A Sexy Time of It. Cara Summers
glared down at her as temper and something more dangerous burned through his system. He surprised them both by jerking her close. Then he did what he’d wanted to do earlier in the bookstore. What he’d known he was going to do. He clamped his mouth down on hers. It was a mistake—one he regretted the moment he tasted her.
Why did she have to taste so sweet? Her flavor reminded him of some wild, rare honey that he’d sampled in an ancient time. He had to have more. When she parted her lips, he dived in. The low sound of approval that vibrated in her throat had his blood racing like a river pouring over rapids. He dragged her closer until they formed one figure on the cobblestone street.
She should pull away. It was the only coherent thought that tumbled into Neely’s mind. But she couldn’t seem to gather the will. He was angry. She could taste the tartness of it on his tongue, feel it in the roughness of his palm as it lay on the side of her face and in the fingers that burned at the back of her neck. And still she wanted more.
As if he’d read her mind, he urged her back a few steps until a brick wall pressed against her shoulders. She molded herself against that strong, hard body, nearly cried out from pleasure when that bold hand stroked down her, claiming, possessing. When he gripped the back of her knee, drawing her thigh up, she wrapped her legs and arms around him, scooting up until they were together, center to center. Heat shot through her, melting muscles and bone. Still she had to have more.
He nipped at her bottom lip and deepened the kiss. It was no longer anger that she tasted, but a dark, desperate hunger. His? Hers? In another moment, he was going to take her against that brick wall. They would take each other. She could picture it so vividly in her mind, wanted it so desperately. His fingers had already slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans. The image of what they would do filled her mind so completely that the sound of the whistles barely registered. What she was aware of was that the stranger’s hands had suddenly stilled.
This time she heard the whistles. Three of them. Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones.
Neely cried out softly when he broke off the kiss and set her away from him. She leaned against the brick wall for support as he looked back in the direction they’d come from.
“Sounds like someone’s discovered the body.” Gripping her arm, he pulled her forward. “We’d better get out of here.”
We? Even with her mind still spinning, Neely didn’t think so. She had to get away from him. This was a man she didn’t even know, and they’d nearly had sex against a wall in an alley.
Desperately, she pushed the image out of her mind and concentrated on her options. He was bigger, stronger, and even if she could pull free, he could probably run faster. So…
Suddenly, she knew just how to do it. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Closing her eyes, she conjured up the items in her bedroom—the four-poster bed, the intricately patterned quilt, the Tiffany lamp with its rosy glow. Her body went suddenly light and she let herself be pulled into the whirling darkness.
4
May 16, 2008
Manhattan
WHEN HE SURFACED, Max found himself lying in a bed with Neely Rafferty. Correction. He was lying on top of Neely Rafferty. They were positioned in a way that mirrored the image that had filled his mind when he’d been on the stoop. The major difference being that they were fully clothed. Thank God for small favors. And it was a very small one, considering he couldn’t seem to find the will to move. And he very much wanted to kiss her again. He badly wanted to finish what they’d started in that alley.
But first, he needed answers. A lot of them. Still, he couldn’t seem to make his body follow the orders his brain was sending out. Okay. For the time being, he’d stay where he was and use his position as an intimidation factor. Her eyes were open and on his. She looked a bit stunned, as if she was still trying to orient herself. He could understand that. He was badly in need of a little orientation, too. Who in hell was she? Obviously not the simple bookseller his research had revealed. Among other things, Neely Rafferty was a psychic time traveler.
And that wasn’t the only psychic power she possessed. Not only had she transported herself, but she’d dragged him with her as if he were a marionette and she held the strings. No one had ever done that to him before, and he was going to find out just how she’d accomplished it.
When she began to wiggle beneath him and arousal shot through him, Max dispensed with his intimidation plan and scraped up the will to shift off of her.
“Who the hell are you?” They spoke the question in unison. Nearly. Max noted that she’d left off the “hell.”
“Get out of my bed,” she added. As an extra incentive, she pulled something out of her pocket. Max grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the pillow above her head. Then he placed one leg over both of hers to keep her still. The good news was she hadn’t shot him with whatever was in that small metal container. The bad news was their faces were close now—so close that their lips were almost brushing.
Time spun out. There was no other sound in the room but their steady breathing. Max knew he should move. He had to move. Once more his brain gave the command to his body, but sensations battered him so fiercely that he was trapped. There was the fast, hard beat of her pulse against his fingers. And there were her eyes. His gaze lingered on them and once again it wasn’t surrender he saw, but a raw desire that matched his own. He shifted his attention to her mouth. Her lips were moist, parted. Needs thundered through him, and it took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to close the small distance and devour. It was what he wanted, what he’d wanted from the first time he’d seen her.
Questions whirled through his mind. He wasn’t sure whose they were—his, hers? Who are you? Where are you from? But the words they both spoke aloud were, “I want you.”
He felt the shudder move through her, then him. Then came the heat and he felt the last thin grasp he had on reason slip away. This time when their mouths joined, jolts of pleasure sparked through his system with the jagged, pulsing impact of an electric current. Later, he’d try to figure out who made that final move, but as her mouth heated beneath his and he once more sampled her honey-sweet flavor, he didn’t much care. Wasn’t this what he was sure they were headed for? Wasn’t this what he’d known he’d take from the first time he’d seen her picture?
More.
NEELY FELT as if she were drowning in sensations. She couldn’t think. She could only feel. His mouth was hard and hot, just as it had been before. As he used teeth and tongue to deepen the kiss, his taste, dark and male, pumped into her like a drug and only intensified the aching greed that threatened to consume her.
More.
As if sensing her wish, his body covered hers again. Heat arrowed through her, and her body arched. Though they were both fully clothed, she felt the sensation of skin rubbing against skin. And she felt the calluses on his palm as he pressed it against her breast. Then he ran that wonderfully rough hand down her body from breast to thigh. Once more she absorbed the contact as if she were naked, and she felt the heat of his wide hand on her leg like a brand. When he slipped two fingers between her legs and pressed them against her center, a jolt of pleasure shot through her. More.
He began to stroke her.
Gently. Too gently.
He increased both the pressure and the pace.
In some part of her brain, Neely sensed that he could read her mind. No, more than that, he was in her mind, registering each of her desires, and giving her just what she craved. She knew she was still fully clothed, and so was he, but she felt the moist heat of his tongue circling her nipple. And his thumb as it stroked down her fold, separating her. Then he slipped two fingers into her.
She felt the shock of the penetration and need slammed into her like a fist. She arched upward, straining for release, crying out when he withdrew his fingers. “Don’t stop.”
“This