Drawn into Darkness Page 13

  “Because I haven’t been fair to you, Rachel. I’m no’ the man you think I am, and I’m giving you expectations I can never meet.” He raked a hand through his cropped hair. “Your coming here this afternoon is proof of that. You want something I can’t give you.”

  “And what is that, Lachlan? What is it you think I want?”

  The look in his eyes softened. “A partner.”

  Her shoulders responded to the word, instantly easing. It was a mute and unassailable acknowledgment of the truth, but she shook her head. “I tried the partner thing once. Didn’t work.”

  He crouched beside her and lifted her chin with a gentle hand. “He wasn’t a real partner. If he had been, it would have worked.”

  The certainty in his voice and the quiet sympathy in his gaze brought tears to Rachel’s eyes. “What would you know about it?”

  He didn’t respond; he just stared into her brimming eyes.

  Rachel turned her head, hating what she saw in his gaze—an intuitive knowledge of her pathetic past, even though she’d never told him a word of it. She blinked the tears away. “Maybe you’re reading way too much into my visit. Maybe I’m just looking for sex.”

  He froze.

  Encouraged by the subtle edge of anticipation in his stillness, Rachel added, “No strings attached, down and dirty, wild crazy monkey sex.”

  A short breath hissed from his lips.

  “Single moms don’t get out much, you know,” she went on, gaining momentum with every increasingly excited heartbeat. Nothing she knew about Lachlan was real … except the attraction. Maybe she was crazy, but salvaging something out of this train wreck—even if was only the sexual romp she’d been imagining ever since she bumped into him in the stairwell—had tremendous appeal. She was tired of going to bed alone and unsatisfied. “It’s been a while since I had a screaming orgasm without the help of my vibrator.”

  She heard him swallow, hard.

  “Maybe I just want you to help me with that.”

  Finding courage she didn’t know she possessed, she looked into his clear blue eyes. “If that were the case, would you still push me away?”

  9

  Lachlan was afraid to breathe.

  He was terrified that if he moved even a single muscle, if he so much as twitched, the moment would drift off into hazy nothingness, the way all of his dreams did.

  Sex with Rachel.

  Christ.

  His entire body clamored to say yes. It ached with the need to have her soft and yielding beneath him, to hear her gusty pleas for release echoing in his ear, to feel her clenching around him as he drove her over the edge. By God, his blood was surging so relentlessly in the direction of his cock, it was making him dizzy.

  Struggling to focus, he stared into Rachel’s eyes.

  Her beautiful hazel eyes. Those delightfully expressive eyes told him far more than she probably wanted to tell him: that she was lonely and wounded; that she needed to believe, if only for a few moments, she was still an attractive woman.

  Her question hung in the air, hesitant, expectant.

  Fearful.

  And every instant that passed without a response from him summoned shadows into her eyes. He saw them grow and deepen, and hated himself for being the cause.

  Yet how could he say yes? Sex was a very intimate act. Even if they kept it light and friendly, they’d walk away with a new, more profound knowledge of each other. And if Drusus sensed that deeper connection …

  No. Sex was impossible.

  Only a bastard would endanger her that way.

  But only a bastard would turn her away, too. It was just one afternoon and, on his part at least, the connection was already dangerously deep. He had the power to do some good, to wash away those lingering doubts about being attractive, to give her some genuine pleasure. It wouldn’t cost him anything. Except, perhaps, a little more damage to his already pulverized heart.

  “Screaming orgasms I can help with,” he said, offering her a quirk of a smile. “How much time do you have?”

  Rachel sucked in a sharp breath, and then another.

  He said yes.

  Holy shit, he said yes.

  “I didn’t mean today,” she said hastily. “I mean, you’re not really in any shape to—”

  “Are you changing your mind?” he asked softly.

  It sounded like a challenge, but his tempered expression told her he’d let her walk away without a fuss if that’s what she really wanted. But it also told her this was a one-shot deal, a limited opportunity. If she walked away now, he wouldn’t be leaving the door open for a repeat visit.

