Chapter Five
Veronica and Sean drove Genny to the marina, pointed out the berth where Campbell’s luxury yacht was moored, and dumped her there before she could entertain any second or third or fiftieth thoughts. Even so, she would have gone into the nearby restaurant to phone for a cab, had she not spied Spook pacing the dock like a caged tiger waiting for dinner. He immediately turned toward her, noting her arrival with his ice-steel eyes.
“Come,” he growled, his voice grim but demanding, and held out a hand.
Again that weird compulsion. Her eyes locked on his. Her feet took her across the boardwalk until she stood by his side. He reached for her overnight bag and flung it into the stern of the small cruiser, where Campbell waited with an enormous grin to ferry them out to the yacht. Then Spook picked her up as if she weighed no more than dandelion fluff and deposited her on a wooden seat with less fanfare than he’d tossed her Louis Vuitton.
“Ready for this, demon hunter?” Spook jumped into the boat and sat next to her on the wooden bench, so close their thighs touched. Without waiting for an invitation, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Oh, goddess. The scent of him. Not as strong as it had been in the Paris hotel room, and dissipated further by the smell of the river and the light spring rain that had fallen earlier. But enthralling and tantalizing nevertheless.
“If you are, demon.”
“As long as you’re not armed,” he muttered. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around that whole demon thing. And you can call me Spook.”
Campbell coughed into his fist, failing to completely hide his laugh, and nudged the boat away from the dock. They made the short trip in silence. And then he tossed Spook the keys.
“Take care of my baby and don’t run her aground. The galley’s well stocked. Weather’s gonna be clear and you should have smooth sailing. At least nautically-speaking. But, in the unlikely event you decide you can’t stand the sight of each other and you’re willing to row, you’ll find a few lifeboats and dinghies on deck.” He winked. “Enjoy your one-night stand. And don’t forget to change the sheets.”
“Hunters first.” Spook indicated the ladder to the polished teakwood deck of The Lily Flower.
“How about you don’t call me hunter and I don’t call you demon? At least for the next couple of hours?”
“Couple? I think I can manage more staying power than that. But it’s a deal.”
“And could we…at least pretend this is a romantic getaway?”
“Romantic?” He growled, the sound so erotic, twinges of desire shot through her. She tingled all over, ached between her legs. His scent, the sound of his low, harsh voice, the sight of his big, gorgeous frame, the possessive and predatory look in silvery eyes fierce with lust made her slick and wet, ready to throw herself at him.
“All I can think about is how much I want to fuck you,” he said.
“Oh.” Her face flamed and she stole a glance at Campbell, apparently doing his best to be deaf. “Me, too,” she whispered.
She clambered up the ladder, Spook’s large hand on her ass as he followed, guiding, pushing, steadying and securing and, yes, definitely copping a free feel, as Campbell brought the cruiser around and headed back to shore.
This is it, then. No escape, unless she jumped into one of the dinghies and rowed herself. And upper arm strength was not one of her more exceptional abilities.
She’d never been on a luxury yacht before and sucked in a breath. The furnishings, every detail astounding and awesome, were polished and elegant, right down to the small pool and hot tub on the sundeck where they stood. Below deck, the design and décor amazed and impressed, tickling all her senses with their magnificence. Polished blond wood everywhere, posh, well-appointed leather couches and seats in subdued tropical colors, pale sea blues and greens built in or bolted down and grouped in conversation pits around glass and marble tables in the lounge area. A large wet bar and refrigerated wine rack was positioned against one wall, with a huge flat screen TV mounted on another. The dining area flowed out of the lounge, containing a long, formal table that could seat sixteen, as well as a more intimate alcove holding a small, round table for two. State-of-the-art appliances, worthy of a celebrity chef’s kitchen, filled the galley, clearly well-stocked, complete with another wine rack Campbell had mentioned on the way over.
Spook whistled. “Definitely the whole enchilada. With salsa and chips. The By Jones development business must be good.”
He still had his hand on her, though he’d made the transition from ass to waist as they’d strolled and explored. The familiarity of the gesture warmed her, natural and comfortable, as if their bodies had some kind of memory recognition, even if their conversation remained a little awkward.
