Full Exposure Page 2

  Though he knew it was rude to focus on those lush nipples, he couldn’t force his gaze away. He wanted to touch them, taste them, draw them into his mouth and suck the sweetness from her until she writhed beneath him in ecstasy. What would she taste like?

  He heard Serena’s breath hitch, knew suddenly that she was as aware of him and his body as he was of her. He had never before lusted so obviously after a woman he was working with, had always tried to be considerate of a woman’s feelings during working hours. But normal working hours had come and gone. It was the middle of the night, hot as hell and the storm raging outside was tying his gut into knots. He wanted Serena, had burned for her from the second he’d first laid eyes on her almost seventy-two hours before.

  And though he had restrained himself, believing that she was not in the slightest interested, the answering arousal in her own eyes suddenly changed everything.

  He took a step closer, his gaze still focused on her telltale nipples. They grew even tauter and he knew—he knew—that there was no way he could stop himself from touching her.

  It was way too hot for her to be cold, way too steamy in the studio to question whether it was arousal making her nipples peak. As he drew closer to her, stalking her, really, he forced his eyes back to her face.

  Eyes closed, head tilted back, lips soft and open, she rubbed the beer against the back of her neck and down the side of her face. A soft moan revealed the pleasure the contact with the cool bottle brought her. Opening her eyes, she noticed his predatory stance for the first time, saw his eyes blazing with a need he couldn’t hide.

  He watched her own widen in answer, watched them glaze over as the passion she too was fighting to hold off rose up and overwhelmed her. Her scent, a mixture of wildflowers and hot, spicy woman, teased him, drawing him closer and closer to the edge of his resistance.

  Reaching forward, he plucked the beer from her hands and slowly drank, enjoying the taste of her as much as the beer. He watched as her eyes found a drop of sweat at the hollow of his neck, as they helplessly followed it as it worked its way over his bare chest and onto his stomach.

  * * *

  She wanted to reach her tongue out and sweep the drop from his body. Wanted her tongue to follow the lazy path made by the drop, testing, tasting every inch of his well-muscled torso before working her way slowly, oh so slowly, beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  Serena’s breath hitched in her throat and her eyes met Kevin’s for the first time in many hours. His breath, too, was coming in harsh pants, and she could tell that he was as aroused as she was. That he wanted her at least as badly as she wanted him.

  She reached one still-trembling hand toward him, whether in invitation or denial she didn’t know. But when he grasped her fingers with his own, she shivered at the strength in his work-hardened palm. And when he slowly, oh so slowly, lifted her hand to his lips, she shuddered with the power and the pain of her desire.

  His tongue reached out and caressed her index finger, once, twice, before drawing her slowly into his mouth. His teeth nipped lightly at her fingertip, even as he pulled her deeper and deeper into him. He sucked her finger gently, his tongue sweeping in slow, lazy circles as his mouth slid back and forth.

  Serena’s breath came in short gasps and her knees weakened until she feared their ability to support her. Her eyes drifted shut and her head rolled back on her neck. She knew this was wrong, knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Kevin wasn’t the type to be satisfied with a one- or two-night stand and she didn’t have anything else to offer.

  But she couldn’t deny the need flowing between them. Didn’t want to deny it. And his mouth on her finger felt so incredibly good. How would it feel on her lips? Her breasts? Between her thighs?

  As Kevin slowly relinquished his hold on her finger, she bit back an instinctive protest. She was on fire, burning, her underwear soaked through. Glancing down at the front of his jeans, she felt her eyes widen at the erection the denim couldn’t begin to disguise.

  She reached to touch him, but he grabbed her hand before it could connect. “Not yet, cher,” he whispered, holding her newly captured hand to his chest. His heart pounded heavily, riotously beneath her palm. Her fingers flexed, explored, slid lightly over one nipple, and his heartbeat grew faster, harder.

  Echoing her own, she thought, as blood pumped hot and quick through her veins. The storm raging outside had moved inside, buffeting her from every side, sweeping her into its powerful, chaotic embrace and leaving Kevin as her only anchor.

  His stormy, heavy-lidded eyes burned into her own, midnight blue and fierce with desire. His musky scent overwhelmed her. Yet his touch was tender and his lips gentle as they moved slowly over her finger, down her palm, his tongue trailing a path of fire wherever it touched. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, his mouth pressed long, lazy kisses across her hand—over her love line, her life line, slowly, slowly working his way down to the rounded pad at the base of her thumb. And there, right there, at the juncture where her palm met her wrist, he bit gently, firmly, his teeth sinking in even as his tongue laved away the hurt.

  Serena’s knees gave way and with a cry of ecstasy she slid, trembling, down the wall.

  Kevin crouched beside her, his eyes on hers, searching for any sign of uneasiness. But she was too hot, too steamy, too far gone to think of the consequences. Reaching out, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him forward until his lips met her own.

  He tasted like the cinnamon gum he chewed obsessively, a combination of spicy and sweet that drove her to the brink of her control and then beyond. She knew he’d meant to take it easy, slow, but with the first powerful touch of his mouth, Serena was lost and her uninhibited response sparked his own. His tongue swept across her lips—ravenous, demanding, desperate—and she opened for him as lust burned through her.

