Beautiful Sinner Page 11

  And she couldn’t help wondering if she would be feeling this way if she hadn’t come face-to-face with Cruz Walsh this week. He’d brought back a rush of emotion. She felt alive . . . awake in a way she had only ever felt when he kissed her in the boathouse.

  She had convinced herself that those brief moments in the boathouse had somehow been inflated in her memory. That it couldn’t have been as good or as sweet or as special as she remembered.

  She’d been wrong.

  It was all that and more. Somehow she had forgotten the want . . . the way her body could ache, the way blood could turn to lava in her veins, reducing her to a puddle.

  He brought back all the longing and now it was worse because she was no longer some unsure virgin. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she had been missing . . . and she felt certain he could take care of all her achy parts.

  Also, there were no longer any secrets between them. They were adults. There was freedom for them to do what they wanted. At least in regards to each other. They were no longer teens that had to resort to clandestine, hasty couplings.

  If not for her conscience, she could take him up on his offer of a fling. They could take all the time in the world with each other.

  She released a sigh. Maybe she should have gone out with Jabal tonight. Then at least she wouldn’t be thinking about Cruz.

  Jabal actually tried to convince her to go out for drinks to a nearby bar.

  “Come on. It’s new. You’ve got to check it out. They have the hottest bartender working there. And the clientele is pretty decent. Can’t tell you how many decent hookups I’ve scored there.”

  Gabriella had declined. Jabal was younger, still up for all-nighters and random hookups. Gabriella was past all that. She preferred her yoga pants, takeout and a Netflix marathon on a Friday night.

  She started up the steps, already thinking about relaxing in a hot tub with a book.

  She was halfway up when she heard a voice on the night.

  “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to come home. It’s getting late,” he announced.

  Her head snapped up. He sat on the top step, his elbows relaxed on his knees. His dark eyes pinned her to the spot. She froze, one hand gripping the railing. Elation filled her at the sight of him before she could suppress it.

  It took her a moment to find her voice—it was trapped somewhere in her throat like a fluttering bird. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  She glanced around, searching for what she didn’t know. She faced him again. “Have you been here long?”

  “Not too long. I mean, I haven’t been sitting here all day.” His lips quirked. “I went to work. Are you unhappy to see me, Rossi?” He cocked his head, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully on her. “I think you’re angry because you are happy to see me.”

  Her face heated at how accurately he pegged the situation. “What? No! I’m not happy . . . I’m not anything.” His expression turned faintly smug. As though she had just confirmed it. “You can’t know what’s going on in my mind, so don’t act like you do.”

  She lifted her chin and continued, “I just didn’t expect you.”

  “I said I’d be seeing you again.”

  “Yes, and I wanted to see you. For that interview,” she lied rather desperately.

  His face went cold. “I didn’t agree to an interview.”

  She looked up and down the street. “Where’s your car?”

  “You seemed concerned about your grandmother knowing I was here.” He paused with a light shrug. “I can understand how your family might react to me hanging around you.” Another pause. He wasn’t saying it, but she knew they were both thinking about Shelley Rae. And he was right. Her family would not take it well. “I parked out of sight. Around the corner.”

  Was he actually looking out for her? She didn’t think he cared for himself one way or another. He was still living in a town where half the residents treated him like a guilty man.

  So he was considerate. She squared her shoulders and tried not to let that go to her head. She lifted her foot and started up the steps, her hand skimming the wood railing to her right, heedless of the fact that she was probably going to get a splinter.

  “Shouldn’t you be avoiding me? I’m the press, after all.” She stopped before him. His knees were close. Just inches from her.

  “I’m not worried. What we’re going to do doesn’t involve a lot of talking. At least not the kind of words you can put in print. Pretty sure the censors wouldn’t allow that.”

  She sucked in a breath, her face catching fire. “That confident, are you?”

  His gaze held hers and her face grew even hotter. Damn it. Why couldn’t she be cool and unaffected?

  Because this is Cruz Walsh. Your fantasy come to life.

  Shoving that annoying know-it-all voice aside, she stepped around him onto the porch, moving toward her front door, determined to be strong enough to resist the fantasy rising to his feet behind her.

  Fantasies weren’t supposed to come true. They were supposed to stay well and properly in her head, ready to be pulled out on lonely nights. It would throw her world off-kilter if he were to seriously like her. If fantasy became reality.

  But no no no. This wasn’t about liking. Believable or not, it was about sex. It was only physical. Only about fucking . . . or the prospect of fucking.

  She inserted her key into the lock and sent him a look over her shoulder. It was a strange thing. She’d never been with a man, Cody included, that wasn’t a boyfriend. And she’d never had a boyfriend who didn’t like her first. They fell for her personality. The physical stuff was secondary. They never uttered naughty or suggestive things to her. They had sex (usually scheduled and in the dark) but they never fucked. What they had were mutual interests. It was largely cerebral.

  Looking back at Cruz with his hooded eyes and sensual mouth, she knew he fucked. That’s the kind of man he was and damn if all her girl parts didn’t quiver and throb and whisper in need.