  “No,” she breathed.

  “Then come with me.” He stood and extended his hand.

  Heart skipping random beats, Rachel studied his lean, square-tipped fingers. Sneaking home from work for a little afternoon delight was so not her. But right at this moment, she didn’t care. She placed her hand in his.

  He tugged her easily to her feet and led her down the hall, past walls hung with moody Scottish landscapes, past a den populated with a brown leather sofa and a massive home entertainment unit, down to the huge bedroom at the end, a room faintly marked by a masculine blend of soap and cologne.

  Those few investments sure paid healthy dividends.

  She felt as if she’d walked into an old English manor. Heavy cherry woods dominated the room, layered with moss green velvets and red plaids. The huge, drapery-hung four-poster bed ate up most of the space. A wingback chair stood in one corner, a rolltop desk in the other, and a thick-piled Oriental carpet visually pulled them together in wall-to-wall luxury.

  More evidence that Lachlan was not what she had originally assumed him to be. Not a priest, not short of funds. And she knew just by looking at the mask of solemn reserve on his face that she’d only scratched the surface of his deception.

  She must be crazy to trust this man.

  He tightened his grip and drew her all the way into the room. Testing her resolve with his steady gaze, he lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed the delicate and very sensitive flesh there. His warm breath sent a flurry of tiny shivers up her arm.

  Rachel wanted to give in to the exhilaration.

  But as madly desirable as Lachlan was, she couldn’t stop thinking that mad was exactly the right word to describe her decision to do this. He was a stranger, a man she barely knew, and he’d already admitted he was a shadowy composite of lies. She should never have left work. Em would be home in two hours. This was reckless, and rushing into things always had disastrous consequences.

  She stiffened.

  His tongue drew a delicate pattern on her wrist. Combined with the heat of his hand seeping into her skin and the heady effect of his musky scent, she tingled—all over.

  “Is it difficult?” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Being the sole provider for your family, always having to be responsible, never being able to take more than a moment for yourself, even when you need it?”

  Her breath caught.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered.

  “Then take advantage of me, Rachel. I can’t offer much, but I can offer this one afternoon. Let me take care of you. For a few short hours, let go. Lean on me.”

  The promise behind his words—a brief respite from being mother, employee, and chief decision maker, a brief opportunity to indulge herself without any worry—blew her away. She stared into his eyes and a huge weight lifted from her shoulders.

  God help her, she did trust him. Despite what she’d discovered about him, despite her certainty that there were more unknowns lingering in those smoky, mystery-shrouded eyes, she didn’t feel that he was trying to con her. He wasn’t offering her the world, just one afternoon. And crazy or not, she trusted him to give it to her.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled. “Good. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  He threaded his fingers with hers and tugged her off balance, leaving her no choice but to fall a
gainst his solid strength. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as she was told.

  And was almost immediately bombarded by feedback from her other senses: his incredibly delicious smell, of course; the sultry heat radiating from his body; the fluid steel of his muscles; the absolute dependability of his firm stance. She felt very much the small, soft female in the arms of a big, hard man … and was totally turned on by the physical disparity. Her head fell back, exposing her throat, silently begging for a more intimate exploration.

  He obliged.

  His mouth, nibbling and sucking, found the soft skin just above her collarbone. Little flirty dances across her flesh made her head swim. Her breasts responded to the proximity of sensation, plumping and swelling, her nipples budding.

  “I can feel the beat of your pulse against my lips.” His voice was low and husky, a gravelly testament to his need. “I want you so bad, I ache. Do you ache, too, Rachel?”

  “God, yes.”

  “I’ll happily soothe that ache, but there’s a price.” His fingers slid beneath the hem of her shirt to caress bare skin. Every place he touched, fire leapt along her nerve endings. “You have to let go. You have to let me take charge, completely.” His lips found their way to the underside of her jaw, his tongue tracing small circles on her flesh. “Do as I bid, follow my lead, no questions asked. Can you pay?”

