Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy
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And then her lips were on his, teasing, giving, and the world and his struggle to find a place in it disappeared beneath the weight of his desire for her. His passion built and so did his urge to bury himself deep inside her; to take and take still more, until the only name he remembered was hers.
He tried to damp it down. He called on every last bit of skill he possessed to keep things simple and easy between them, just as she wanted. Just as he’d always been able to do with a woman before. With words and with every drop of control he’d ever been taught, he tried to delay the inevitable. ‘I’m still waiting on that blue dress,’ he told her raggedly as he twined a strand of her hair, that midnight-dark hair, around his finger, around his fist.
‘Maybe if you’d told me you were coming,’ she countered as she slid his T-shirt heavenward.
He helped her take it off, dropping it on the floor beside him before reaching for her again, finding the curve of her throat with his lips as he surged against her, heat to heat, centre to hard, unyielding centre. ‘Trust me, Serena. I guarantee you’ll know when I’m coming.’
He watched her face as he traced a path from the hollow of her throat, down over the curve of her breasts with his fingers, smiling his satisfaction when her eyes grew slumberous and her nipples peaked for him beneath the slippery material of her bikini top. ‘Distract me some more,’ he murmured, leaning back in the chair, still trying for lightness between them, and her smile turned impish.
‘You’re a beautiful man, Pete Bennett,’ she said as she leaned back and lifted her hand to the bikini tie at the back of her neck, sliding it forward so that it lay on the curve of her breast. ‘Sculpted enough to make a woman sigh her gratitude. Hard enough to make her tremble in anticipation.’ She toyed with the end of that string, back and forth, back and forth, until his fingers twined with hers and he took over that particular duty.
He tugged on it gently, not enough to loosen it altogether, not yet, and she shuddered and bit back a whimper, playing the game he’d asked of her, playing it to perfection. He could have tugged that string loose completely and covered the tightly peaked nubs of her nipples with his mouth but he wasn’t quite ready to give up his sanity just yet.
He smoothed his hands over those golden shoulders, played his hands along her arms until his hands found hers and he set them palm to palm, smiling a little at the contrast. She had beautiful hands, smooth, feminine. A direct contrast to his much larger, rougher hands, and one that pleased him. She studied their joined hands with a tilt to her lips that told her the contrast amused her too, and then she threaded her fingers through his and made his hands prisoners.
‘You’d rather I didn’t touch you?’ he queried as her lips traced a path from his jaw to the edge of his mouth. ‘That’s a pity.’
‘I do want you to touch me,’ she assured him. ‘Soon. Very soon. But it’s very distracting and that’s not good, because right now I’m the one who’s doing the distracting.’
‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right,’ he murmured, closing his fingers over hers. ‘But you’ll let me know when you’re done with that?’
‘Of course.’ Her lips met his for a kiss so deeply drugging that he groaned beneath the onslaught.
‘Are you done yet?’ he demanded raggedly.
‘No.’ Another kiss followed, more potent than the first.
‘How about now?’
‘Patience, flyboy.’ But she punctuated her remark by loosening her grasp on his hands as she arched back, her body undulating ever so gently against his—like the lapping of the tide—and any patience he might have laid claim to disappeared beneath a wave of exquisite pleasure.
His hands left hers to slide over her skin, over her belly button, over the thin cotton material of those little white shorts, as he played his knuckles across the area just above where his body met hers. Back and forth, back and forth, while his body demanded more.
‘I think I’m done distracting you,’ she whispered.
‘You’re sure?’
She looked down to where his hand played over those little white shorts and shuddered hard against him, all feminine strength and outrageous heat. ‘Positive.’
‘Because I’d hate to rush you.’
Her eyes met his, dark and needy, as her fingers found her bikini string and tugged it loose. ‘You’re not.’
Her breasts were full and round, dusky tipped and perfect, and fitted his hands as if they belonged there. She gasped, her hands coming up to cover his as she pushed against him. She knew this game, revelled in it, and, heaven help them both, so did he.
With a ragged groan he wrapped his arms around her waist and her behind, carried her to the day-bed in the corner of the room, and tumbled her onto it.
Her clothes went, his did, and his need turned fierce.