  She whipped her head around and faced forward again with a shaky breath.

  At times, she wasn’t even convinced her boyfriends had found her that attractive. It was what was on the inside that mattered to them . . . and don’t get her wrong. That’s how it should be. Personality and compatibility and the soul within mattered.

  But with Cruz hovering at her back, his warm breath on her neck . . . she felt desired. Wanted in a way she had never felt before.

  She fought to control her breathing as she pushed open her door. Then she just stood there, not yet taking a step to cross the threshold. It’s what she should do. Step over the threshold and shut the door on him with a firm good-night.

  Should do.

  But it would be so easy to turn and invite him inside. So easy to let him inside in every sense.

  Desire warred with her sense of responsibility and good judgment She wasn’t an adolescent. She couldn’t let her libido rule her. She needed to be responsible.

  Her fingers flexed in the doorframe, clenching into the wood, the pressure threatening to split her nails.

  Still, she didn’t move. Didn’t close the door.

  She opened her mouth to speak without turning around. “There has to be some other woman who would be delighted if you showed up at her front door.”

  He chuckled, rustling her hair. “Are you trying to talk me out of liking you?”

  Liking her?

  “That’s not what this is.”

  “Oh?” His arms appeared on either side of her, each hand propping on the doorframe directly below her own hands. “What is this then?”

  “To you? Some game—”

  “No. I don’t play games,” he quickly rebutted.

  “I mean, it’s just . . .” She swallowed miserably. “You only want to sleep with me.”

  “That’s not untrue,” he agreed. “And you know what else is true?” Still beyond speech, she shook her head. “You want to sleep with me,
too.”

  God. She did.

  Immediately her mind raced, rationalizing it, lying to herself . . . telling herself it wasn’t too big a deal to sleep with her high school crush.

  Immediately she saw them tangled up together in the sheets of her bed. She had nice sheets. A zillion thread count and a plush down-filled comforter. It was her weakness. An indulgence she couldn’t resist. Good quality bedding that they could wreck.

  His gravelly voice continued, “But I take exception to the word only. There won’t be anything only about it. What I want to do to you will take hours. Maybe days. It’s the kind of thing that could span weeks. Maybe longer.”

  She choked back a gasp. A long-term affair? How could he promise that? He was bullshitting her.

  She should step inside. Slam the door in his face.

  “Amateurs only sleep together,” he added. “Or people who can take it or leave it. They care more about what’s on their DVR. For them, sex is not essential.” He paused a beat.

  She tensed, unable to draw her next breath, all of her pulsing and humming with desire. God. His words alone did this to her. Imagine what he could do with his mouth and hand and cock.

  “So you have to realize that I’m going to ruin you for any other man. When we fuck, Rossi, it’s going to feel like the thing you need most in your life. Forget about food and water. Me. Between your legs. You’re going to need it like air to survive. It will never be as good with anyone else.”

  A tiny little whimper escaped her. Who says shit like that?

  And the terrible thing was . . . she believed him. Every. Single. Word. She felt like she was already on the verge of combusting. Her pussy contracted, squeezing in need.

  He gently swept her hair off her back and onto her shoulder.

  Then she could feel his soft breath as he brought his face closer. Close enough to brush his lips to the nape of her neck. Shivers broke out over her skin. She bit her lip to keep from crying out until she tasted a coppery wash of blood over her teeth. Her fingers clung harder to the doorframe, hanging on. She feared if she let go she would drop and melt into a puddle at his feet.

  He followed that tiny kiss with a long and lingering one at the very top of her spine, eventually opening his mouth over her skin. She dropped her head with a whimper as his tongue trailed hotly on her goose-bumped flesh.

  He came in closer, crowding her until his chest was flush with her back. She stayed where she was, square in the middle of her doorway, arms splayed out at her sides.

  His entire body was aligned with hers, every hard ridge of him palpable . . . solid and substantial behind her. Against her.

  Their clothing was nothing, just a thin barrier. The heat of their two bodies fused together. His dick bulged against the small of her back and she wanted to wiggle against that part of him, turn and fit his hardness directly against her core.

  It had been too long. So long. Twelve years too long, in fact. How was she supposed to resist?

  She throbbed, physically aching to have him there, filling her.

  He continued to kiss the back of her neck. Who ever knew that was such an erogenous zone? It was totally new for her. No one had kissed her there before. Everything with him was new.

  His fingers played with the hem of her shirt, teasing at her waist and then sliding around, his broad palm gliding over her stomach.

  She tensed, sucking in a breath and her stomach at the same time. She didn’t like to be touched in that area. She was too self-conscious by far. Sex had always been something she did in the dark, and she had always steered her boyfriend’s hands away from her midsection.

  “What’s wrong?” he husked against her neck, clearly sensing her tension.

  She shook her head and tried to relax and accept his touch and not be weird about it.