“You can let me go now, Spook,” she murmured. “Not like I’m jumping into a life boat or swimming to shore.”
“Sorry.” His voice sounded low and gruff. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like I can’t stop touching you.” He began to remove his hand, but shook his head and left it there. “When I touch you, you glow, you know that?”
“Yes. It’s because—”
“And now you’re blushing, too. Because what?”
“Because….” She searched for words. “I’m a will-o’-the-wisp.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s something else, though. Different. More—”
More heat warmed her cheeks. “It’s because you’re exciting me,” she blurted. “You excite me just by standing there.”
He slid his fingers up the side of her ribs to caress her flushed throat. Waves of lust coursed through her. At the rate he was going, she’d probably be able to light up the entire New York metropolitan area soon. Maybe the tri-state region. Or the Eastern seaboard.
Cupping her chin, he tilted her head back. “Good.” His eyes gleamed, seeming to reflect back her radiance. “Because I’ve been under your spell since Paris. Even if you did try to kill me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Let’s not play games with each other, okay, Gen? The whole situation is strange enough.” Another coil of heat spiraled through her at his use of her nickname. First time he’d ever said her name at all. She liked the deep, rich sound of his voice, her name on his lips. Loved it, actually. And the thought of his lips—goddess help her.
“Agreed.”
“Good,” he said again. “Because there’s no use denying this attraction, right?” His mouth quirked upward. Holy cannoli, what a smile. “You’re brighter than the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. And I…I can’t stop thinking about how hungry I am.”
“Let’s see what we can whip up then,” she said, moving toward the galley.
He jerked her around to face him. “Not the kind of hungry I meant.” He tore off his shirt, as if the fabric burned him.
“Oh.” Gazing dumbly at the broad expanse of chiseled flesh, bronze and ripped with layers of toned muscle, she slung her arms around his neck. “Oh. Me, too.”
He had at least a foot on her and even when she stood on tiptoes in her four-inch platforms, it was still a helluva stretch to rub her cheek against his. No matter. When she leaned into his chest, his heat radiated into every part of her, his heartbeat pounding beneath her ear.
He grasped her waist and lifted her gently until her feet left the floor, bringing her so close they nestled together like silverware in a drawer. Her thoughts whirled as she inhaled his scent. Why had Madame Eve matched them? On paper, they didn’t seem to be a great fit. But with his hard body pressed to hers…goddess. Who cared why they’d hooked up? Who cared if he was a hated demon? His voice, his virile male essence, that lethally masculine, powerfully muscled frame spoke to her in ways no other lover had.
Spook lowered his head and kissed her then, his mouth firm and warm on hers, urging her to part her lips and groaning when she did, slipping his tongue inside to play against hers, the contact melting her, drowning her in passion, the sound of his groan erotic and wonderful.
Every one of her senses went berserk, her head spinning, her body on fire for him, going so soft and boneless, she draped around him like a blanket. He flicked open the buttons of her blouse, made even quicker work of the flimsy bra, until he’d bared her breasts, sucking in a harsh breath.
“You were made for me, Geneviève Mortimer,” he said. “You know that, right?” His fingers covered her, caressing lightly at first, then less gently, first one breast and then the other, sure and confident. Only the barest hint of a tremble in his hand betrayed his savage need, his eagerness. “Perfect fit.” He rubbed a thumb over each of her nipples in turn, until they jutted in blatant invitation. She wanted the sexy massage to go on forever.
But Spook had other ideas. She gasped when he closed his mouth hungrily over one of her breasts, and sucked the sensitive pebbled nipple between his lips, nibbling, his tongue firm and relentless as he swept over her sensitized skin. His scent overwhelmed her. He lifted his head and blew on the moistened skin. Between her legs, more desire pooled.
Oh, the erotic things he did to her. “So intense,” she murmured.
“Too much?”
“Hell, no.” Pleasure poured into every cell, every blood vessel and organ, until her desire for him swamped her. She curled her fingers into his hair, tugging, holding him against her, unable to get close enough, wanting to dissolve into him completely. Tremors shook her. “How are you doing?”