He feasted on her lips, her skin, her breasts, and everywhere he touched she responded with a sigh, a shudder, a whimper. Tight, so tightly responsive, her eyes as black as her hair, hot colour riding high on her cheeks as he eased inside her, back and forth, each time filling her that little bit more.
She reared up beneath him, her hands clutching at his arms and her lips finding his for a kiss that seared clear through to his soul. He’d had lovers before, bedmates he’d enjoyed, but no one had ever played him like this. Not like this.
‘More,’ she whispered as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, still buried inside her.
‘You’ll get it.’ He found her centre with his thumb, and she found a rhythm guaranteed to send him soaring, arching back, her breath coming in short sharp gasps. And then he was flying apart, touching the sky, taking her with him as he emptied himself into her and gave her what she asked for.
She laughed in the aftermath. Deliciously satisfied laughter that slid through Pete’s body as he lay on his back, his hands still holding her in place while his muscles twitched and rippled in response to the demands he’d placed on them. So much for finesse. For taking his time. Taking the edge off his hunger for her.
The only thing he’d well and truly taken, he thought ruefully, was Serena. ‘You okay?’ he asked huskily. Not a question he normally had to ask. Usually, he made sure of it somewhere along the way. Usually, he didn’t lose his mind.
‘I swear I just went to heaven,’ she said, and laughed some more. ‘Am I dead?’
‘You have a pulse.’ He could feel it, intimately. ‘You’re not dead.’ Judging by his returning hardness, neither was he. Yet.
‘What’s that?’ she asked as he stirred inside her.
‘A minor miracle.’ Possibly an opportunity to show her he could be a civilised lover when he put his mind to it. Of course, first he had to find his mind. ‘You did say you wanted more.’
Her lips curved as she trailed lazy fingers up his arms towards his shoulders. ‘So I did.’
‘I aim to please,’ he told her, rolling her over onto her back before setting his lips to the corner of her mouth, the underside of her jaw, the curve of her neck, and then lower still, to a part of her he’d rushed over earlier.
‘Oh, you do.’ He closed his lips over her nipple and bit down gently, and she gasped and arched beneath him as her hands threaded though his hair, urgent and demanding. ‘You really do.’
CHAPTER SIX
PETE BENNETT was both passionate and extremely thorough when he put his mind to it, decided Serena some half an hour later as she stood beneath a lukewarm shower. Pete had showered with her briefly, kissing her senseless beneath the spray, and, cursing her roundly as his body responded to hers again, had made himself scarce.
She watched him through the gap between the shower curtain and the cubicle as he dried off and pulled on his shorts and then his shirt. Such a tough, hard body. Such pleasure to be found from exploring it. He had another scar, in addition to the one on his shoulder. This one was nasty—a couple of centimetres wide running across his lower back. She couldn’t be sure but it looked like a burn of some kind, maybe a rope burn, and she wondered what the hell had been on the other end of that rope to carve a gash that deep. He was a warrior, this man, never mind the façade. Beneath his reckless, charming ways lay the heart of a fighter.
Right this minute her warrior was a very sated man, she’d stake her life on it. His body had been to heaven and back. She knew this because he’d taken her with him. His brain, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have made the trip at all.
She stepped out of the shower and met his gaze in the mirror, hers questioning, his bleak.
‘Light-hearted,’ he said grimly.
‘Yes.’
‘And brief.’
‘Yes.’
‘Civilised.’ His eyes were anything but.
‘You forgot exclusive,’ she told him.
‘I didn’t forget.’ He turned around to scowl down at her, a thoroughly disgruntled dark angel, all the way from the spikes of his midnight black hair right down to his toes. ‘This is a disaster,’ he said as he pulled her closer. ‘You’re a disaster.’ And with a kiss so unguardedly needy she trembled beneath the force of it, he turned on his heel and left the bathroom.
Pete sagged against the bathroom door the minute he closed it, willing himself not to go back in there, willing his feet to take him down the corridor and out of the cottage and to keep on walking, straight down the hill to the village. He needed to think. To regain the balance he’d lost in the arms of a siren.
One step. He dragged his extremely happy body away from the door and took it. And stopped abruptly as he looked up, straight at Nico—at Nico and Sam— who stood beside him.
