Sweet Seduction (Sweet #3)

Sweet Seduction (Sweet #3) Page 27

The first time he'd brought her home, he'd undressed her as quickly as possible, feeling like a guilty voyeur the entire time. This time he was going to savor every moment.

"Nathan?"

They stood at the foot of her bed, and she looked up at him, her expression so trusting.

"Yes, honey?"

"You're about to see me naked, aren't you."

"Uh-huh."

"Do I get to see you naked?"

He chuckled. "You've already seen me naked, you little tease."

"You look good naked," she said with a sigh.

"So do you," he said huskily.

He reached for her shirt, pulling it over her head. She raised her arms in cooperation. Every part of his body started humming when the pink lacy bra came into view. Her breasts were thrust forward and straining against the cups, the darker peach of the aureoles playing an erotic game of peekaboo.

He was so going to hell for lusting over a drunk woman, but at the moment he couldn't see a downside in that.

When the shirt fell to the floor, he reached for the button of her jeans, loving the feel of her soft belly against his knuckles. He popped the fly and peeled the denim over her hips only to find the thinnest, silkiest pair of underwear that exactly matched the frothy confection that was her bra.

As he worked his hands over her ass to push the pants further down, he discovered that the panties were a thong.

Ah hell. He closed his eyes and shook his head, sure that instead of hell, he'd be assured sainthood if he survived this without throwing her on the bed and burying himself inside her.

Deciding there was no way he'd be able to make it if she slept naked beside him the entire night, he acted quickly and stripped off his T-shirt. He dropped it over her head and pulled her arms through the holes, satisfied when it fell below her hips. There. Almost completely covered.

He kicked off his shoes and hastily stripped down to his underwear, ignoring the way his damn dick was about to bust a hole in the material.

"Come on, honey, let's get you into bed."

She docilely let him lead her around the side of the bed and urge her onto the mattress. She crawled under the covers and laid her head on the pillow, closing her eyes immediately.

Well hell he thought ruefully. Passed out already. But when he climbed in beside her, gingerly easing the covers over his body, she turned into him, curling up like a contented kitten seeking warmth.

A massive wave of satisfaction rocked him. This . . . this was nice. Julie in his arms, sweet and warm, her soft breaths easing over his neck.

Careful not to disturb her, he wrapped on arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. He gently maneuvered his other arm underneath her neck so that she was cradled against his shoulder.

"Good night, Julie," he whispered against her ear.

She responded by snuggling a little closer and inserting her leg between his. Content to wrap himself completely around her, he slid his leg over her hip so that there wasn't a part of her not touching him.

He blew one silky strand of hair from his mouth and then kissed the area right above her ear.

Yeah, this was nice.

Chapter 28

Angelina Moyano watched from a distance as Micah stood over the two headstones in the small graveyard. She peeked from behind a large oak tree, her small hands gripping the rough bark. It was always like this. At dawn he'd come to honor their memories. Just as he did every year.

The sun's rays were barely peeking over the horizon, but the Florida humidity was already thick and heavy, each breath a struggle in the cloying heat. She chanced a look over her shoulder, damning her paranoia that she'd been followed, but she couldn't afford to take chances. Seeing nothing, she turned her attention back to Micah.

He knelt at Hannah's grave and carefully laid a single yellow rose, her favorite, just below the marble slab that marked her death. He kissed his thumb and ridge of his forefinger then laid his hand over the flat ground.

Angelina sucked in her breath. It was different this year.

Before he'd always stood there looking so haunted, his eyes filled with grief and regret. This year ... this year he seemed to be saying good-bye.

Her eyes filled with tears when he turned to David's grave and drew a simple rosary from his pocket. He kissed the beads and then laid them at her brother's headstone.

Sadness knotted her throat. She missed them too. She missed Micah, but he was as lost to her as David and Hannah. Maybe now he was ready. Ready to let go. He had grieved long enough. She had grieved long enough.

He rose, shoving his hands into his pockets. For a long moment he simply stood there as the early morning light grew a little brighter.

Warmth flooded the little place where Micah stood, and Angelina took it as a sign that it was time.

"I love you," she whispered, letting the wind carry her words away.

When he finally turned and walked back toward his truck, she waited only long enough so that she wouldn't be seen before she darted back to her car. She would have to hurry if she was going to get to Twilight before he did.

It was where he always went after he paid his homage to his former wife and to David, his best friend. Only Angelina understood the need that drove him. Only she understood his pain, knew his private demons. She would help him because she could do nothing else. She'd loved him far too long. Maybe now he could finally love her in return.

She took the shortest route to the club and whipped into the back parking lot ten minutes later. Though it operated twenty-four hours a day, at this time of the morning it was usually empty, and she knew that was one of the reasons Micah always chose this time to come.

Grabbing her bag, she hurried inside the employee entrance and checked with Rose who manned the front door.

"I'm here, Rose. Just give me a minute to change. If he gets here, put him in room one."

"Hey, Angel baby. I see him walking up now, so scoot on back so he doesn't see you."

"Thanks, Mama Rose." She blew a kiss to the older woman and ran for the dressing room.

She didn't go for garish dress-up. No leather, no high-heeled boots. No, save the mask that protected her identity, she went with black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her long, dark hair was drawn into a braid and tucked down her shirt. She was as nondescript as they came.

The last item was the leather mask that covered her from the neck up. Only her eyes were visible, and they blended with the dark leather, dark, almost black.

David would have killed her if he were alive. He and Hannah would both be horrified that David's little sister was for all practical purposes a surrogate daughter to a woman who owned one of Miami's most successful bondage clubs.

