Black Knights Inc: Born Wild Part 18

Of course, the real reason his mouth was pulling the whole dry-as-the-desert-Southwest thing was because he could actually feel himself slipping closer and closer to the void with each pa.s.sing second. Slipping closer and closer to that place where he threw caution to the wind and- "I never did tell you how sorry I was about those pictures," she broke into his frantic thoughts, a catch in her voice.

He turned, c.o.c.king his head and frowning. "You can't blame yourself for those," he a.s.sured her. "Not after today."

"But I do blame myself," she insisted, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. "If only I'd had the guts to tell my father to...to shove it. If...if only I'd stayed true to you, kept the promise I gave you, then none of this would've happened. None of this..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm just really sorry, Billy."

A few months ago he would have been beyond thrilled to hear those words from her mouth. Now? Well, for some reason-probably because, in spite of everything, he just felt so friggin' sorry for her-they were about as rewarding as a cheap, plastic trophy.

And for a moment he considered holding his tongue, for a moment he thought perhaps it might be better for him, and for her, if he just accepted her apology and let it all go. But the question of why had been burning a hole in his brain since the day that wedding announcement arrived in the mail. And he knew if ever there was a time to face the facts about what'd happened, to get the explanation he'd always felt he so richly deserved, it was now. So, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and blurted, "Why did you agree to go out with Blake?"

Her graceful throat worked over a swallow, her blue eyes filling with tears. Again he considered holding his tongue, calling back the question, letting her off the hook, but when he opened his mouth, instead of the words forget it. It doesn't matter now. It's all water under the bridge...Instead of those words coming out, he demanded instead, or maybe it was his ego that demanded, "Was it because he was handsome? Or rich? Or smart? Or suave? Was it because he came from the right family, or-"

She shook her head, two large teardrops spilling over her lower lids to run down her cheeks and drip from her trembling chin. His instinct was to reach forward to wipe at the glistening trails. Instead, he curled his fingers around the plate in his lap as his heart thudded viciously in his chest, as his blood hammered through his veins, as he remained as still as the hot, humid air outside. Not daring to move. Barely daring to breathe when she blew out a puff of breath that ruffled the hair around her face, causing one dark strand to stick to her tear-wet cheek.

"I was a coward," she said. Just those four words. And they explained so much, yet, at the same time, revealed so little. "My dad kept harping on me," she eventually continued, her face twisting with derision and self-disgust. "And I was too chicken-hearted to keep saying no to him. So, you know, I thought, Hey, I'll just do it. I'll go out with Blake. That'll get my dad off by back, and Billy never has to know."

He bit the inside of his cheek, a thousand responses tumbling through his head. But how could you think to deceive me like that? Why couldn't you have just stood up for me and the vows we made? Why didn't you tell me what your father was up to? Why didn't you- "But it was a betrayal," she cut in on his frothing thoughts. "I betrayed you the moment I agreed to that date. And for that I'm so very sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am."

"But why did-"

"And then afterward," she interrupted him, her eyes taking on a sad, faraway look that had him wondering if she'd even heard his attempt to ask a question, or if her mind had traveled back in time. "When you didn't-" She stopped herself abruptly, timidly meeting his gaze. "I don't know," she finally shrugged. "I suppose it was just...maybe easy is the word for it. I was disgusted with myself, depressed and withdrawn, and there was Blake, telling me he wanted me, telling me I was beautiful and desirable. He was handsome and charming. My father loved him. My friends loved him. He knew all the same people I knew, did all the same things I did, so when he asked me to marry him, I figured, why not? It seemed like the thing to do, the thing everyone wanted me to do. Of course, that was the rationale of a young and incredibly stupid mind. Obviously, right?" She snorted derisively, picking at the crust on her sandwich. "Considering how it all turned out?"

And it was finished. The explanation was finished. Finally. Finally, he knew why.

He should've felt better. He didn't...

Perhaps that's because there was still one thing that didn't make any sense. "Why did you send me that invitation?" The invitation that'd broken his f.u.c.king heart. The invitation that'd torn his entire world apart. "That's the part I don't get. I never knew you to be intentionally cruel."

She c.o.c.ked her head, her brow crinkling. "What invitation?"

"To your wedding. Did you send it to me thinking that it would be a sig-" he stopped himself when a series of emotions pa.s.sed over her expressive face. First there was shock, quickly replaced by comprehension, morphing into unmistakable disgust mixed with more than a smidge of remorse.