‘We’re gonna cook the sea bass I caught this morning,’ said Sam. ‘Me and Nico. And we’re inviting Chloe and Serena and you to come and help us eat it for dinner.’
‘Oh.’ He struggled for words, for some sense of normality, a modicum of discretion, while Sam looked up at him hopefully and Nico eyed the bathroom door. ‘How big is this fish?’
‘Big,’ said Sam with a grin. ‘Where’s Serena?’
Not a question he wanted to answer. ‘She’s been downloading the photos she took of you and Nico this morning onto her computer. I think she wants to use one of them for her postcard series. Go take a look. In the sitting room.’
Sam didn’t need any more urging. Nico, on the other hand, stayed right where he was.
The bathroom door swung open the tiniest bit, an inch or so, nothing more, and Pete stepped in front of it, blocking Nico’s view as he reached for the handle and pulled the door firmly closed.
Nico stared at him, studying his wet hair with a narrowed gaze. Pete stared back with not a lot to say. He tried putting himself in Nico’s place. Tried to pretend he’d just caught some poor schmuck coming out of his sister’s bathroom, with every indication of his sister still being in there. What would he do?
Castration seemed like a reasonable option.
Hopefully Nico was of a more civilised bent.
‘You want to explain why that bathroom door suddenly seems to want to swing open by itself?’ asked Nico silkily.
‘Not really.’ But for the sake of discretion he gave it a shot. ‘Could be the wind.’
‘Wind?’ said Nico flatly.
‘Uplift. Downdraft. Air. Wind.’
Nico didn’t look convinced.
‘O-or it could be that the door’s set on a slant and swings open by itself.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘Pity.’ He was running out of plausible excuses. ‘Maybe it’s possessed.’
Nico’s lips twitched. ‘Nice try.’ But he wasn’t buying it. ‘Serena’s a grown woman,’ he said after a lengthy pause. ‘She makes her own choices. I try and respect that.’
Castration didn’t seem to have entered Nico’s mind. This was a good thing.
And then Nico’s gaze swung from Pete to the bathroom door and his face hardened. ‘Hurt her and I’ll hunt you down.’
Or maybe it had. ‘No one’s going to get hurt,’ he said curtly. ‘Serena knows what she’s doing, and so do I.’
‘Do you?’ Nico rapped on the door with enough force to make it vibrate. ‘Dinner’s at seven. Chloe and Sam are eating with us,’ he said loudly and stalked off.
No sooner had Nico disappeared than Serena stalked out, as fully dressed as a person could get in skimpy white shorts and a pink and lime bikini top. She glared at him, thoroughly miffed about something, possibly his parting shot about her being a disaster, but it was too late to take it back now. Besides, he didn’t want to. ‘What?’ he said. What now?
‘You call that discreet?’
‘Well … yeah. It could have been worse.’
‘How?’ she demanded. ‘Nico knows I was in there; that you were in there with me. How on earth could it get any worse?’
‘Hell, Serena,’ he said, darkly amused by her indignation. ‘Five minutes earlier and he’d have found us naked on the day-bed.’
Chloe arrived shortly after that and added her voice to the dinner invitation. ‘It started with me offering to cook for you all at my place,’ she told them ruefully as she set a big basket on the kitchen bench and turned to look back out the kitchen door to where Sam and Nico were cleaning the barbecue. ‘I’m still not sure how the invitation got turned around to having it here. I hope you don’t mind. I brought the fixings for a salad with me and some bread and wine. Nico says he’s cooking the fish.’
‘I love it when he says that,’ said Serena.
‘So you don’t mind?’ Chloe turned towards her and Pete, her expression faintly apologetic. ‘You weren’t planning to go out to dinner? Just the two of you?’
‘Well … we could?’ said Pete. ‘I hadn’t thought much about dinner at all. Yet.’ He caught her gaze, a question in his, and that small act of courtesy and uncertainty after all that had gone before was Serena’s undoing.
‘If we stay here I can guarantee us a glass of wine or beer with dinner,’ she said lightly, opening the fridge and raiding it for both items and setting them on the counter. She had no idea how much their disastrously wonderful lovemaking had changed things. Absolutely no idea what he wanted from her. All she knew was that he was welcome at her table and that she didn’t want him to leave. ‘Matter of fact I can guarantee them now.’
