You know,” Julius said, “I was hoping this evening would end somewhat differently.”
Grace met his eyes in the mirror, aware that her emotions were all over the place. Among other things she was experiencing an irrational urge to laugh. It was the adrenaline, she thought, or, rather, the aftereffects. The fierce rush of biochemicals that had flooded her bloodstream during the course of the assault in the garage was fading, leaving her shaky and unnerved.
She was pretty sure that Julius had to be buzzed on similar discordant sensations but if that was true, he was doing a much better job of concealing it. More practice, maybe.
The camouflage of calm control was not quite perfect, however. She was sure she could detect a little ice and fire in his eyes.
They were standing side by side at the twin sinks in the master bath of Julius’s condo. The police had taken their statements, arrested the knife man and departed. They had promised to call with any updates.
She contemplated Julius’s reflection in the mirror and wondered why he looked so disturbingly sexy. The last thing she ought to be thinking about at that moment was sex. But she found herself fascinated, not just by the heat in his eyes, but by small details—his rumpled hair and the careless way his black tie hung loose around his neck.
En route to the huge bathroom he had removed his tux jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. His ebony-and-gold cuff links were sitting on the black granite countertop, gleaming in the glow of the bathroom light fixtures. The collar of his crisp white shirt was open, revealing a hint of dark, curling chest hair. There were some smudges here and there but on the whole he reminded her of James Bond after a tussle with one of the bad guys.
Breathe.
Not that she was having an anxiety attack, not yet, at any rate. That would probably come later, in the middle of the night. Stupid damn nerves. She reminded herself that she had packed her emergency meds.
One decision had just been made—the big decision of the day—the issue of where she would spend the night. She would have to sleep in Julius’s guest bedroom. She could not abide the thought of waking up in his bed in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. Not the most romantic scenario. If she was going to succumb to a case of what the Victorians had called shattered nerves, she wanted to be alone when it happened.
But in the meantime, she could not seem to stop thinking about sex. She wanted to hurl herself into Julius’s arms again, just as she had following the assault downstairs. But this time she wanted to carry him off into his bedroom and throw herself on top of him.
Breathe.
She exhaled slowly, with some control, and took stock of her own image in the mirror. She did not look at all sexy. She looked like she’d been dragged through a couple of alleys and dumped on a back step.
The hair she had so carefully pinned up into a sophisticated knot had come down in the course of the short, violent struggle in the garage. Her dress was ruined. The skirt had ripped open at the seam and split halfway up one thigh. She figured that had probably happened when she kicked the knife-wielding attacker between the legs. The sides and back of the garment were torn and stained with garage floor dirt. She knew that when she took the dress off she would find bruises on her hip and shoulder. She had scraped one knee on the concrete. It oozed a little blood. The heel of her left palm was raw. The soles of her bare feet were covered in grime.
She was uncomfortable but the real pain from her bruises and scrapes hadn’t struck yet. That would probably come later, like the nightmare and the anxiety attack.
In addition to sex, she longed for a shower. She understood the latter. She needed a shower. It was the desire to ravish Julius that she could not wrap her head around. She had never wanted to be in a man’s arms the way she wanted to be in Julius’s arms tonight.
Breathe.
She gripped the front of the sink with both hands to steady herself.
“How, exactly, did you expect the evening to end?” she asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Julius said. He considered the question briefly. “Maybe with a nightcap to celebrate the fact that for the first time ever no one fell asleep during the Speech from Hell.”
“A nightcap,” she repeated without inflection.
She focused on that thought, keenly aware that Julius was watching her in the mirror. His mask of cool control slipped a little more, revealing the stark hunger in his eyes. The stirring sensation deep inside was becoming intense. The atmosphere crackled with tension. She tightened her grip on the sink.
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t use a drink,” Julius said. “I sure as hell need one.”
She nodded slowly. “A drink is an excellent suggestion. But I think I need a shower first.” She shuddered. “That creep in the garage touched me.”
Julius’s eyes went stone-cold.
“They were waiting for us,” he said. “We were not just a couple of random victims. They were there because of us.”
She shivered. “The one with the knife said something about spending a little quality time with my boyfriend.”
“Unfortunately, that leaves a lot of room for interpretation. You’ve got a stalker but I’ve got a few old enemies of my own.” Julius frowned in thought and then shook his head. “Can’t see any of them resorting to low-end street talent like that pair in the garage, though. The people I’ve left on the ground can afford better.” He paused. “Or they would do the job themselves.”
“I’m sure neither of those two men was my stalker. I’ve never met either of them.”
