BAD BOYS ON BOARD Read online

  "Great. Don't ever let it happen again. Now is that it?"

  "Not quite." He rolled his eyes, so she hurried through the rest. "You've insulted my body…"

  "I never—"

  "You said I had a skinny ass!"

  He turned his face to the side and for one horrified moment, Ariel thought he was going to laugh. But when he looked at her again, tenderness filled his eyes. "You have a spectacular ass and once you quit trying to stammer out your explanation, I intend to devote about an hour to it."

  "Oh."

  "Enough said?"

  "Yes."

  He turned her around, gave her a stinging swat on the butt, and said, "Go upstairs to my bedroom and wait for me there."

  "What are you…?"

  "No questions. My rules. Just go."

  She started to re-cover her breast but he saw her and said, "Leave it."

  She nodded and, feet dragging, made the climb up the stairs. Her belly churned in excitement and uncertainty and so much more. Finally, Sam would make love to her.

  She'd give him her body and her heart, and hope he accepted them both.

  * * *

  The second she was out of sight, Sam turned to the sink and slumped against it. Jesus, he was only a man and not all that sterling a man to begin with. How the hell was he supposed to tell Ariel no when he'd wanted her for months?

  He opened his right hand and looked at it, then curled his fingers in, reliving the feel of her young, firm breast. Fucking her would be so sweet, so hot.

  And very wrong.

  But Ariel was set on having her own way, so he knew he had to do this, and do it right, or she'd never leave him in peace. If he didn't take ultimate control, she'd have his balls in a ringer. Before long, he'd be on his damn knees asking her to marry him.

  No. Hell no.

  Pete would be hurt and he'd been hurt enough since their father passed away. He couldn't do that to him. And if Pete was really over her, as she'd suggested? Well, she was still too damn young and far too innocent. Where he was dark, his work and his lifestyle ugly and edgy and uncertain, she lived a carefree life of sunshine and smiles. He couldn't take that from her.

  He gave himself ten minutes to get a grip on his control and to let her stew. While he kept her waiting, he took two aspirin and used an antiseptic swab to clean the cut on the back of his head. It burned like a son-of-a-bitch, making him wince in sympathy for Ariel. Her knees, her elbow… She could have been hurt worse, even killed if the asshole trying to rob him had had a weapon.

  She was a danger to herself and to him, a giddy young woman with more bravado than common sense. What the hell did she think, putting herself in danger for him? If he let her hang around, she'd be forever underfoot, forever taking risks that no woman should take.

  With renewed conviction for his quickly formed plans, Sam stormed up the stairs.

  He found her sitting on the side of his bed, her feet together, her hands folded in her lap, her breast still uncovered. She looked wary and uncertain and flushed with excitement and so … ready, he broke out in a sweat.

  Sam forced himself to stop in the doorway. Watching her, he began unbuttoning his shirt, then gave a grimace of pain as he pulled it off his wrenched shoulder.

  "You're hurt!" She shot off the bed in a flash, her soft hands fluttering all over him, finding bruises and swollen muscles, her damn tender touch setting him on fire.

  "Sit—back—down."

  She blinked at his tone. "But you need the ice worse than I did. That ape hurt you. We should take you to the hospital…"

  "Sit, Ariel." She drew back, hurt and confused. "One of the rules," he drawled, trying to soften his command. "You don't touch me unless I tell you to. Now, don't look like that. I'm fine, really. My own brothers have put worse bruises on me just horsing around. Trust me, I'm not being macho. It's nothing that won't heal in a day or two."

  She looked undecided, but fell silent when he dropped into a chair and unbuckled his ankle holster.

  She stared at his small off-duty weapon, a .38 caliber five-shot revolver. He always had it on him when working undercover because his primary weapon, a .40 caliber Glock, would be too easy to detect. "You carry a gun?"

  "That's a…" He started to say stupid question, but caught himself. He really didn't want her to think he considered her dumb. "I'm a cop. Of course I carry a gun." And then, when he retrieved the lethally sharp knife from the other leg, he added, "Among other things."

