Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark

Simon lit the last of the candles in her bedroom.

“I have a couple of T-shirts that are big on me. They’d probably be tight on you, but at least they wouldn’t be wet.” She fished out a shirt she occasionally slept in because it was two sizes too big. “How about this?”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll just hold on to it until you get out of that wet one.” She knew what she wanted and she was going for it. Him.

“Were you planning to watch?”

“Unless you object. A girl’s got to get her thrills where she can.”

“I’m not sure that I qualify as a thrill.”

“I’m certain you do.”

Simon tugged his T-shirt loose from his jeans and peeled it up and off his body. Sweet mercy, the man had a body to die for. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and nicely trim in between. She felt like Goldilocks who’d just discovered the perfect male. Oh my, that one had been too big and hairy. And oops, that one was too hairless and skinny. But, oh baby, this one was just right. And however cliché it was, she found it incredibly sexy the way that dark hair trailed past his navel and disappeared below the waistband of those jeans.

“You, Simon Thackeray, were built to thrill. I’m very … thrilled.”

He grinned. Not the arrogant smirk of an overin-flated ego but that of a man pleased to be appreciated.

“You want to toss me that shirt you’re holding on to?” he said.

She sighed audibly. “I will if I absolutely have to. Don’t feel compelled to get dressed on my account.” Nonetheless, she tossed it to him.

He caught it single-handedly and sobered. “Are you flirting with me, Tawny?”

“Yes, Simon, I am. Shamelessly.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No. Not really. I think it’s probably a very bad idea, but I’m certainly enjoying it. How about you?” she said.

“Am I enjoying it or do I think it’s a good idea?”

“Both.”

“I have to go with you on both counts. I’m enjoying it and I’m sure it’s a bad idea.” He pulled the shirt over his head, hiding that yummy physique.

Spoilsport.

But not to worry, she planned to get it back off of him soon enough.

THERE WAS SOMETHING VERY intimate about being in her candlelit bedroom, knowing she was about to undress. “Hold on a minute. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

He sprinted back to the den, snagged his camera and was back in her bedroom within a minute. “I want to capture the moment, the anticipation, the preparation, not just the finished product.” Hell, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he was damn near certain it was a bad idea. But no worse than being here now. And photographing her was safer than kissing her.

When he shot, he became one with the camera. He could be himself behind the lens.

“You want to photograph me changing clothes?”

“Not while you’re actually changing but while you’re getting ready. Plus it gets you used to being in front of the camera. Just forget I’m here.”

She looked across the room, her eyes holding his. It was a look, one breath away from smoldering, that acknowledged him as a man she’d kissed earlier. “I can’t do that.”

“Can you forget the camera’s here?” He was proud of his steady tone. He didn’t feel steady.

“I think so.”

He fired off a couple of shots, just to get her used to it. She smiled, self-conscious and awkward. “Just relax,” he reminded her. If he could keep her talking, a stream of distracting chatter, she’d also relax. “Do you have your hair up because it’s cooler that way?”

“Yes. But it’s so hot now, I don’t think it’s going to matter. And I should do something with it anyway.” She turned her back to him and pulled the barrette out and let her hair tumble past her shoulders. His shutter whirred. She shook her head and pushed her fingers through it. He shot again. She looked at him in the mirror, a beguiling mixture of longing and uncertainty, and his heart pounded. Was there anything more enchanting, more intimate, than a woman taking her hair down?

“Better?” she asked.

Click. “Perfect. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

She raised her arms and reached beneath the fall of her hair. “Beautiful. Beautiful delineation of your neck, shoulders and arms. A study in perfection. A work of art.”

“You don’t have to say those things, you know.”

“I know. But it’s true.” And it would be so much better without the interfering lines of her halter top. “Keep your back to me and take your top off,” he said, automatically instructing her in what would give the best shot of her back.

“Is that how you get women to undress for you? A few complimentary phrases?” She glanced over her shoulder, laughing, teasing but with a sexy glint in her eyes.