“Doesn’t mean someone didn’t hire them to take me out of the picture,” Julius said somewhat absently.
She stared at his reflection, shock and horror shifting through her as his meaning sunk in.
“Because of me,” she whispered. “I’m the one who brought those two down on us.”
He met her stunned eyes in the mirror.
“No,” he said. “Not another damn word about being responsible. Those two thugs and whoever hired them—if it turns out that they were hired—are responsible. No one else. Understood?”
The words held the implacable force of a command.
She looked at his reflection. “Julius.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His mouth came down on hers. He kissed her with a ruthless, driving need that acted like an accelerant on a flame.
She did not try to resist. She did not want to resist.
“Yes,” she said against his mouth. “Yes.”
She clutched at him, trying to wrap herself around him. She heard the torn seam of her dress rip farther up her thigh.
Julius took the kiss to a deeper, even more explosive level. She felt his hands at her waist and then they went lower. He found the ripped seam, gripped delicate fabric and tore it all the way to the top of her thigh. He pushed the tattered hem of the garment up to her waist, exposing the thin triangle of lace and silk.
The next thing she knew he was cupping her bottom and lifting her up against his erection. She could feel the hard length of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.
She was breathing faster now, in the grip of a rush that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She needed the release that she knew Julius could give her. A part of her was shocked by her volatile reaction but another part—the part that was in the ascendant at that moment—was thrilled. This was a new side of herself, a side she had always suspected existed, one she had searched for from time to time in the past but never found. This was real passion, the kind that made lovers do mad, crazy, over-the-top stuff in the heat of the moment.
She struggled with the front of Julius’s shirt and finally got it open. Fascinated, she spread her fingers across his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin and the contours of the muscles beneath. He held her easily, as if she was weightless.
He set her on her feet again just long enough to lower the zipper at the back of her dress. He peeled the front of the gown down to her waist and tugged the long, narrow sleeves off her arms.
He had her bra unhooked before she realized his intention. His hands closed around her breasts, his palms deliciously rough on her nipples.
She was intensely aware of everything about him. She could tell from the harsh rasp of his breathing that he was fighting for control and she gloried in her own feminine power. But at the same time she was lost in the waves of excitement. She could not wait to see what awaited her at the end of the wild ride.
He got his fingers inside the bikini panties and moved his palms down over her hips, sweeping away the lacy scrap of fabric. He tossed the panties aside and wrapped his hands around her waist.
He lifted her up again and set her on the edge of the counter. The shock of the cool granite against her backside made her take a sharp breath.
“Cold,” she said.
“Not for long,” he promised.
She heard the whisper of leather against brass and knew that he had just unfastened his belt. The next thing she heard was the slide of his zipper. When she looked down she saw the hard, heavy length of him. For the first time she experienced something that might have constituted a qualm.
“Oh, my,” she said.
He opened a nearby drawer and took out a small foil packet. He got the packet open and quickly sheathed himself.
He put his hands on her knees, parted her legs and moved between her thighs. When he found her melting core she shuddered and clutched his shoulders. He stroked slowly, deliberately against her clitoris. She strained toward him, trying to capture his fingers inside her. She needed him inside her. He teased her unmercifully until she was so desperate, so sensitized that she could scarcely breathe.
“You are so wet,” he said against her throat. “So ready for me.”
“Now,” she ordered. She used her grip on his shoulders to urge him closer. “Inside me. Do it now.”
She made it an order, not a plea.
He guided himself into her, taking his time so that she was aware of every inch of him. Never had she felt so stretched, so full. She hovered on the brink of a release that she knew would change everything. All the questions she’d had about this secret side of herself were about to be answered.
She tightened around him. Her head tipped back. She closed her eyes against the glare of the bathroom lights and dug her ruined nails into the muscles of his shoulders.
Julius groaned, anchored her rear with his hands and began to piston within her. She fought him when he retreated, closing herself ever more tightly around him in an effort to make him stay deep inside her.
But he was as determined to control the cadence as she was and he was so much stronger.
Stronger—yes—but she knew that he was also vulnerable. She could feel the rigid tension in the muscles of his shoulders. She knew that every time she strained to hold him he was forced to use more control to master himself.
A moment later the wildfire of her release flashed through her. Julius was pulled into the vortex. She held him close as he drove into her one last time.
The hoarse growl of his exultant satisfaction echoed against the tiled walls. He throbbed heavily inside her for an endless moment.
When it was over he sagged over her, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of her hips. He sucked in deep breaths for a moment. Then he raised his head.
“That,” he said, “was how I had hoped the evening would end.”