  They plundered each other, tongues testing, tasting, tangling together. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and bit slowly; he groaned in response, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, to press her against him.

  She was hot and wet and frantic to feel him within her. Kevin must have sensed her desperation, for he tightened his hold, pressed more firmly against her, began a gently thrusting between her thighs that sent her pulse soaring. A high, keening sound escaped her, one that would have mortified her at any other time. But here, now, with the frantic grip of her hands on his body and the powerful thrust of his hips against hers, it seemed natural. More than natural. Perfect.

  But she wanted more, needed more. Breaking free of his kiss, Serena slid her lips slowly over his cheeks, relishing the stubble on his unshaven jaw before her tongue darted out and explored the inner shell of his ear. Frenzied, frantic, she closed her teeth around his earlobe and bit gently, even as her hands moved to caress the rippling muscles of his back.

  Kevin growled deep in his throat and moved his hand slowly down her chest. As his fingers closed around her breast for the first time, a huge streak of lightning lit the sky beyond the studio and the lights went out, plunging the room into a still and eerie darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Serena stiffened, pulling away from Kevin as fear wrapped itself around her throat in a tight-fisted chokehold. Bloody images flashed in front of her eyes before she could stop them. “What happened?” she demanded, hands pressing urgently against his shoulders.

  “It’s just the storm, bebe,” he soothed, his black-magic voice calming the shock waves pulsing within her. “Any time a big one hits, we lose power out here. I’m surprised we’ve had lights this long.”

  He lowered his head to her neck, let his tongue stroke lazily across the hollow of her throat. But she pushed at his shoulders again, shoving him away hard as she scrambled to her feet. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  “A flashlight?” he responded dumbly.

  “Yeah, a flashlight. Or a candle? Anything?” The urgency in her voice barely registered on him.

  “Do we need one?” He ran a hand t
hrough his hair. “I thought what we were doing was pretty well-suited to the dark. Not that I don’t look forward to seeing you in the light.” His voice was low and teasing as he reached for her again. A note of humor crept in. “So, where were we?”

  “I don’t want—” She pulled away, ran her hands down arms that were suddenly ice cold.

  “You don’t want what?” he parroted, the warmth in his tone cooling several degrees as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You don’t want this? You sure picked a helluva time to change your mind.”

  The flames in the iron-working stove had died down as he worked with his blowtorch, so that it gave off just a small amount of light. Enough that he could see her outline, but her face and eyes were shadowed.

  “Serena, answer me. What’s going on here?” Impatience colored his words, making them cooler—and hotter—than they might have been otherwise.

  Serena pressed trembling hands to her eyes, desperate to block out the darkness and the hint of temper Kevin couldn’t hide. Desperate to stop the memories bombarding her. Though her arousal was gone, killed by the sudden and imposing darkness, now she was shaky for entirely different reasons and she couldn’t stand this new and unexpected loss of control.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know it looks bad, but I never meant to do this to you.” And she hadn’t—once she made up her mind she rarely changed it and she always, always followed through with what she started, whether it was an assignment for work or a project she did for pleasure. Making love with Kevin definitely fell into the pleasure category, but she couldn’t do it. Not right now. Not while darkness closed in around her. Not while Sandra’s screams echoed in her head and the stench of long-dried blood assaulted her nostrils.

  “I never said you had.” His tone was guarded, though warmer than it had been a few moments before.

  “I don’t …” Her voice was harsh, husky with a fear she couldn’t banish as she forced the words past the sudden lump in her throat. “I don’t like the dark.”

  “What?” Kevin asked, confusion evident in his tone.

  A hint of her own temper entered her voice—she hated being vulnerable. “I’m afraid of the dark, okay?” The words were evenly spaced, her voice defiant as if daring him to make fun of her.

  Feeling as if he’d missed a couple of steps, or an entire staircase for that matter, Kevin closed his eyes. Ran another hand through his hair. Clamped down on the desire still twisting his guts into knots. “You’re a photographer,” he finally said incredulously. “Half your life is spent in a darkroom!”

  “It’s different.” Her voice shook, despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

  “How?” But his voice was softer. He was too shocked at the difference in her—the complete transformation from cool and composed to trembly and terrified—to be annoyed. From the second he’d laid eyes on Serena he’d wanted to see her with her control shattered. But he’d never envisioned it happening like this. He reached out a hand and found hers in the darkness, astounded at how quickly she had turned cold and clammy.

  “My choice,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I choose to go into that room, dark or no. And I have control of the light switch. Nobody else.” Her trembling suddenly increased and he couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms.

  “Kevin,” she said, hands once again pushing against him. “I don’t want to do this right now. I can’t—”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. But you’re shaky, freezing. Let me hold you for a minute.”

  Her spine suddenly stiffened and her voice dripped ice as she answered. “I’m not a child to be comforted. I simply would rather wait until the lights came back on before …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Before what?” He pulled her back into his arms, ignoring her slight resistance, ignoring his own need to give in to her.