His gut twisted, his ulcer burping up a cloud of stomach acid that warned him the peanut b.u.t.ter might've been a mistake. "You didn't know," he surmised, something inside him s.h.i.+fting, just a tiny bit. "It was your father."

Her soft lips pulled down into a deep frown. "I...I suppose he just wanted to make sure you knew which way the wind had blown."

He shook his head. "I guess I should've known." And, really, he probably should have. Because even though she'd disappointed him, even though she'd gone back on her word, and even though she'd admitted to being a coward and had chosen another man over him because it was easier, the fact remained, Eve could never be purposefully unkind.

"How could you have known? I'd already screwed you over so badly, how could you have known I wouldn't stoop to the next level?"

"You didn't-"

"Don't make any excuses for me, Billy," she interrupted, her expression suddenly stern, her blue eyes boring into him. "I won't be able to stand it if you start making excuses for me."

Okay. So he wouldn't make any excuses for her. At least not aloud. But inside himself he felt a categorical change, a s.h.i.+ft in paradigm, in perception and- "You should've been my first," she said abruptly.

What the- His brain turned to mush and slid out through his ears. His ringing ears. They must be ringing, right? Because he couldn't have heard her correctly. "Huh?" It was the most astute question he could formulate.

"I've always regretted missing that chance." And what was that expression on her face? Confusion, doubt...hope? All of the above? For some reason, probably because his brain was puddled on the mattress and stars were spinning in front of his vision, he was having trouble processing.

"Huh?" And there he went again, being all witty and clever, but really. He couldn't think straight. Or crooked. Or any other way. He just couldn't think. Period. Because if he wasn't mistaken, Evelyn Rose Edens was propositioning him.

He must've been quiet for too long, because she rushed ahead. "I know how you feel about me. And I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust me either after what happened. So, I don't expect this to lead anywhere. But I'm okay with that. If...if you're okay with that, I mean. I...I just..." She stopped, rolled in her lips, and through the pinpoints of light dancing before his eyes, he could make out her imploring expression. "I just really want to see what it's like to be with you. Even if it's only this one time."

And what did a man say to something like that?

Well, even with only a partially intact cerebral cortex, and despite the fact he was pretty sure it would undoubtedly blow up in his face, he knew what to say. Because what was that line from Catcher in the Rye? Something like, In my mind, I'm probably the biggest s.e.x maniac you ever saw?

Well, when it came to Eve, no truer words had ever been written. So, yeah. He knew what to say. One thing, and one thing only. "Okay."

Okay. Just that one word. Okay. Then, full stop.

Eve wasn't precisely sure what she'd expected from Billy. Perhaps a rebuff, or maybe a flying leap on top of her. But certainly not...okay. Just...okay.

What did that even mean? Okay to the way he felt about her? Okay to the part where she said she realized he could never trust her again? Okay to the s.e.x? Okay to the s.e.x not meaning anything?

Which part, dangit? Which part is okay?

"Uh...Billy?"

"Huh?"

Was it just her, or had his vocabulary shrunk? And, for Pete's sake, she could really use a little help here. Was he purposefully trying to humiliate her by just sitting there, brown eyes intent and blinking? Shees.h.!.+ Her cheeks were so hot she wouldn't be surprised to see flames shooting out of her face. "Wh-what do you mean by...um...by okay?"

And his response? Blink. Blink.

All right, that was it. She couldn't stand it a second longer. "Because I'm not really the s.e.xpot, vixeny sort. I can't tell if that means, okay, you want the s.e.x. Or okay, you know it'd be meaningless. Or okay, I'm right in that you won't be able to trust me again. When you say okay, do you-"

"Come here, Eve," he said, gently reaching to take the half-eaten sandwich from her nerveless fingers. She watched, breath lodged in her throat, as he placed it on top of the remaining PB and J. And after he bent to set the plate on the floor, he straightened and patted the mattress beside him.

Gulp.

All right, and she'd officially lost her nerve...

"Billy, I-"

"Come here, Eve," he commanded again. Yes, commanded. And silly, weak-willed woman that she was, that authoritative tone went all through her, zinging up her spine and fizzing through her heated blood. It was all about the I'm the big, tough man, so you will obey me.