  His hands weren’t long for her stomach anyway. They slid up to cup both her breasts. He gently squeezed the heavy mounds and she moaned, dropping her head back against his chest, all self-consciousness fleeing as sensations flooded her.

  Something that sounded suspiciously like a groan rumbled out of his chest and it only got her hotter to know that he was affected, too. That she turned him on.

  “God, I’ve dreamed of these.”

  Since yesterday? It seemed a strange thing for him to say, but she shook off the curious thought as a rush of wetness flooded her panties. If this was what his hands on her breasts felt like . . . what else was in store for her if she really cast her inhibitions aside and invited him inside her place?

  His mouth landed on the side of her neck, feasting with tongue and teeth as his hands massaged her sensitive breasts. His touch grew firmer, rougher, until he yanked the demi cups down. Finally!

  Her boobs spilled free and then his hands were on her, still under her shirt but on her naked breasts. Wild whimpers escaped her as his work-roughened palms abraded her flesh. His fingers played with her nipples, his touch growing firmer the louder her moans grew. Her head rolled side to side on his chest as the moisture gathered between her legs. Never had a man played and maneuvered her so expertly, using her reactions to guide his next action.

  She came in a blinding-white rush. Hard and fast. Chest thrust out brazenly into his hands. His fingers clamped down on her nipples, pinching and twisting the distended tips as she rode out her climax, barreling from one directly into the next one. It was a never-ending orgasm.

  “Fuck,” he growled, grinding into her from behind. “That made you come? You’re so hot for it.” He panted into her ear. “I want you to come apart like that with me balls-deep inside you.”

  She nodded jerkily.

  Broken, shattered sounds escaped her, but no words. She was beyond that. But it was enough. Consent given and he knew it. Their time had come.

  Thirteen

  He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her from the doorway like she weighed nothing at all. She gave a little yelp, her hands flying to his taut forearm locked around her.

  They didn’t make it very far.

  Two strides and the door slammed behind them, and he spun her in his arms and kissed her. Somehow her feet were off the ground, toes dangling above the carpet. She knew rationally, cogently, that he was holding her, lifting her clear off her feet. And yet her lifelong neurosis prevented her from accepting that any man could be carrying her and not spraining his back.

  Their open mouths collided, tongues diving and licking and tangling. Her arms looped around his neck. They backed into a wall rather forcefully. Picture frames rattled dangerously, but she didn’t care. Didn’t stop to look. The pictures could have shattered to the ground in a million pieces and she would have kept kissing this man. Cruz Walsh. Cruz. Cruz. Cruz.

  Hell. A bomb could go off and she wouldn’t stop.

  She could be dead and she would return to life to kiss this man . . . to have him.

  “You taste like chocolate,” he muttered against her mouth. His hands dropped to the waistband of her leggings and she tensed. This was happening. Cruz was about to strip off her clothes and have sex with her and she was okay with that. More than okay. She was an eager participant . . . and her living room was fully lit.

  “The lights,” she muttered into their kiss, her hands tightening where they braced on his shoulders.

  His fingers curled inside her waistband and started to push her pants down her hips. Her heart skipped in panic.

  “The lights,” she repeated, her voice clearer, more insistent.

  He lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming and glazed with a certain lack of focus. “What about them?”

  “Off. Turn them off.”

  He frowned, growling, “I want to see every fucking inch of you.” He held her gaze, his jaw locking stubbornly. He was ready to battle for this.

  Her pulse skittered at her throat with both delight and fear. No man had seen every fucking inch of her in full light. Up until now she had been pretty sure that no man ever would, but here he was, demanding it with his velvety dar
k eyes.

  “Please,” he added.

  It was the please that undid her, unraveled the last of her resistance.

  He dipped his head then and kissed her throat, that amazing mouth of his nibbling and sucking at her pulse point until she was squirming and gasping.

  “I want to see your skin against mine . . . I want to watch as my hands roam all over your bare skin.”

  God, yes. So did she.

  “Don’t you want to see me naked, too?” he murmured against her skin.

  God, YES.

  His deep voice went on. “Don’t you want to watch my cock moving in and out of you?”

  Oh. My. God. He was sin. Unadulterated sin. She nodded jerkily, feeling like one of those bobble-head dolls.

  “Then we both have to be naked with the lights on for that to happen.”

  She grasped his face and brought his lips back to hers, kissing him eagerly. Suddenly they were sliding down the wall and then she was on the floor under him. With anyone else the entire action would have been graceless and awkward but there wasn’t anything bumbling about Cruz. It was impossible for him to be physically awkward. He was all animal grace and fluidity.

  He broke their kiss and leaned back to sweep off her leggings in one swift motion, tossing them over his shoulder. He came back over her, his mouth robbing any protest she might have waged. Not that she was protesting. She had given up all notion of that.

  His fingers played with the sides of her panties at her hips, alerting her to the fact that he had not stripped those off along with her leggings. She wasn’t totally naked under him, at least. Of course, she couldn’t precisely remember what panties she was wearing today, so there was that worry. Please, don’t let them be my time-to-do-the-laundry granny panties.