  Rachel’s pulse skittered. A thin thread of fear wove through her excitement. Could she? Could her fragile trust in him really stretch that far, to allowing him to dominate her?

  She hesitated.

  His capable hand found the button at her neckline and unfastened it. As the silky material of her blouse parted, a single finger slipped down, trailing lightly over her flesh, raising goose bumps. A second button gave way … and molten need poured over her body, a damp wave that rolled down between her breasts and pooled in her belly.

  “Say aye, Rachel.”

  “Aye,” she groaned. With a deep breath, she sank limply against his chest. Her arms slipped around his middle, her fingers instinctively finding the waistband of his pants and edging in, searching for bare skin.

  “Hold on, love.” He snagged her roving hands, thrust them behind her, and backed her toward the bed. His eyes burned so intensely, she shivered. “You do what I say, remember? Nothing else.”

  She bumped into the bed.

  “Lie down, Rachel.”

  Amazed by the thrill that trickled down her spine at his firm order, she followed his direction, first lifting herself atop the high mattress, then reclining on the sinfully soft velvet comforter. Her eyes devoured his lean, handsome face.

  Now that she knew he wasn’t a priest, the sexy masculine vibes he gave off made sense. She didn’t doubt for a second that he knew his way around a bedroom … or a woman’s body. His expertise was evident in the hooded depths of his eyes, in the predatory way he studied the rise and fall of her chest and then slipped lower.

  As she watched, he reached behind his neck, unbuttoned his black clerical shirt, and pulled it—and the silver cross—over his head, leaving behind a finely honed golden chest and two long, red scabs where he’d been sliced by Drew’s knife … nowhere near as serious as she’d first thought, but still a grim reminder of his injuries. He was hurt.

  His gaze met and held hers.

  One of his hands lazily reached for the button on his black wool pants and popped it free. Guilt nagged at her, but not enough to tell him to stop.

  “Take off your blouse,” he demanded hoarsely. His fingers dragged the zipper of his slacks down, but his eyes remained locked on her. “Let me see you.”

  The scrape of his zipper shortened Rachel’s breaths to shallow pulls and sent her heartbeat into overdrive, which in turn made her hands tremble. Still, somehow, she managed to unfasten the rest of the buttons and free her arms of the lilac silk.

  As she lay flat again, she caught a glimpse of how easily she moved him. The mere sight of her bare midriff and lacy black bra darkened his eyes and brought a faint flush to his cheekbones.

  With a groan, he bent and nuzzled the valley between her breasts. “You’re so damned beautiful,” he said against her skin, his breath hot. “So sweet to taste, so soft to touch. I’ve dreamt about kissing you here, Rachel.”

  Light-headed and breathlessly eager, she welcomed the unhooking of her bra. His hand slid around and cupped the eager flesh of one breast, and Rachel arched into his palm, gasping.

  “And here,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamt of having your beautiful breast in my mouth, sucking at you hard, watching your eyes widen as the ripples reach your toes.”

  Oh God.

  He tugged her bra off, and pulled back a bit to stare at her. Her nipples budded to painful intensity under his admiring perusal. He didn’t say anything, but she saw the storm gather strength in his eyes.

  She held her breath as he drew closer, and closer.

  And then his mouth was on her breast.

  Gently at first, little flicks of his tongue over the engorged tip of her nipple, and then just as he’d promised, hard and sucking.

  Rachel thought she might die.

  Darts of keen sensation, heightened by anticipation, shot from her breast straight to her womb, creating a restless ache between her thighs that she needed to soothe. Somehow. With Lachlan.

  “Touch me,” she begged. “Please touch me.”

  “Where?” He turned his attention to her other breast, suckling until that one, too, was full and wet and swollen. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

  Writhing upon the bedclothes, unable to summon coherent words, she touched herself, pressing the heel of her hand against the throbbing between her legs.

