By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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the writer hadn’t used those specific words. Still, they all fit the description she’d given him when she’d made her argument in the library.
Besides making him want to go back to the library and wake her up, reading the pages had also left a bitter coppery taste in his mouth. Who had she imagined doing all these things with?
As he’d read them, he’d thought only of her. And he wanted her again. Right now.
“You … you jerk.”
He turned and found himself staring at Piper. Her image was blurred because of his reading glasses. And it wasn’t Diana he thought of as he removed the glasses and set them aside. She looked like one of the Furies from one of those Greek tragedies that always ended badly.
The flash of lightning over the lake strengthened the illusion.
“You broke into our box.”
He was surprised that more lightning didn’t shoot out from the accusing finger she pointed at him. “And you read them?”
Not only read them, but he’d been too caught up in them to hear her approach.
“You read them.” It wasn’t a question this time. And the tone was enough to have him getting to his feet. Growing up with three brothers, he’d learned there were serious disadvantages to being a sitting target.
“How did you know about them? Who told you?”
“Cam.” He hated to betray a brother, but Cam was an ocean away and desperate situations called for desperate measures. He took a cautious step forward.
“Not so fast,” she said. “You … you just put them all back where you found them. Right now.”
Without another word, Duncan did as she asked. Keeping quiet had gotten him out of plenty of scrapes as a child. Letting Reid and Cam do all the talking had focused his mother’s attention on them. Not that he’d gotten off scot-free—but a strategic silence had often lessened the punishment his mother had meted out.
He took his time, sliding the metal box back into its niche, then shoving the stones back in place. He figured that with each passing second her temper had to be cooling. That was what had happened with his mother.
“Now, step out here and fight like a man.”
One look told him her temper hadn’t cooled one degree. She was crouched, arms bent, hands flexed in a stance that he knew all too well. As she stood there waiting, several things flashed into his mind—I don’t want to hurt you being the first. He rejected it. Being condescending and sexist was only going to dig him deeper into the hole he’d dug.
Besides, he always liked to err on the side of caution. “What degree of black belt?” he asked.
“Fourth.” The fact that she smiled when she said it sent a shaft of fire straight to his loins.
Still, his rational side kept him standing where he was. Now was the time to offer excuses, explanations. Except that he had none.
“I’d apologize,” he said. “But it would be a lie.” The temptation to read her fantasy had been irresistible. Every bit as irresistible as the outrageous temptation to take her on in a fight.
He sprang out of the arch to land lightly on his feet in a stance that matched hers. Clouds had rolled in overhead, darkening the sky, but he saw the excitement in her eyes—not fear or panic but an excitement that fueled his own.
“What degree are you?” she asked.
“We should be evenly matched.” He partially blocked the first blow. Still, it sang up his arm to resonate in his shoulder. Then he had to shift quickly to prevent a well-aimed kick from connecting with his chin.
She was fast and agile. He kept his moves defensive as he tried to assess her strengths and weaknesses. Which were damned few, he decided, as her foot connected solidly enough with his hip to send him stumbling back a few steps. Admiration streamed through him along with the zing of pain.
Overhead, the thunder clapped loudly.
He was going to have to go on the offensive. Or he might just end up on his back with her foot on his throat. The next kick, which sailed past his guard and into his rib cage, confirmed his decision.
After five sweaty minutes, he was breathing hard and she seemed to be just hitting her stride. The rain had begun to fall in needlelike pellets. They ignored it. He’d been absolutely correct in his prediction that they’d be evenly matched. Except that he was taller, heavier, and his reach was longer. He might even have used one of his advantages if he hadn’t decided that fighting with her was almost as absorbing and enjoyable as making love with her. Then without warning, she slipped close enough to hook her foot behind his and flip him to the ground. He landed hard on his backside just inside the stone arch.
The instant before her foot came down on his throat, he grabbed her ankle and jerked her down on top of him. Then he rolled so that she was trapped beneath him. To his surprise, he found the struggle wasn’t over. He had to use his full weight to keep her there as he pinned her hands above her head. And thanks to a bright flash of lightning, he read the intent in those golden eyes and shifted out of the way just in time to prevent her knee from connecting with his groin.
For seconds, neither of them moved. He was winded. A first for him. And she wasn’t done. The heat of battle was still strong in her eyes. In the dim light, they gleamed at him as tawny and challenging as those of Alice’s Cheshire cat. Duncan felt his heart go into free fall, and it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to lower his mouth to hers. The instant their lips met, he felt what he’d known from the first. She was right for him. Just simply right.
He wanted to show her that there was lovemaking beyond what she’d described in her fantasies. And he wanted more from her than convenient buddy sex. So for both of them, he kept the pressure of the kiss light, letting his lips toy with hers, then drawing back just far enough to feather kisses along her jaw to her ear. The rain was loud now, pounding on the stones overhead and pouring in a thick sheet over both entrances to the arch. He couldn’t hear her sigh above the noise, but he felt the quick expulsion of breath against his cheek and the beat of her pulse beneath his lips.
Then he returned to her mouth, nibbling first, then slipping his tongue in to taste. Her flavor was different, warm instead of hot, and as sweet as melting ice cream on a hot summer day. Unable to resist, he deepened the kiss, degree by degree, pulling them both under. His reward came slowly as he felt the tension drain slowly out of her. She gave him what she hadn’t offered, even at the end of their fight. Pliancy and surrender. And he was utterly seduced.
DUNCAN. THAT WAS THE ONLY WORD she could form in her mind as his mouth toyed with hers. Her mind had emptied and filled with him. No one had ever kissed her like this, as if he had hours and hours to spend and intended to do just that. With his mouth alone, he weakened her, drained her and sent her floating. Pleasure ran through her like a slow-moving river that penetrated deeper and deeper into her system with each passing second.
He spoke at her ear. “Let go, Piper. Let go.”
The echo of the words whispered through her head, and she did just what he asked. How could she not?
He released her wrists and began to touch her then, skimming his fingers down her arms, lingering at the curve of her elbow, then tracing her shoulders. He undressed her slowly, too, easing her shirt off, then drawing her shorts down, touching and tasting each inch of her that he uncovered. No part of her was ignored. Her nipples tingled from the brush of his fingers, the nip of his teeth. The back of her knees ached and the curve of her ankles throbbed with the memory of his caresses.
While the storm raged outside, she could focus on nothing but the slow, powerful one that he was so intent on building in her body. Each press of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue left a bright foreshadowing of the flash of lightning and the outrageous heat to come. But for the moment, his tenderness forestalled it, invading her, consuming her.
She was his. Only his.