  Her eyes were huge when he crossed to the nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. He lifted out a metal box, turned the key in the lock, and opened it. Once the gun and knife were safely inside, he relocked the box and pocketed the key.

  Under normal circumstances, both weapons would have sat atop the box, but then, this wasn't a normal circumstance—not by a long shot. And Sam never took unnecessary chances with safety, especially with his gun.

  Shirtless, in his bare feet but with his pants on as a deterrent, he went to her. She looked adorable sitting there, all mussed and nervous and he felt like a conquering hero ready to ravish the innocent. It wasn't at all an unpleasant or inadequate perception.

  Using just the edge of his finger, he stroked her exposed nipple. It was puckered tight, a pale pink, and he wanted to draw her into his mouth. Why not? he thought. This was his show.

  He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Stand still." With no preliminaries, he bent and covered her with his mouth, curled his tongue around her, and sucked.

  She jerked hard and stepped back, almost falling onto the mattress.

  Sam looked at her. "I said to be still."

  "Reaction." She blinked hard. "I … I didn't mean to—"

  He again took her into his mouth and this time she moaned, stiffened her arms and her back and held as still as a statue. He suckled at her, loving her taste, the way she trembled, the desperate little sounds she made. Using his tongue he stroked her, teased, then sucked hard.

  "Sam!"

  "Shh." He straightened to look at his handy work. Her nipple was now ripe, reddened, and wet. "This is cute," he managed to say, his voice little more than a rumble as he flipped the material of her ruined dress, "but I think I'd prefer you naked."

  Her chest rose and fell, both from what he'd been doing and what he would do.

  "I'm going to undress you, stretch you out on the bed and taste you like that all over."

  Her lips parted. "All…?"

  "Over. Don't move." He reached behind her for the zipper to her dress.

  Disregarding his orders, she leaned into him and breathed deep. "You smell so good, Sam."

  He grunted at that, but didn't push her away. It felt nice having her lean into him. "You find the smell of sweat and alcohol appealing, do you?"

  "Your sweat, yes."

  He stripped the tiny sleeves off her shoulders and let them drop down to her elbows. He reached for the back fastening of her bra. The position put his cheek over her shoulder and he could feel her silky blond curls touch his ear, his jaw. Shit, now he was trembling.

  "You don't smell like alcohol though. Just like a man, like you. I've always thought you smelled good."

  "Another rule," he said as he peeled the bra away, leaving her naked from the waist up. "No talking."

  "But…"

  "No talking. You're distracting me." And making me crazy and I won't be able to do this if you don't quit.

  She covered her breasts with her arms, making Sam lift a brow. "Change your mind?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then don't hide from me." He waited, wondering if she'd call it quits, half hoping she would, half praying she wouldn't. "Make up you mind, Ariel. Anytime you want this to end, all you have to do is tell me. I'll walk you to the door."

  She swallowed hard, drew a fortifying breath and let her arms hang at her sides.

  He admired her courage. "It's only going to get harder you know. If you've changed your mind—"

  "I haven't."

&nb
sp; But she would. Eventually. How far would he have to go before she cried uncle? No matter, he had to carry it to the bitter end. He had to ensure she wouldn't test him again, because he wasn't at all certain of his ability to resist her.

  "All right, then." He pulled the dress over her hips and let it drop. It pooled around her feet. "Step out of it."

  She did, accepting the hand he offered for balance. Left only in panties and sandals, she blushed bright pink. But Sam paid little enough attention to her face when her body was all but bare. His hands at her waist, he stroked her, from her hips to her rips and back again. She was a little to slim, her curves understated. "Damn, you're beautiful."

  He didn't get a reply, but then, he didn't expect one.

  He glanced up at her face. "You blond everywhere?"

  Her color deepened.

  "No, don't tell me. I want to find out for myself." Then, smiling into her shocked face, he whispered, "Take them off."

  Chapter Three

  Ariel had never felt so exposed in her entire life. She gulped and tried to find a little courage. "I'm waiting."

