedness. “Well, now that we’ve done it…now that we’ve had each other, there’s no reason for—”
Max moved with lightning speed, grabbed her, and yanked her out of bed. She stood on wobbly legs, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth gaping open as she stared at him.
“You don’t really think once was enough, do you?” His gaze raked over her. “Why don’t you take off that damn dress?”
“What?” She gulped. Mercy, she wasn’t sure she could survive another round of frenzied lovemaking so soon.
“I’m going to take a shower.” He removed his shirt and tossed it on the floor. “Get out of that dress and come with me.”
He kicked off his shoes, slipped out of his socks, and then undid his belt. Her gaze traveled south, as he unzipped his slacks, and she watched in utter fascination as he shucked off his pants and briefs. Maximillian Devereaux was a magnificent man, muscular yet lean, with a light dusting of black hair on his arms, legs, and chest. And a very impressive penis nestled in a thatch of dark hair between his powerful thighs. Remembering what it felt like to have him buried deep inside her excited Jolie anew. How was it possible to want him again almost immediately after being thoroughly satisfied?
Not giving the consequences a thought, she unzipped the side closing of her sundress and lifted it up and over her head. She stood before him, naked and totally unashamed. Max’s hot glare swept over her, so intense she could feel its warmth as it skimmed along her neck, over her breasts, down her belly, and to her mound. She quivered, every nerve attuned to his inspection, her flesh responsive, her entire body totally aware. His big hand lifted, touched her face, glided down her neck, over one breast, and leisurely clasped her waist. Without a word, he guided her from the bedroom into the bath, where he turned on the shower and led her inside the tile-and-glass cubicle. Within the steamy confinement, Max became her adoring servant, lathering her body, scrubbing gently, giving special attention to her breasts and buttocks. She ached unbearably, her core throbbing with need. But he didn’t touch her there, as if he knew how desperately she wanted him to and was making her wait, prolonging her torment.
When he handed her the soap, she was breathless with anticipation, her hands yearning to touch him as he had touched her. As she washed his chest, his nipples peaked, prompting her to rinse them and then lick them. Max growled. She turned him around and scrubbed his broad muscular back. Her mouth followed the water’s trail, downward over his back, his waist, and his taut buttocks. Then she eased him around again, carefully avoided his genital area, and washed his long hairy legs. As she moved back up his body, his jutting penis confronted her, practically demanding attention. She allowed it only the briefest flick, her fingertips skimming over the tip and moving away quickly. Max groaned, then shut off the water and pulled her out of the shower. He grabbed a small towel and draped it around her head, then took a huge towel and dried her quickly. Still wet himself, he lifted her up and onto the vanity, spread her legs, and eased between them.
As he splayed one big hand across her back, he lowered his head and took her mouth. She responded by opening herself to him, her mouth, her femininity, and her heart. When she felt his fingers exploring her soft dampness, she sighed and lifted her hips up and down, riding the strumming motion of his fingertips. He deepened the kiss and the intimate caresses until Jolie whipered and writhed. Close, so close. Now…now…now! The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, washing over her with surge after surge of sensation.
Crying out, she slumped against him. He held her as the aftershocks rippled through her body. Then when she rested in his arms, momentarily sated and relaxed, he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her on the bed. Standing over her in the shadowy moonlight, he appeared huge and dark and dangerous. She could feel his gaze on her, caressing her. Why was he standing there? What was he waiting for?
His chest rose and fell with each deep, hard breath. Jolie rose into a sitting position, slid to the edge of the bed, and lifted herself onto her knees.
“Max?”
“Hmmm?” His voice sounded tortured.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up at him; he closed his eyes and gripped his hands into fists. Her heartbeat accelerated alarmingly.
“Max, you’re frightening me.” She reached up and placed her open palm in the center of his chest, then shuddered when she felt the powerful thumping of his heart.
He grabbed her wrist, shoved her flat onto her back, crossways in the bed, and came down over her, straddling her. She gazed up into his face and gasped. The strain showed plainly in his expression, tension etched on his features.
“I don’t want to frighten you,” he told her, his voice deep and gravelly. “But the way I feel about you…the way I want you…the things I want to do to you scare the hell out of me.”
“Oh, Max.” She reached out to him with her free hand.
He grasped that hand, too, and flung both of her arms over her head, pinning them there, trapping her beneath him. Panting as uncertainty combined with heady desire, Jolie waited, anticipation preparing her body for his domination. He ravaged her mouth, kissing, plunging, sucking, nibbling. And when he had it conquered, he moved on to new territory. Her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. He lingered over her breasts, laving each nipple, sucking greedily, and then pulling gently with his teeth until she squirmed and whined and pleaded.
“Max?” She ached with need.
“Shh.” He soothed her with kisses across her rib cage, then he eased his hold on her hands, as he moved down over her belly, sampling her navel on his trip to exotic southern regions.