She wasn't supposed to like that. She wasn't supposed to...

Heaven help her, in this situation, she did.

But she needed to know what he meant before she went and made an even bigger fool of herself than she already had. Swallowing, she bit her bottom lip and said, "So...so by okay, you meant-"

"Sweetheart." When he used that endearment, she felt like flying. "Come. Here."

The softly glowing lights overhead danced through his chocolaty hair and highlighted his steely, stubbled jaw, and the gleam of determination and...was that hunger she saw in the depths of his eyes?

For some inexplicable reason, she thought of that sage bit of advice: don't poke the bear. Well, if she wasn't mistaken, she'd just poked. And for the life of her, she wasn't sure she could handle the beast once he'd been provoked.

"I...I th-think-" she sputtered.

He leaned back on one elbow, snagging her wrist and tugging her to the edge of the bed. The teakwood slats of the sailboat's flooring were cool beneath her socked feet when her legs dangled over the side of the mattress. But Billy's half-naked body was generating so much heat she felt a sheen of perspiration slick her skin. At six feet, he wasn't that much taller than she was. But he had the kind of shoulders, the kind of zero body fat muscles, that bespoke of his last dozen years as a hardened soldier, which meant, to put it simply, he was big.

Big and manly and delicious. And he made her feel dainty and womanly by comparison. He made her feel- "Are you sure?" he asked, playing with her fingers. And even that small touch, that should've-been-nothing touch had desire igniting low in her belly.

"Uh..." When he looked at her like that, his dark eyes sparkling and discerning, his high cheekbones slightly flushed, and the muscle in the side of his jaw ticking, it made it hard to think. "Wh-what was the question again?" she managed. And who the heck had shoved a wad of cotton down her throat?

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

This? Did he mean the s.e.x? Is that what his okay was supposed to convey?

"Y-yes," she said, although the word rose an octave at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"Okay," he nodded, and she was really beginning to hate that word. From this moment forward she was going to ban it from her own vocabulary and...and what had she been thinking?

She didn't know. Because Billy leaned forward until she could feel his warm exhalation whisper across her lips, until she could smell the peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly on his breath. "Well, come on then," he said. And she was left to close that last inch separating them.

Chapter Twenty-one.

He wanted to plow her like a wheat field.

It was crude. But it was true.

Thankfully, good sense and good manners prevailed, and he managed to refrain from grabbing her shoulders and throwing her back on the mattress, tugging the leg of her bikini bottoms aside and plunging into her. But, Jesus, it was crazy how the mere smell of her, all that expensive lotion and fresh shampoo could make his head spin. Could make him instantly start to swell. Could make him picture the hot, wet place between her legs. Could make him imagine his fingers there...his tongue...his d.i.c.k so deep inside of her and- Okay, and now he hadn't just started to swell. He was swollen. Fully engorged. Throbbing and pounding and feeling as though he might just split his skin wide open. Which brought him back around to the part where he had to mentally and physically hold himself back from grabbing her shoulders and tossing her back on the mattress, tugging her bikini bottoms aside and...

But that would come later. Much later. Because Eve wanted him. And forgetting the fact that he wanted her too, the reality was there was a part of him that needed to show her what she'd missed when she'd chosen to cave to her father's wishes, when she'd chosen Blake over him. There was a part of him that'd spent the last twelve years waiting for this very day.

Which meant he had to make it good.

And to make it good, he had to take it slow. He knew enough about women to know Eve was the kind to like it slow. Slow and hot and a little bit dirty, which, praise be, just happened to be his specialty.

And maybe, maybe after he showed her what she'd missed, maybe after he got it out of his own system, he could begin to move on. Begin to break free of the past. Of her. Of his seesawing thoughts and feelings in regard to her.

Of course, when she leaned in close, opening her mouth to him-sonofab.i.t.c.h, she had the most amazing mouth, the softest lips he'd ever kissed-he stopped thinking altogether. Tentatively, she slipped her tongue between his teeth. And the taste of her-the taste of peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly and...Eve-went straight to his head.

Or his groin.

His erection was now aching like a bad tooth, hammering against the dampness of his swim trunks. And his blood was running so hot he was surprised steam wasn't billowing up from his crotch.

"Mmm," she purred in that way he'd grown to love that summer-in that way he'd missed every day since then. It was a husky little growl at the back of her throat. And when he sucked on her tongue, rolling his up and down, she moved toward him.