  He just stood there, his arms crossed over his hairy chest, his feet braced apart. His silky dark hair was mussed, hanging over his brow and beard shadow darkened his jaws and upper lip. His long black lashes hung low over his piercing eyes, direct, taunting. Watchful and expectant.

  She wanted to throw him to the floor and drag his slacks off his gorgeous body and kiss him all over. But he wanted to do things his own way and she knew Sam well enough to know it was his way or not at all.

  "All right." Feeling awkward and unsophisticated, she hooked her thumbs in her panties and pushed them down. Sam held her left elbow as she tried to step out, but she caught her stupid sandals on the leg bands, getting her panties twisted. She should have removed the shoes first but she wasn't exactly an expert at stripping with an audience.

  When she finally got them free, she dropped the panties on the floor with the rest of her clothes and started to sit down to take off her sandals.

  Sam had other ideas. "I like the look." His voice was gruff, raw. "Leave them on."

  She peeked at him, but he stared at her belly, or more specifically, below her belly. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he reached out and stroked his fingers through her pubic hair.

  "Part your legs a little."

  This test of his was a killer. If he'd only kiss her again, hold her … but he wasn't going to. She knew he wanted her to shy away, to run home scared. To prove she wasn't a mature, experienced woman.

  The experience part … well, hopefully he'd forgive her for that. But she was a woman, his woman, if he'd only stop being so pigheaded. She forced her chin up and set one foot several inches from the other.

  "You're not as blond here," he said while still fingering her curls. "But then your brows and lashes are a few shades darker too. It's pretty."

  Never in her twenty-four years had she expected such a conversation to take place. He was complimenting her on her … well, on something very private. This wasn't at all as she'd assumed lovemaking would be. She thought there'd be a lot of reciprocal touching, breathless loss of control, and a simultaneous agreement to move forward in intimacy.

  At the same time, being here with him like this was so wildly exciting, she knew she was wet and she feared he'd know it too in just a moment.

  He stepped away from her. "Turn around."

  Her mind went blank. What in the world did he have planned now? Breath rushed in and out of her lungs. Feeling wooden and clumsy in the stupid shoes, she forced herself to move. When her back was to him, he said, "There. I want to look at you."

  She tried to stand straight and tall, but more than anything she just wanted to crawl into the bed under the covers and then convince Sam to crawl under them with her.

  The touch of his breath on her nape raised her awareness another notch.

  "I love your ass," he whispered, and then both his hands covered her there, squeezing and cuddling. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until her eyes closed. Without thinking, she reached back for him. Her fingertips just grazed his fly long enough for her to feel the straining power of his erection.

  "No." He caught her hands. "No touching from you." He placed her hands alongside her thighs.

  "I want to touch you," she said. "The same way you're touching me."

  "Yeah? Like this?" His hands came around her and he caught her nipples in his fingertips.

  Her back arched. "Sam…"

  "You like that, don't you?" He tugged, plucked, and rolled. He opened his palms and grazed them over her, then covered her breasts, gently holding them while he kissed her shoulder, her nape. Every damp warm touch of his mouth brought her temperature up another degree.

  "Answer me, Ariel."

  "I like it, but … I'd like it more if I could touch you, too."

  He laughed, the sound masculine and satisfied. "I just bet you would. But then you'd be breaking the rules and we can't have that."

  He went back to tormenting her nipples and he took so long she wasn't sure she could stand it. Her every nerve ending was alive, sizzling. Stars danced in front of her closed eyes, her breasts ached and felt heavy, and between her legs she throbbed and burned.

  And still he just played with her breasts and kissed her shoulders and back and neck.

  In desperation, she whispered, "Sam, please." She honestly didn't know how much more she could take. An imminent explosion skirted through her, almost there, but not quite. Her hips moved, embarrassing her, shaming her but she couldn't seem to hold still.

  "All right," he whispered. But he didn't turn her to him. Instead, those tantalizing hands coasted down her ribs, over her belly, and between her legs. "Open them more."

  Trying but unable to get her legs to cooperate, she whimpered.