“You’re on to me.” His responding laugh was rusty. As a rule, he didn’t laugh a lot. “No naughty pictures. I just want to capture the line of your back without the top. Move away from the mirror, keep your back to me, take it off and lift your hair that same way. Wait a second. Here. Stand here.” He moved her away from the mirror and positioned the tall triple-wick candle—the one she’d earlier said could go all night—until the light illuminated her back. “Just a bit more to the right.”

From habit, he lightly touched her, to direct her where he wanted her to go. He’d touched beautiful women wearing far less than Tawny hundreds of times, but it was as if he’d never touched anyone before. And he hadn’t. Not like this. Longing swept him, threatened his composure. He felt her indrawn breath, the sudden rigid line of her once-supple back.

He dropped his hand and backed away from her, gripping his camera like a lifeline. “You don’t have to take off your top if you don’t want to.” That steady tone he’d prided himself on earlier was long gone.

“I want to take it off.”

She reached beneath her hair and unhooked the top, and he watched the sides fall away and to the front. She lowered her arms and reached to the front. It was a wrap halter and tied in the front—beneath her left breast, he’d noticed. The material bisecting the elegant lines and curves of her back fell away.

“Brilliant. Truly stunning.” He fired away. These would be incredible. “Lots of women with beautiful faces aren’t lovely from this angle. Lift your hair once again. The way you did before.”

She followed his instructions. He’d never gotten emotionally caught up in what he was photographing. It was art and it was his art and in many ways it was an extension of himself, but there was also still an engagement that wasn’t personal, that didn’t tie his emotions into it. But this was vastly different.

She turned slightly to her right, just enough to reveal the hint of roundness of her breast, the slight sag that meant they were real and not bought in a surgeon’s office.

She dropped her arms and turned to face him, her silken curls curtaining the slope of her breasts and nipples, but the soft roundness of the bottom half revealed. Despite the fact she’d turned to face him, there was something more. A subtle shift in her body language, as if she’d discovered something, resolved something.

“Simon, do you have any idea why I’ve had doubts about me and Elliott?”

It had been one of those remarks he should’ve taken more note of but had been lost in the higher drama of the moment. He thought it through now. Elliott’s turnabout in his sexual orientation had obviously surprised her, so that wasn’t it. She didn’t appear to have any ambiguity concerning her own. Which meant she’d been seeing someone else or had at the least met someone else. Rancor filled him. He didn’t want to hear her confess to yet another attraction. Or perhaps that was exactly what he needed to hear to excise her from his heart, his psyche, his emotions. “My first guess is that you’ve found someone else, as well.”

“Not exactly.” Pathetic how glad he was to hear that. “Not the way you mean anyway. I’ve developed an interest in someone else, even though it hasn’t gone any further. Well, sort of.”

She had his attention now. Who was he kidding? She always had his attention. She’d owned it from the first time he’d spotted her across the room. “Why don’t you explain?”

“I promised you earlier I wouldn’t fling myself at you again. And I’m not. But it’s time to be honest and I think you should know. It was you, Simon.”

She could probably hear his heart pounding from across the room. Tawny had doubted her relationship with Elliott because of him? He didn’t trust her words. Couldn’t trust her words. What would possibly attract her to him over Elliott?

“Don’t, Tawny. Don’t go there. Elliott might’ve behaved badly, but I’m not a particularly nice guy and I don’t want to be thrust into the role of payback pawn because Elliott’s wounded your pride or broken your heart.”

She jerked her head back, anger and hurt flashing in her eyes, caught up in the exchange and seemingly unaware that one plump, ripe nipple now peered through her hair. But he was aware enough for both of them. Hell, he was aware enough for an army.

“You think I’m making this up to get back at Elliott?”

“You’re not trying to seduce me?”

“I’m trying to be honest, you thickheaded, arrogant, cold-blooded, sarcastic jackass, and you are really … pissing me off.”

“Well, I can see, given that glowing description, why I’d be the man to give you second thoughts about marrying Elliott. Perhaps you felt the need to break it off based on the poor company he keeps.”

She’d said she was pissed off earlier. She was bloody, wanking angry now.

“Here’s the truth, Simon Thackeray, if you can handle it. I’ll be damned if I know why, but I’ve started having dreams about you. About us. They began after we spent the day together for the photo shoot.”