‘There is that,’ he said, with the whisper of a smile.
‘So you’ll stay for dinner?’ said Chloe hopefully. ‘The more the merrier, I say.’ She didn’t want to dine alone with Sam and Nico was what she meant. ‘There’ll be plenty of food.’
There was that word again, thought Serena wryly. Plenty. She looked at Pete and that was exactly what she saw. ‘Here.’ She passed him the beer, got another bottle from the fridge and a lemonade for Sam and handed those to him as well. ‘Go help Nico and Sam man the barbecue while Chloe and I get busy in the kitchen.’
‘Does this feel light-hearted to you?’ he muttered, shooting her an enigmatic glance as she held the kitchen screen door open to let him through. ‘It doesn’t feel light hearted to me. Feels kind of family-oriented.’
‘I know.’ She smiled wryly. ‘But stay anyway.’
Having Pete stay on for dinner was a bigger mistake than she’d thought it would be, decided Serena an hour later as she sat at the garden table and watched him bond with Sam and Nico over slow-barbecued potatoes and soon-to-be-barbecued sea bass. She didn’t want to notice the way Sam looked up to him, or how much Nico seemed to enjoy his company, never mind Nico’s earlier words of warning outside the bathroom door. Pete Bennett charmed without thinking, without understanding what it would do to a woman fresh from his lovemaking to watch him interact so easily with the people she loved.
‘If I were a betting woman—which I’m not,’ said Chloe, coming up beside her and handing her one of the two glasses of champagne she held in her hands, and sipping delicately on the other, ‘I’d say the universe you’ve been contemplating of late was standing right there by the barbecue. And what a universe it is,’ she murmured with a wicked smile, and Serena felt her own lips curve in reluctant agreement.
‘It’s only a temporary universe,’ she told Chloe. ‘He’ll be leaving soon. I’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Haven’t we just had this conversation?’ said Chloe dryly.
‘No, that was a different conversation. You and Nico have a shot at something beautiful. Pete and I … well … he’s going in one direction and I’m going in another. I don’t want to change direction to accommodate him.’
‘Perhaps he’ll change direction to accommodate you.’
The thought slid through her, bright and beckoning, demanding closer examination.
‘He’s very good with Sam,’ said Chloe. ‘He cares for people.’
She’d noticed. And all of a sudden she was standing there wondering just what kind of father he would make, what kind of husband. And what it would take to capture his heart.
No.
Some other woman could glory in his passionate lovemaking and delight in the compassion beneath his strength. Not her.
Some other woman could heal a heart too heavy and too wounded to carry any more loss. Not her. She had dreams of her own to chase. Dreams that didn’t involve him.
Serena tore her gaze away from Pete to stare out at the ocean with a growing sense of panic.
If only she could remember what they were.
It was almost ten p.m. when Chloe deemed it time for her and Sam to head back to the village. Dinner had been served and savoured and Sam was fading fast in the wake of his early morning. Pete stood as well, offering to walk back to the hotel with them, and the happy family picture the three of them made set Serena’s eyes to narrowing. Never mind that it wasn’t real, Serena didn’t like it. Neither did Nico.
‘Aren’t you going to walk down with them?’ she muttered to her cousin.
‘Aren’t you?’ he countered darkly.
‘No.’
Nico scowled. ‘I’ll join you,’ he said to them abruptly.
Pete nodded, as if he’d expected no less, and started clearing plates and empty glasses from the table, carrying them into the kitchen while Nico helped Chloe and Sam gather their belongings ready for departure. Better, much better.
‘What time are you heading out in the morning?’ she asked him lightly as he set the dishes on the sink. No pressure. No clinging. Much.
‘Around ten. My clients want to go to Santorini.’
Santorini. Plenty of night-life in Santorini. ‘Staying overnight there, are you?’
‘Yeah.’ He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
‘What was that?’
‘Discreet.’
Oh. She thought of him not being around tomorrow, or the day after that. Thought of the pleasure to be found in his kisses and decided to scrap discretion and go with need instead. She ached for his touch, for what it could bring, and she dumped her own armful of dishes into the sink, stepped in close and touched her lips to his, teasing at first, and then ravenously hungry as she dragged them deeper and deeper into uncharted waters.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said raggedly when at last the kiss ended. ‘I’ll be back. Soon. As soon as I can.’