  “Here.”

  His hand followed hers, covering it firmly, rocking in a slow, rhythmic samba of pressure. Rachel relished the rising heat of her own arousal against her palm, melted under the firm guidance of his hand, and shuddered as his tongue rolled her nipple. Everything felt so incredibly good.

  But not … enough.

  She wanted more, everywhere: skin to skin, every limb entwined, every aching inch of her able to feel every incredible inch of him.

  A whimper of need escaped her lips. “Please …”

  “Please what?” he rasped, letting her nipple slip from his mouth. “Do this?” His lips feathered down to her belly, the soft, steamy kisses making her quiver and tremble. His hands worked at her pants until they gaped open, a vee of pale flesh exposed to him. “Or this?”

  One hand slid beneath her own hand, into her panties, threading through the curls, all the way to the damp heat that at this moment was the center of her universe. His calloused finger slipped slowly into her, while his thumb circled, played, drove her mad.

  Her eyes closed involuntarily, succumbing to the hot flames spreading up her chest. She arched into his hand, wanting him deeper, needing him to ease the restless throb.

  There was a groan, but Rachel wasn’t certain whose it was.

  “So wet, so tight. It’ll feel so damned good to slide into you, Rachel. Imagine me there, pumping deep inside you.”

  That moan was definitely hers.

  “I want you, Rachel.” Displaying amazing agility for a man who had one hand fully occupied, he shucked his pants and cotton boxers. Then he was on the bed alongside her, taking her hand and guiding it to his erection. “Feel how much I want you, how much I need you.”

  Her hand wrapped around his hard length, feeling his searing heat, feeling him pulse, feeling him grow harder under her fingers. His rich, musky fragrance deepened with her touch, filling her nose, caressing her skin in return.

  “You need, too, Rachel,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “Tell me what you need.”

  Pale memories of other sexual encounters, of Grant and the brief relationships since, slid over her. Most of them had been quick and fast and not nearly satisfying enough.

  “I need—” A sudden flush of shyness came and, under the expert ministrations of
his hand, went. “I need to explode. Shatter into a million pieces. I need you to make me come until my legs wobble and I can’t see straight.”

  “My pleasure.” He separated her hand from his erection and kissed her fingertips. “We’ll come back to this part later.”

  Then he tugged her slacks and her lace panties down her body and off. Gently but firmly, he spread her legs. Trailing his fingers up her inner thighs, he sent a shiver of raw anticipation through her. “I love hearing you moan and gasp as I touch you. If I make you come, will you scream for me, Rachel?” His head slowly lowered.

  “Ye-sss.”

  Her response was half word, half gasp as his steamy, hot mouth sought and found her center. He flicked his tongue and suckled, and sweet shocks sizzled through her, making her womb clench, flooding her with wetness, easing the thrusts of his finger, allowing it to go deeper.

  “Oh yes.”

  He’d barely even started, and already her muscles were tightening and quivering in an orchestral prelude to mind-blowing bliss. Rachel had never felt so electrified, so incredibly on fire, so ready for release. Partly for him but mostly for herself, she moaned. Her hands dug into his short hair, holding him, encouraging him. Her breaths grew ragged and harsh, even to her own ears, and her blood pounded so loud that thinking beyond raw sensation was impossible.

  He was relentless, reaching deep into her with one finger and then two, tonguing her with such consummate skill, her brain went woolly. She stopped wondering how many women he’d practiced on. The tension in her body mounted … building, climbing, soaring.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. Higher. Tighter. Just a little bit more. She reached for and grasped the edge of the precipice with both hands … then everything flew apart.

  As she spun into ecstasy, she screamed, “Lachlan!”

  The sweet burn that swept through him as Rachel screamed his name was so intense that Lachlan had to squeeze his eyes shut and strain to hold on. Her delightful, high-pitched squeal rang in his ears and echoed in his chest, in that cold, empty space that only she seemed able to fill.