“What kind of dreams?” God, he could barely breathe.

“Sexual dreams. Explicit.”

“They’re just dreams, Tawny.”

“I’m well aware of that, Simon. But those dreams, you, were beginning to take a toll on my relationship with Elliott.”

Instead of gaining clarity, things were growing murkier and more tangled. It had almost been easier when she and Elliott belonged to one another. She’d been off-limits to Simon and his role had been clearly defined. “Why would you let a few dreams interfere with a real relationship?”

“It wasn’t a choice and it wasn’t just a few dreams. It was almost every night. At first I didn’t want to go to sleep, because I didn’t want to dream about making love to you.” Heat surged through him. She looked down and studied her nails. “And now it’s gotten to the point that being asleep is the best part of my day.” She looked back up. “And I’ve felt guilty as hell with Elliott because it felt wrong to do the things with you that I was doing while I was engaged to him.” Her gaze captured his. “And doubly wrong because what we had in my dreams was so much better than what Elliott and I had in reality.”

Her words seduced him, fired along his nerve endings, tightened his body as surely as if she’d trailed her hands over him. “Maybe you won’t have any more of those dreams.”

She shook her head. “This afternoon I was napping when Elliott called. I was dreaming and just about to come. With you.” And he wasn’t so sure that if she went into enough detail he wouldn’t come. She had him hard and throbbing. “I’ve felt like the biggest whore east of the Mississippi. Do you know the first thing that came to mind when he said you both wanted to come over this evening?”

Obviously her mind was an utter mystery to him since he had no clue she’d been having what sounded like very intense sex with him. “No clue.”

“Ménage à trois. That’s how depraved you’ve made me. I am trying to seduce you. Not to get back at Elliott. I need the reality of your touch to exorcise those dreams. Because as it stands now, I’m afraid you’ve ruined me for any other man.”

WHEN SHE WAS SEVEN, frustrated by her lack of progress in her swimming classes, without really thinking it through, she’d sucked in a deep breath and jumped in over her head. And from that day forward her philosophy had taken shape: she’d swim or die trying. Obviously she’d swum.

And she’d just plunged in far out of her depth with Simon. But it was true. She feared he’d ruined her for any other man. And if she could offer him an outlet for his unrequited love, then why not?

Simon advanced toward her, beginning to click off picture after picture.

“Tawny, I’m sure that I haven’t ruined you for other men, as you’ll find when you get back into … circulation.”

Circulation. Another man’s bed was what he meant. And obviously he had no intention of or interest in being that man. Yet another dose of humiliation washed over her.

Why hadn’t she simply kept her mouth shut? Why had she let a few erotic dreams and one helluva live kiss convince her she and Simon had chemistry?

Obviously all the chemistry was in her head—as in chemical imbalance. Obviously he was willing to photograph her. Obviously he’d been offering her comfort earlier and she’d misread the situation. And now obviously she needed to put some freaking clothes on and try to maintain a few shreds of dignity until the power was restored and Simon was out her door. And out of her life.

“You’re right. A little circulation will take care of that for me.” She aimed for light and laughing, but it came out stiff and abrupt. She was precariously close to total humiliation. “Let me put some clothes back on.”

She headed for her closet. Maybe she could spend an hour or so in there—except it was dark. She’d never let herself get caught without a flashlight ever again.

“Tawny—”

Simon touched her bare shoulder. She froze outside while heat filled her on the inside. “Simon, please don’t touch me.”

“That’s not what you said a moment ago.”

She ached for him. And what was the small matter of pride? She’d already humiliated herself. “You know what I mean. I’m not sure that I can stand for you to touch me and not take it any further. And since you’re not interested in going there, it’s best if you simply don’t touch me at all.”

His hand remained on her shoulder. Yearning like nothing she’d ever known before filled her. She wanted him with a desperation that bordered on obsession.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” His fingers moved against her bare skin in a featherlight caress. “I just don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

Moving in slow motion, she turned to face him. “I’m not looking for forever. I want you for tonight. I know you’re in love with someone else. Let me be her for you tonight.”

“You would sleep with me, knowing I may very well pretend you’re someone else?”