  He helped her, putting one large foot between hers and nudging them open. "More. I want to be able to get to you."

  Oh God.

  "How I teased your nipples? I'll do that here, too." His fingertips brushed against her clitoris and she cried out at the electrifying sensation—then felt his smile press to her shoulder. "Yeah, right there," he said in deep triumph. "It'll make you crazy Ariel and if we're both lucky, you'll come for me. I want you to, you know."

  Horrified by the thought of standing and performing to his demands, she stiffened. Surely he didn't expect her to do such a thing with him detached, manipulating her but uninvolved?

  "Don't stiffen up on me." Gently, using only his fingertips, he opened her. "We'll get to the bed, I promise. No way in hell will this be it. Unless you tell me to stop." Carefully, holding her open with one hand, he circled her clitoris again. She felt his fingers, his rough, warm fingers, moving over her and she couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into her starved lungs. For one brief instant, she thought she might actually faint.

  "Breathe, Ariel." He held still, waiting, leaning over her shoulder to watch her face. She did, gulping air and shaking from head to toe. "You're close, aren't you, baby? I wonder if you can do this standing up. Some women can't you know. That tidal wave of melting pleasure washes over you and your legs go weak and…" He shrugged. "I'll hold you though. Don't worry."

  Staring straight ahead at the window opposite his bed, Ariel bit her lip, fighting the urge to plead with him again. "You'll tell me if I hurt you."

  "Yes."

  He opened his mouth on her neck, giving her a soft love bite—and pushed his middle finger into her.

  Her head fell back, a deep, shuddering groan escaping her. He gave an answering growl of pleasure and pressed deeper and it was the most amazing thing, a little embarrassing, very arousing. Her hips moved again and this time she didn't care.

  "You're small. And hot. And you feel so damn good."

  Ariel was well beyond words. She hung in his arms, her legs open, all her attention on his hands and how he touched her and the expanding pleasure that would ebb and then grow stronger as it rolled through her.
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  With his finger pressed deep inside her, he found her clitoris with his thumb and he began an incredible slick friction that sent her right over the edge. She cried out, stunned at what she felt, at her total loss of control. She couldn't be quiet, couldn't hold still.

  True to his word, Sam wrapped one muscled arm around her waist and held her upright while he continued the press and retreat of his fingers, kept the pleasure flowing until indeed, her legs gave out and she slumped into him, boneless, exhausted, replete.

  His arm stayed locked around her while he lifted the other hand. Ariel roused herself enough to turn her head and look at him. She saw his eyes close, saw him suck his fingers into his mouth, taking her taste, her wetness.

  Their eyes met. Looking far too serious, he pulled his fingers out and touched them to her lips. She shuddered, but was too spent to pull away.

  Gently, Sam lowered her to the bed on her stomach, then stretched out beside her. He stroked her head, found the few pins that still held her hair and pulled them out to flick them across the room. With an open hand, he combed out the curls, spreading them over the pillow. "Sam?"

  "Mmm?" Propped on one elbow, he continued to pet her, down her spine, over her bottom.

  "Will you make love to me now?"

  He slanted glittering eyes at her and said, "You just can't be quiet, can you?"

  Ariel felt hurt. He'd just done the most amazing thing to her and still he was apart from her. It wasn't easy, but she got her sluggish limbs to work and turned on her side to face him. He stared down at her body, his gaze concentrated, hot.

  She stared at his chest. Among a smattering of older scars randomly dispersed over his torso, there was a fresh, dark bruise coloring his ribs, evidence of the night he'd just had. Stricken, Ariel thought of how many times he'd been hurt, how much he must have suffered in his efforts to protect. Maybe, she thought, he physically wasn't up to making love with her. Old wounds, new wounds… Was she being selfish?

  He'd already given her pleasure without intercourse. She could do the same, sparing his sore body.

  Wanting to make him feel as good as she did, Ariel leaned forward and brushed a butterfly kiss over the nearest scar, a small bullet wound that grazed his shoulder. Sam froze, not even breathing.