“Still hungry. Ravenous.”
The pacing tiger she’d seen on the dock came uncaged. He shifted upward, seizing her mouth again in another long, sizzling kiss, rougher and more demanding, his lips harder on hers, his tongue thrusting, poking, tasting her. Ready to devour her. Compelling her to return his urgency measure for measure.
She enjoyed sex as much as the next person, but she had never wanted a male, to be with a male, as much as this one. Wild monkey sex. Hot jungle sex. Mindless, brainless, rabid sex. That’s what she wanted. And…something more.
He groaned again, as if guessing her thoughts, and lifted her a little more until she wrapped her legs around his hips, crossed her ankles, and dug her heels into his ass. If he wanted to walk her back to the wall and take her standing up against the knotty pine paneling, she was A-OK with that.
I’m so ready to be fucked.
“I’m so ready to fuck you,” he said.
Goddess. Had she said that out loud? Or was he so attuned to her he sensed her thoughts, her needs, her hunger? Suddenly, she didn’t care.
“So there’s still one place on board we haven’t seen yet,” he growled, his voice hoarse and raspy, muscles tense, a demon clearly ensnared in the throes of torrid lust. “Want to?”
“Hell, yes. If it’s the place with the bed.” She tightened her arms around him. “And could you hurry?”
Without setting her down, he strode briskly to the master cabin, nudging the door open with his foot. Vaguely, the decadence of the bedroom suite registered somewhere in her brain awash in hormones, the quarters even more plush and luxurious than the other areas they’d toured, the bed huge—large enough to accommodate even Spook comfortably—and piled high with pillows.
He swept them all away with one arm, and carefully laid her down on the slick satin sheets, in such a fashion that her legs dangled over the edge of the bed, her feet touching the thick carpet. He dropped to his knees and removed her shoes. Taking one bare foot in his large hands, he rubbed the sole and instep until she thought she’d come from the extraordinary, titillating massage alone. His large, strong hands played on her flesh, the blunt fingertips kneading every last bit of tension away. With a sigh, she lay back and closed her eyes, so relaxed she floated, sinking into a soft cloud of pure delight. Raising her foot to his lips, he nibbled her toes, his mouth gentle at first, then so hot and hungry she thought he’d suck the Luminous Lightberry polish off her nails. She cried out from the intense pleasure. The male definitely had mad skills.
“Like that?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“How about this?” He yanked off her jeans, the cool air in the cabin a momentary shock to her feverish skin, until his warming hands slid up her calves to her knees, his palms firm. The muscles, toned through years of chasing demons around the globe, went slack as he spread her legs wide and bent his head between her thighs. The scent of arousal, hers, his, filled the cabin. She lifted her hips and he did not disappoint her. He dropped soft, angelic, little butterfly kisses on her swollen super-sensitized flesh, each one tingled through her, made her ache, made her want. Desire lit her up, a match to kindling. And then he began sucking and licking her. Her head whirled as if she were intoxicated, each caress of his tongue intensifying the passion. Totally drunk on him, she fisted her hands around his muscular shoulders then slid them, open-palmed, along the column of his neck, over smooth flesh, across his hard jaw, before digging them into his hair again.
His groans, her moans, the slurping sounds, his caresses, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her thighs, had her crying out, thrashing wildly on the sheets until he took her over the edge. Once. Twice. She lost count of how many times she came. Drifting, drifting. Rapture. Ecstasy. She had no idea where they were. Knew only Spook, whispering, sighing, crying his name.
He held her until she returned, the boat rocking gently beneath them, and she recalled their date, their one-night stand. One night would never be enough. She needed this male to provide her with such mind-blowing orgasms on a daily, nightly basis.
He slid her more fully into the center of the bed and stood, gazing down at her. His icy eyes sparkled with heat, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth, still slick with her.
“Mmm, mmm, good.” He smacked his lips. “Good for you, too, baby?”
She swatted his arm. “What do you think?”
“I think now you’re ready to be fucked.”