‘I’ll be here,’ she said and felt her heart tremble. ‘For the next couple of weeks.’
Pete called her mid-afternoon the following day.
‘Where are you?’ she wanted to know.
‘Sitting in a café in Santorini, reading the paper.’
Lucky him. She was sitting beneath the beach umbrella beside the Vespa shed.
‘How do you feel about working for a fashion photography house in New York?’ he asked her.
‘Unenthusiastic.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Although it does satisfy the requirement of being some distance from my family.’
‘Just checking,’ he said. ‘Wedding photographer in Vegas?’
‘Only if I’d be working for Elvis.’
‘It’s possible.’ She could feel the smile in his voice, closed her eyes and let it warm her through. ‘Okay, here’s something you might be more interested in. It’s a photography competition and it’s global. They want you to capture and celebrate the essence of humanity.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I’m glad. I’ll bring you the details.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
Serena sighed. She knew what soon meant. It meant he had no idea when he’d be back. ‘Enjoy Santorini. It’s a pretty place.’
‘You’re prettier,’ he said, and disconnected.
He phoned her again the following day. This time she was ready for him.
‘What are you doing?’ Pete asked her.
‘The crossword in The Sydney Morning Herald.’ She was sitting in her usual place beneath the beach umbrella by the old Vespa shed, but time was passing more quickly this morning. ‘A British rock god needs a helicopter pilot to keep on retainer.’
‘Just shoot me now,’ he said.
‘Just checking. There’s also a need for a medivac helicopter pilot along the Northern Australian seaboard.’
Silence.
‘I’m sensing some reluctant interest in that one,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll keep the paper for you. Meanwhile I have a job interview in Athens tomorrow with a big daily newspaper. They’re after a photojournalist who can cover politics one day and human-interest stories the next. It sounds promising.’
‘How are you getting there?’ he asked her.
‘I thought I’d take the ferry.’
‘I can get you there faster than a ferry,’ he muttered.
He could get her there faster than anybody on the planet, and she was pretty sure he knew it. ‘Are you free tomorrow? I could hire your charter services.’
‘You can have them for free. When’s your interview?’
‘Four in the afternoon.’
‘I’ll come for you at midday. We can go out for a meal afterwards. Spend the night in Athens. If you’ve a mind to.’
‘I’d love to.’ She already had a teenager from the village organised to take charge of the Vespas for a day. Why not for two days? She had good reason, and heaven help her she had a fierce need to spend some time alone with Pete without having to be discreet about it. ‘I’ve missed you, flyboy.’
‘I want you in my arms again,’ he told her, with a rasp to his voice that set her skin to tingling. ‘Preferably sitting on my lap.’
He wasn’t the only one. ‘Am I naked?’
‘Very.’
‘Are you naked?’
‘I’m at the airport in Athens. If I was I’d be arrested.’
‘So … I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’
‘I’ll come for you,’ he said.
She was counting on it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE was a world of difference between life on a sleepy Greek island and the vibrant energy that came with being in the middle of a major city. People moved faster, talked louder, dressed smarter and for the most part looked a whole lot tenser. Six months ago Serena would have thrived on the bustle and the crowds. Now she found it slightly unnerving.
Or maybe it was just the thought of the up-coming job interview that unnerved her.
She and Pete were standing outside the newsgroup building. It was almost time to head inside. She’d gathered her hair up into an elegant chignon and had donned a charcoal-grey business suit for the occasion. She looked good. If her portfolio of work was any sharper it’d grow fangs and bite someone. The only thing missing was her enthusiasm for walking through those double glass doors.
‘Time to go, Rena,’ he said as she looked at the doors for the tenth time in half as many minutes.
‘How do I look?’ she asked him.
‘Smart. Sophisticated. Like you belong here.’
‘Really?’ He was wearing cargo trousers, a collared shirt and a smile that scattered her wits. No charcoal-coloured business suit for him and he still managed to look more at home on these streets than she did. How did he do that? She fiddled nervously with the collar on her shirt, scrunching it up; Pete smoothed it out.
‘Where’s your confidence?’ he said, tilting her chin up with his forefinger so that her gaze met his.