Micah would look at her with those dark eyes and ask her what the hell a little girl like her was doing in a place like this.

And it was all because of him.

A soft knock at her door had her whirling around as Mama Rose stuck her head in.

"He's ready for you, sweetie."

Angelina nodded and walked out the door and down the hall to one of the flogging rooms. When she entered, she sucked in her breath so hard her chest hurt.

Her reaction to him never dimmed. The sight of such a powerful, proud man standing in the middle of the room, bared to the waist, his hands high above him, tied to a spreader. He was utterly magnificent.

On another man, his pose might seem submissive. Weak. Only she knew better. Underneath the seemingly calm surface was a man who seethed with emotion. Dark and boiling. And she would call it to the surface.

His head rose when he heard her footsteps. There was a vulnerability to his eyes she hadn't seen in the past. Like the emotion bubbled that much closer to the surface. Before he'd buried it, only releasing it with his pain.

Not everyone would understand his needs. But she did. Oh how she did. She would set him free. She would give him what he needed.

"I need . . . Don't go easy," he said in a low voice.

She nodded her acceptance of his request. She alone understood his need for this kind of pain. They were more alike than he would ever know.

She uncoiled the whip and let the end fall to the floor as she circled behind him. Such beauty. His back was broad, his waist lean and narrow. The muscles coiled and bunched between his shoulder blades as he readied himself for her strike.

How long she had practiced, relentlessly perfecting her method, so she would never disappoint him. He was safe in her hands.

The first lash landed against his skin with a deafening crack.

He jerked but quickly righted himself and went still, waiting the next. She flicked her wrist again, exerting just the right amount of force, and placed an identical stripe across from the first.

She forced herself to relax, to not allow the welling emotion to bubble up. Calmly and methodically she kissed his back with the lash, watching as he jumped and bowed under the whip.

Sweat glistened on his back, dampened his hair until it fell in limp curls past his neck. Still she continued, sensing he needed more. She striped one side then the other, working a path down to his waist.

As she worked her way back up, blood beaded and shone in the low light. Finally. Release. Lightly, like a lover's kiss, she whispered the whip across his shoulders until they were slick with blood.

It was like making a cut in a festering wound. The relief was profound as pressure—and pain—escaped the seething cauldron. His hands clenched in their bonds, his wrists flexing as he raised his head, looking upward as if he was seeking redemption.

With every stroke, she lavished him with her love. It was bizarre to someone who didn't understand. An unacceptable outlet for many. But this was his way. She accepted it as she did him.

A heavy sigh escaped him, the only sound he made the entire time. His shoulders drooped and she knew it was enough. She let the whip fall and walked around to face him.

His eyes were closed, but his cheeks were streaked with tears. Her own eyes clouded with moisture. He'd never cried for them. Not at the funeral. Not at the graves. Not afterward when he'd driven her home. And then he'd simply disappeared, dealing with his grief as he did everything else. Alone.

She ached to hold him, to tell him it was all right, that Hannah and David loved him too. That she loved him. That he didn't have to be alone any longer.

Instead she stepped forward and cupped his face lovingly in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered in a husky voice he'd never recognize, "Vaya enpaz"

Go in peace.

He looked up at her as she stepped away with glazed, unfocused eyes. Another tear slipped down his cheek, marking a raw trail on his face.

"Thank you," he said in a husky voice.

She simply nodded, knowing that even if she dared, she wouldn't have been able to speak around the knot in her throat. She kissed the shaft of the whip and laid it carefully at his feet.

She left the room on shaky legs, knowing Mama Rose waited to free Micah and to attend to him in whatever way necessary. She also knew he'd refuse the older woman's attentions and would be gone within minutes.

She shed her mask, for the last time. It was all she could do not to run back down the hall and throw her arms around him, beg him to take her with him. Letting him go instilled her with a fierce ache. Because this time he wouldn't be back. With that realization, she knew that it was now or never for her. She'd given Micah the time he needed to heal. Now it was up to her to go after him. Show him it was okay to love again.

He might not be coming back to Miami, but there was nothing to stop her from going to Houston. She had to go. She couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe, and Micah was all she had to run to.

Chapter 29

Julie awoke to the smell of warm, masculine goodness. She inhaled without opening her eyes, because if it was a dream, she wanted to make it last a little longer.

Spicy. Yum. Just yum.

She finally cracked open one eye and collided with the hard wail of a sculpted chest. She knew that chest.

Shifting just enough that she could crane her neck, she looked up to see the chiseled outline of Nathan's jaw, roughened slightly with an overnight beard. Mmmm, she'd love to run her tongue over it.

His right arm was thrown carelessly over his head while the other was tucked firmly around her, his fingers splayed over her ass. The innate possession in his touch sent a decadent thrill up her spine, rebounding and arcing through her body. Her entire ass tingled, and she shifted restlessly to alleviate the burn.

Inspiration struck her right between the eyes, and she sucked in her breath as she weighed the possibilities. He presented her the perfect opportunity. Just perfect. If she could just get out of bed without waking him, she could retrieve the handcuffs that Faith had given her from her dresser drawer.

Then Nathan would be all hers.

She was tempted to rub over him like a cat, but she could always do that later. After he was at her mercy.

Barely containing her gleeful smile, she began the slow, agonizing task of slipping away. After every movement, no matter how slight, she studied him for any sign that he was waking. He never even stirred.

When finally she slid out of bed, she hurried over to get the handcuffs, fumbling with the clasps in her haste.

On his side of the bed, she studied how best to accomplish her goal. Ideally she'd like both hands cuffed to the iron headboard. One would be easy, and if she could get the right wrist secured without waking him, then she could possibly get the left one done as well.