  “You know what.” She held herself rigid against him, unable to take the comfort he so freely offered.

  Settling himself against the wall, Kevin pulled her into his lap before she could protest. “Sssh.” One hand reached up to stroke her short hair, the other rubbed her slender back soothingly as he murmured nonsense to her.

  Against her will, Serena relaxed into him. He felt safe, made her feel safe and secure. It had been so long since she’d felt this way that it took her a minute to recognize the feeling.

  Seventeen. The thought echoed through her. She’d been seventeen the last time she’d felt this safe. At the time she’d thought she had everything she’d ever want—guaranteed entrance into one of the best photography programs in the country, a boyfriend she adored, and the best twin sister in the world. But that was before Damien, with his good looks and insane jealousies. Before she’d known what it felt like to have a blade sink deep into her flesh. Before she’d heard her sister die.

  Stifling the whimper that wanted to escape, Serena cursed herself. It wasn’t like her to lose control like this, to curl up on a man’s lap and let him soothe her like a baby. She never needed comforting, had refused to need it for more than a decade. So why was she cowering on Kevin’s lap just because the lights were out?

  She started to move, to push away again, but Kevin held her in place. And she let him without knowing why. She could have struggled, could have demanded her freedom. But it felt right sitting here, letting him hold her. When the lights came on, Serena knew she’d be embarrassed that he’d seen her this way. But for now, as fear stalked her and darkness fenced her in, she was content, if not happy, to stay exactly where she was.

  Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal and her breathing leveled out, but Kevin continued to rock, continued to soothe without ever saying a word. Without thought, her arms crept around his waist, her cheek pressing against his bare chest as she listened to the slow and steady beat of his heart.

  Despite the heat of the past few minutes there was nothing sexual in his touch, nothing passionate in hers. Yet, leaning against him in the dark, letting him support her, she recognized a small and sudden rekindling of the fire that had burned so brightly within her earlier. Who would have thought the fearsome, awe-inspiring Kevin Riley could be so … kind?

  They sat in the darkness for a long time, holding each other and listening as torrents of rain continued to pelt the house. When Kevin finally spoke, it wasn’t the words she had dreaded hearing, wasn’t the demand for an explanation that he had every right to expect.

  Instead, he heaved a long-suffering sigh. “So tell me about this book thing.” His voice hinted of beignets and chicory and long, lazy mornings in bed.

  “Your book thing?” she answered carefully as his voice sent chills of pleasure up her spine. Her voice was shaky, but it held, a fact she was incredibly grateful for.

  “Our book thing,” he growled. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his beautiful face and troubled eyes for just a second. She didn’t know why, but she longed to touch his face, to let her fingertips slowly soothe the tension from his muscles.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t even want to think about it,” he answered. “But it seems to be happening whether I want it to or not.”

  “You agreed to do it, you know.” She shifted in his lap, as if a change in vantage point would suddenly reveal his face again. “All you had to do was say no.”

  “I did say no. At least fifty times. When I signed that contract, it wasn’t agreement. It was surrender due to total and complete desperation. Steve and Marsha got together and ran me to ground. I never stood a chance.”

  “Against your agent and publicist? And you call yourself an artist? Don’t you know that it’s your duty to make their lives hell?” she teased. Her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked, but it held. She couldn’t ask for more.

  “You know that and I know that, cher. But the two of them don’t seem to get the concept,” he commented drily. “They think I hired them to make my life hell.”

  “So why don’t you explain i
t to them?” A powerful surge of thunder had her cuddling closer, had his arms tightening around her without either being aware of it. “You don’t exactly seem the type to take such abuse lying down.”

  “I’m not. And I have explained it, many times, but they don’t listen. Instead, they hound me day and night. Phone calls at all hours, trips here or to my house in New Orleans when I take the damned thing off the hook.” She felt his very un-Kevin-like smile against the top of her head.

  “And you put up with this?” She liked this new side of him, so different than anything she’d ever seen or heard about him. She knew he was distracting her, knew he’d chosen the topic to keep her mind occupied with something other than her fear. But that made him only more interesting—as a person and as a potential lover.

  Her fingers itched for her camera, the need to record this unexpected side of him nearly overwhelming. But it was way too dark to photograph him, no matter how good her flash was. Not to mention that she’d have to leave the safety of his arms to do so, something she wasn’t yet ready to contemplate though she shied away from the knowledge.

  Glancing around the still-dark studio, she shuddered before she could stop herself. She hated this stupid fear, hated that it still had the power to control her. It had been ten years since Sandra had died. And while the first few years were a jumble of fear and hate, confusion and loneliness, she’d slowly pulled out of the tailspin her sister’s murder had thrown her into.

  Years passed and she began to go days, weeks, sometimes even months without feeling the crippling grief that literally brought her to her knees. But something always happened. A newspaper article, a movie preview, a blackout. And she would realize, once again, just how tenuous her grip on sanity really was.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. The pattern was her mantra at times like these. If she did it long enough, the shaking would stop. It always did.