She lifted her chin a notch. “Yes. You turn me on that much.” She wasn’t exactly shy and retiring to begin with, but there was a fantastic quality to being in her candlelit bedroom with Simon. She said things she would never have been bold enough to say in the harsh light of day. “I’ll take whatever you’re offering, except I don’t particularly want to be a pity lay.”

“You won’t be standing in for anyone. This is about me and you. I wouldn’t insult you by pretending you were anyone other than who you are.” He tilted her head back with one finger beneath her chin and stared hard into her eyes. There wasn’t a shred of pity in his eyes. They burned with a heat and a leashed passion for her. “And I don’t want to be a revenge lay.”

“Never,” she said, winding her arms around his neck, feeling the corded tension of his body, already wet for him, hungering for his touch. “This isn’t payback.”

She wanted to quench this desire for Simon that consumed her and she wanted him to make her feel like a desirable woman. Right or wrong, she needed a little sexual validation.

He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Is this really what you want, Tawny? Are you certain you want me? Because stopping will be torture once I touch you, taste you.”

She leaned into him, unerringly fitting her hips to his. His cock was rock-hard against her mound, offering instant validation and stimulation. Her panties were drenched and her body was on fire. She rubbed her bare breasts against his shirt, delighting in the soft cotton against her aroused nipples. She breathed in his male scent and nuzzled his jaw. His breath quickened.

“Yes, I’m absolutely certain I want you. And I don’t want you to stop. I want you naked on top of me—” she nibbled at his earlobe “—beneath me—” she teased the tip of her tongue along the rim “—beside me—” he shuddered against her “—behind me—” want thickened her voice and strummed through her body “—but most of all inside me.”

HER WORDS AND HER TOUCH destroyed every defense he’d erected. He stood to lose the only friend he’d ever really had, Elliott, by sleeping with Tawny. But he’d trade his friendship and essentially his sense of honor, all of his tomorrows, for one night with her, to hold her, touch her, make love to her. And if he was a lesser man for this decision, he had the rest of his life to deal with it. Perhaps he’d dine on the bitter fruit of regret with tomorrow’s dawn, but for tonight she was his.

He slid his camera to the floor, dropping the strap.

“Tawny …”

He cradled her head in his hands. Without rushing, he kissed her gently, thoroughly, an unspoken promise that for the night, they belonged to each other. He told her in a kiss all the things that he couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud—how much he wanted her, how beautiful he found her both inside and out, that among women she alone was the most desirable, that for years he’d carried the Hades analogy in his head and she had become his Persephone, but after tonight he’d release her, after offering and taking solace in her.

She returned his kiss, melded into him, connected with his soul.

The kiss heated, shifted to a higher intensity as she slid her hands beneath his shirt, greedily stroking his bare skin. Her touch ignited him. He reached between them and cupped her breasts in his hands, plying his thumbs against her nipples. She felt so good. Tawny pressed against him and moaned into his open mouth, and Simon was lost, gone. He sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling her down with him, between his thighs.

She followed, settling between his legs.

“It seems as if I’ve waited forever to touch you,” she said. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw while she explored his chest with her hands, bold strokes that fanned the fire inside him hotter and higher.

She reached for his belt and his jeans.

“Wait a sec. Let me take off my boots,” Simon said. Tawny stood. He bent down and unlaced his boots—infinitely better than winding up with his trousers around his ankles. Tawny stripped out of her shorts and skimpy panties, dropping them on the floor in front of him. He pulled off the second Doc Martens and looked up.

He was glad he was sitting for his first view of her gloriously, spectacularly naked. She was every inch rounded woman, from shapely legs, to curved hips, to a small waist and full breasts. And obviously a proponent of the Brazilian wax.

Desire slammed him, tightened his balls. “You’re so beautiful, you take my breath.”

She smiled and there was a shyness about it that touched him. She slid onto the bed behind him and laughed softly, her breath warm against his bare shoulder. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and nuzzled his neck, her breasts pressed against his back. Her touch sizzled along his nerve endings.

“I’m glad I’m not sending you running out the door,” she said.