Just slightly.

But oh, she was sweet when she softly, carefully placed her hands on his shoulders, when she softly, carefully returned the favor and sucked on his tongue.

The carefulness was one-hundred-percent pure Eve, and, in a little while, it'd have to go. In a little bit he'd demand no-holds-barred abandon. But, for right now, he'd take her tentative exploration. He'd revel in her soft exhalations, and just imagine all the things he'd do to her, do to push past any reticence, to make that little purr turn into a full-on groan of pleasure...

Slipping one hand around the back of her neck, placing the other on her hip, he pulled her closer. Until they were hip-to-hip, thigh-to-thigh. Until he could feel her pressed so soft and graceful and...quintessentially female all along his side. He opened his mouth wider, pushed his tongue deeper, taking everything up one notch, and letting her know that, yes, she'd been right on the money about him still wanting her.

Want...

That didn't even begin to cover it. It was a need. A bone-deep, gut-wrenching, soul-shattering need. And it'd always been this way with her. Bigger. Heavier. Deeper. Better than with anyone else. And sweet Mother Mary, he hoped and prayed that after he'd satisfied that need, after he'd finally, finally quenched his thirst for her, he'd be able to move on. Because in all honesty, the sheer breadth of his desire frightened him. Frightened him now just like it'd frightened her all those years ago.

He wondered if it still frightened her...

So he was slow when he moved his hand from her hip, softly sliding it around to her silky thigh. Carefully caressing his way underneath the hem of her T-s.h.i.+rt to the edge of her bikini bottoms. He was gentle when he fingered the elastic band, running his thumb along the perimeter of the lycra.

And she s.h.i.+vered. Just ever so slightly.

But it wasn't a s.h.i.+ver of fear. It was a s.h.i.+ver of desire. And that's all he needed to know.

That timid eighteen-year-old was gone, replaced by this woman whose blood ran as quickly and as hotly as his own. She knew where he was leading her this time around, and she was eager to get there. And, just like that, it was go time...

It was just like she remembered. And then again, it was so much better.

She wasn't scared this time. She wasn't nervous or thinking too much. She wasn't worried she'd do the wrong thing. There was no wrong thing. Because what lay between them was primal and basic. But, above all else, it was real. Real in a way it'd never been real with anybody else.

"Eve," he growled her name against her lips, nipping the bottom pad before releasing her mouth to leave a string of hot kisses across her jaw and back to her ear. He sucked the lobe into his searing mouth and her toes curled inside her socks.

"Billy," she sighed, palming the back of his head, tunneling her fingers through his warm hair. Desire didn't wash through her when he pulled back to tug her s.h.i.+rt over her head, it'd already pooled hot and heavy between her thighs. And when his gleaming eyes landed on her, garbed in nothing but that itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny bikini, she was amazed her entire body didn't spontaneously combust. Just poof! A fireball of l.u.s.t and pa.s.sion.

"Sweet Jesus, you haven't changed a bit. You're perfect," he said, his low, guttural growl filled with masculine appreciation.

Perfect?

No. She was far from perfect. But she sure as heck wasn't going to point out the fact that, at thirty, she had cellulite at the top of her thighs that no amount of jogging managed to budge, or that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s weren't quite as perky as they'd once been. If he wanted to look at her and see that eighteen-year-old body, if he wanted to look at her and see perfection, far be it from her to disillusion him. Especially not when he hooked a hand behind her neck, dragging her forward for another mind-blowing kiss.

She didn't realize he'd untied the strings at her neck or the ones behind her back until she felt the cool cabin air brush across her nipples. Then...oh, holy cow.

Because Billy gently laid her back on the mattress, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses down her throat and over to her right nipple. He thumbed it once, and it sprung to instant attention, pouting and puckering and begging.

"These haven't changed either, have they?" he grumbled appreciatively, the sound rumbling through his big chest. "Such a pretty, delicate pink, and so very easily aroused. Are they just as sensitive?" he asked, his eyes managing to be simultaneously laser-sharp and bedroom-lazy.

She bit her lip. "Why don't you find out?" she breathed.

And, okay, where the heck had that come from? She wasn't the s.e.xpot, vixeny sort, remember? But that was exactly the type of thing a s.e.xpot vixen would say.