He parted her legs and placed his head between her thighs. She lifted her hips and caught either side of his head with her open palms. He glanced at her, his gaze blazing with salacious intention, and then he opened his mouth and delved his tongue into her moist depths. She bucked, lifting herself up to him. He grabbed her hips and held her in place for his marauding mouth. His tongue flicked over her clitoris, then laved with deep powerful strokes. And when she mewed loudly as she clutched his shoulders, he increased the pressure and the pace until she went wild. While she climaxed, he rose up and over her, then thrust into her, again and again and again, battering her body with the force of his need.
When he came, trembling and grunting with the strength of his release, she cried out, shocked that she had come again so quickly.
Max rolled over and off her, taking her with him, pulling her on top of him. She clung to him, savoring the sweet ecstasy of having him still inside her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. Within minutes, they fell asleep.
In the predawn hours, he woke her and made love to her again. Slower, longer, and yet no less savage. And as she drifted off to sleep, a tantalizing yet unnerving thought drifted through her mind. No matter how many times they made love, it would never be enough. She would want him again…and again…and again. She would need him more and more, and love him until the day came when he would be as essential to her as the very air she breathed—just as Georgette had become to her father.
Jolie woke suddenly, then realized that bright sunlight poured into the bedroom through the balcony doors. As she opened her eyelids, her eyes slightly unfocused, she saw a large shadow hovering over her. After blinking a couple of times, her vision cleared and the shadow turned into Max Devereaux, fully dressed, standing by the bed.
She shot straight up. “Oh, God, what time is it?”
He offered her the cup of coffee he held in one hand and the large muffin perched in the center of a small plate that he held in his other hand. As she reached for the coffee, she realized she was naked. She dropped her hand, grabbed the hem of the sheet, and lifted it over her breasts.
Max sat on the edge of the bed, jerked the sheet down to her waist, grabbed her wrist and placed the coffee in her hand. “I’ve already seen it,
chère
. Every luscious inch.”
He was right; what was the point of modesty now? He
had
seen every inch. Hell, not only had he seen every inch, he’d touched, kissed, tasted, and explored every inch.
“What time is it?” she repeated.
“Eight-thirty,” he replied as he rose to his feet.
She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip of the delicious coffee. Strong but diluted with just the right amount of cream. She sighed, then looked at him. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to shower, shave, and order breakfast.”
Jolie drank the coffee slowly, savoring each sip. “Should we talk about—”
“No.”
“But don’t you think—”
“No.” He stood at the French doors, his back to her. “We should concentrate on meeting with Bendall and making the exchange. Once we have the files, we’ll fly back to Sumarville. After we find out exactly what secrets those files contain and learn what our options are, then there will be time enough to sort through our personal feelings and—”
“My goodness, Mr. Devereaux, aren’t we all business this morning.”
Jolie tossed back the sheet and got up, her empty cup in her hand. Before she reached the bedroom door, Max shot toward her, grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up against him. His piercing blue-gray eyes bored into her, his gaze suddenly heavy and sultry.
“It is taking a great deal of effort on my part not to make love to you again.” He rubbed his cheek against hers. “And unless you want us to be late for our appointment with Bendall, then I suggest you get on some clothes as fast as you can.”
A giddy feeling of euphoria bubbled up inside her. Knowing that Max wanted her now just as much as he’d wanted her all during the night imbued her with an incredible sense of power.
“Then you’d better let go of me.” She wriggled.
When he released her, she ran from his room, through the sitting area and into her bedroom. After laying out a pair of linen slacks and a short-sleeved, cotton-knit top, Jolie hurried into the bathroom. All the while, she made a mental list of everything she needed to do in preparation for what could prove to be one of the most important meetings of her life and tried to convince her body that it could do without Max’s touch for a few hours.
Jolie checked her watch for the dozenth time. Max glanced at the clock on the wall inside the First State Bank on Whitehead Street. Twelve-thirteen. By now it was apparent that for whatever reason, Aaron Bendall was not going to meet them. Max was angry and frustrated. Jolie was nervous and fidgety.
“He isn’t coming, is he?” Jolie asked.
“I’d say that’s a pretty reasonable assumption.”
“What could have happened? Why would he give up a million dollars?”
“He wouldn’t,” Max told her. “Not unless someone offered him more.”
“Roscoe?”
“Probably.” Max grabbed her arm. “Let’s check out the marina and see if Bendall’s cruiser is gone.”
“And if it is? What do we do then?”
“We go home. And my detective starts searching for Bendall all over again. But if he’s gotten his hands on a million-plus, then I doubt we’ll ever find him.”
“Him or the Belle Rose massacre files.”
Twenty minutes later, after having questioned the marina’s manager, they walked down the pier, past the docked boats and toward the parking area. The manager had told them that Bendall had sailed out of port at ten-forty this morning, leaving no forwarding address and his rent paid up for the next three months. The guy was long gone and Max doubted anyone would ever hear from the former sheriff again. If he had simply disappeared and his cruiser had still been docked, then Max would have suspected foul play, but since Bendall had sailed off hail and hearty, then someone had topped Max’s million-dollar offer.
Deep in thought, Max followed Jolie to the rental car. Just as he reached around her and unlocked the passenger door, the
rat-a-tat-tat
of gunshots came from out of nowhere. A wave of bullets sailed around them. Max knocked Jolie to the pavement and covered her body with his.

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