“Not a chance.” He undressed and she pulled him back down onto the bed with her.

He rolled over and trapped her beneath him, his arms on either side of her shoulders. Her eyes darkened and she parted her lips, wetting the fullness of her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

“The only thing that could possibly send me running is—” he lowered his head and tasted the sweetness of her neck, her shoulder “—if you tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

“No. That … won’t … happen.” She arched her back, raising herself, inviting his kisses. Bathed in candlelight, her skin gleamed like a rare pearl. He licked the hollow of her throat and chased her shudder with his own. Her scent, the slight saltiness of her skin, the taste of her. He wanted to make love to her all night, learn every inch of her with his mouth, his tongue, his hands. But he’d wanted her so long, he didn’t think he could wait much longer this first time around. He circled one plump nipple with his tongue. She moaned deep in her throat.

“Simon …” Tawny said in an agonized tone.

He flicked the other one with the tip of his tongue and then moved back to the first one—tasting her, tormenting them both.

They were both slick with sweat and her skin slid against his, her thigh cushioning the length of his erection.

She rolled him onto his back and kissed him as if she couldn’t get enough. Her tongue dueled with his. Her hands explored him, almost frantic, and she made small whimpering noises in the back of her throat, leaving him hotter and harder. She seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. She rolled to her side again, pulling him with her, reaching behind her without taking her mouth from his. Simon broke the kiss.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Reaching for a condom.”

He was such a dolt, he’d forgotten all about protection. That had never happened. He’d always been careful. That she kept a stock on hand wasn’t particularly surprising, considering her battery-powered arsenal.

She looked at him, her eyes luminous, hot. “I’m so afraid this is another dream,” she said. “I don’t want to wake up. Because if I do, I’m going to be righteously pissed.”

Simon laughed. She had the most unorthodox way of flattering him, but he was immeasurably flattered that she didn’t want to wake up if she was dreaming.

“No. We’re not dreaming,” he said, stroking his hand down her back, over the lush curve of her bum. Reality had never been so sweet.

She held a condom aloft in triumph. “Strawberry flavored.” She tore into the package. “Mind if I do the honors?”

“Please. Feel free to,” he said.

“My pleasure is—” she stroked the condom over him, her hand warm, with just the right amount of pressure, and he closed his eyes in a moment of ahhhh “—your pleasure.”

So far she’d only just touched him. She tightened her hand and stroked again. His eyes flew open.

“Unless you want the shortest foreplay in the history of man, you don’t need to do that again,” he said, his hoarseness reflecting the strain of not coming.

“I’m ready if you’re ready. I’ve had weeks of dreaming about you. That’s been plenty of foreplay.”

Simon knew a moment of performance anxiety. What if the real him didn’t measure up to the dream lover he’d been for her? And the curious, mystical, magical woman that she was, she obviously saw it in his face.

“Don’t even go there.” She leaned over him and scattered kisses over his chest, laving his male nipples, down his belly. She lapped at his rigid length and took him into her warm, eager mouth. Simon called on every ounce of his self-control not to blast off as she fondled him with her mouth. She released him and he managed to breathe again. Her hair brushed against his belly, the strands teasing against his skin. “Actually tasting you, touching you, smelling you, is so much better than it ever was in my dreams,” she said, her tone as hot as the passion glittering in her eyes.

She fell to her back, spread her legs, and said with a sweet smile, “Now are you going to fuck me or do I have to beg first?”

It sent him totally over the edge when she said that. If he was any hotter, he’d melt.

He positioned himself between her legs and nudged at her with his sheathed tip. “No begging necessary.”

Simon slid into her slowly, totally captured by the expression on her face, heat and pleasure suffusing her features. She felt so good, so right, and as he slid into her inch by inch, she gripped him, as if welcoming him home.

She wrapped her legs around him and hooked her feet behind his thighs. She lunged up to meet him. A few quick thrusts and they’d both be there. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and deliberately slowed them down. They weren’t going for a distance record—they were both wound too tight, they didn’t have a prayer of making it far—but he pulled back slowly until he was almost out of her and then treated them both to a slow reentry. Tawny gasped aloud and pushed into him, sending him plunging.