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She headed toward the door.
Two steps and he closed the distance. Locked the knob. And slowly turned her around.
Her eyes widened. With deliberate motions, he backed her up against the door. Tilted her chin. And pushed his knee between her thighs to spread her wide open. She caught her breath as he lowered his mouth to hers.
“I’m ready, cara,” he whispered. “Are you?”
His mouth took hers.
He loved to seduce women. Loved the slow slide of tongue, the catch of breath, the easy climb of desire as each step led toward completion. He considered himself a master in the art of pacing, but one thrust between her lips wrecked any type of control he’d ever had.
Her body slipped against his, as wet as the heat between her thighs and as blistering as flame. This was no easy, gentle, let’s-get-it-on kiss. This was a no-holds-barred war with no survivors. And Michael loved every inch of his total surrender.
He dove deep into her taste. She moaned and pushed her hips up, her fingers digging into his hair as she held him against her and demanded more. His hands slid over her body and reveled in every glorious inch, palming her br**sts and tweaking the tips with his thumbs as he swallowed her moans. He nudged her legs farther apart while she panted, then hooked one of her thighs around his waist to secure her. He ripped his lips from hers and stared into mossy-green eyes dazed with lust.
His hand moved from one of her br**sts and traveled downward, stopping at the top of her belly. “I’ve been dying to sink my fingers into you,” he murmured. “Are you ready for me?”
Her breath was a sexy whisper of sound. “You talk too much, Count.”
He smiled and slid his fingers into the swollen folds.
She cried out and threw her head back against the door. Her silky, pulsing channel closed around him and squeezed. He muttered a curse at her response, her need for him evident in the rush of liquid that soaked his fingers. Dios, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, so open to every sensation. He stroked her deep, curling his fingers, and hit the sweet spot as she pumped her hips and reached closer to the edge.
His erection grew painful, but her face was a creation of erotic beauty he didn’t want to miss. Her teeth sank into the swollen flesh of her lower lip, and her eyes half closed as she fought off the growing need for release. Her body bloomed beneath him, but her hands clenched into fists and pushed against his chest. Her endless need to control the result of every encounter taunted him to make her completely surrender. To him. To this.
He swiped the tight, pulsing bud once. Twice. Then lowered his mouth and sucked on her nipple.
“Michael—”
“You talk too much yourself, cara.” His teeth scraped over the swollen tip while his fingers teased mercilessly. Her thigh muscles trembled, and her heartbeat rumbled in his ear. Her glorious musky scent rose to his nostrils and he knew she was about to explode. For the first time, she belonged in the present, surrendering to her body, and open to everything he gave her. His erection throbbed, and the blood roared in his veins.
“Michael! Don’t, I’m going to—”
“I want you to come. Now. Come, Maggie.”
He bit her nipple as his fingers plunged one last time.
She cried out and squeezed him mercilessly. Her scream ripped through the air as she shuddered and arched against him, and he held her as he prolonged her orgasm, keeping her body against his.
She grew limp. He muttered soothing words and pressed a kiss to her temple, slowly removing his fingers. He’d been right about the chemistry between them, but nothing prepared him for the surge of emotion and connection that suddenly squeezed his gut. He wanted to lay her out on the bed and claim her completely. Spend hours in a tangle of sheets until she couldn’t think of another smart remark and only knew how to murmur his name. Where had such tenderness come from?
She lay still in his arms, her breathing returning to normal. He nuzzled her cheek and decided to carry her into the bedroom so they could talk and make love and—
“Well, thank goodness. I needed that.” Her cool, no-nonsense tone contradicted her slight shaking, but before he could soothe her, she gave him a push and scooped the towel off the floor, wrapping it around herself. She tossed her head and let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thanks. Do you want me to take care of you?”
Her flippancy cut deep. He took a step back, wondering if he’d been an idiot. Why was she so determined to act carefree when a minute ago she was crying out his name and clinging to him with a fierceness he’d never experienced from a woman? His gaze picked and shredded, but she remained perfectly at ease. And distant.
“Do you want to take care of me?” he asked coldly.
She shrugged. “If you want. Tit for tat. No time for a long marathon—I promised your mom I’d help her with dinner, so I have to get dressed. Well?” She raised a brow and waited. A sinking sensation told him he was in trouble. For a few moments, she belonged to him completely. Yet she was incapable of maintaining any sort of closeness. Why was he so bothered by her inability to connect? Why did he care?
“Why are you doing this, cara?” he asked gently.
Maggie jerked back as if smacked. She practically snarled. “Sorry if I don’t want to talk about touchy-feely things after an orgasm, Count. I thought we were past that.”
The silence simmered with unspoken emotion and words. Finally, he nodded, then shut down the blossom of tenderness like a delicate flower ripped from the stem. “You’re right, Maggie. I thought we were past this, too.”
He snatched the knob and opened up the door. “After dinner we’re babysitting. Since you were the one to convince Carina to break her promise to Brian, we will take over the responsibility.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Brian has four boys! I’m exhausted. No way am I babysitting tonight.”
He leaned forward with a menacing air and snapped his voice in command. “You will be babysitting tonight. We’ll go after dinner. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
He closed the door on her loud protest and stalked off with a hard-on and a boiling temper.
• • •
She’d screwed up.
Maggie peered at her fake husband from under lowered lashes as he fought with his bawling nephew who refused to go into the crib. Michael had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and his strong forearms flexed as the baby kicked and spit with growing fury. If she weren’t so miserable, she’d get a chuckle out of the scene. His normally cool appearance now showed a disheveled, tired man who looked as if he craved the couch and a remote.
