Driven by Fire (Fire 2)

His breathing had changed, and she knew he was asleep. She had to get away from him before she made a total fool of herself, and she tried to inch away, slowly and carefully so she wouldn’t wake him up.

His arms tightened around her immediately. “I’m a very light sleeper,” he murmured, “and I wake up crabby. Stay still and go to sleep.”

“I can’t!” she said. “I’m too uncomfortable.” Her body seemed to fit back against his perfectly, but he wouldn’t know that.

“Then just hold still. I’ll know if you try to get away, and if you wake me up too many times you’ll regret it.”

“So much for your promise not to hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you. That doesn’t mean I won’t tickle you until you promise to behave.”

The idea was so ludicrous she would have laughed if she didn’t already feel so vulnerable. “I hate being tickled.”

“Then stay still.”

To her astonishment his breathing slowed almost immediately, and she knew he was asleep once more. He was such a robot he’d probably trained his body to do exactly what he said. She had little doubt he slept just as lightly as he’d told her, and there was nothing she could do about her current position. She sighed, releasing some of the tension still inside her, and her body relaxed against his a little bit more. In fact, the bed wasn’t that uncomfortable, and neither was Ryder. She might even be able to fall asleep after a few hours of frustration. She certainly was tired enough. The thought of sleeping in Matthew Ryder’s arms was so absurd she wanted to laugh, but she simply moved closer, cursing herself as she did so, and tried to keep her eyes open, her anger hot.

She failed.

Chapter Fifteen

Skin. Warm, sleek, smooth skin beneath her mouth, her fingertips, the heat and hardness of him. Erotic dreams danced through her mind with elegant solemnity—every touch, every taste a climax waiting to happen. Every inch of her was sensitized, on fire, ready for him. She heard her quiet moan through the veils of sleep and knew she was on the verge of exploding. She could feel his heart beating against hers, a steady, solid counterpoint to her own rushed tempo, and she wanted more, so much more, from the stranger in her bed, the man she refused to recognize, the man she wanted with such fierce need she thought she might burn up.

His hand slid behind her neck, under her fall of hair, and she could feel the roughness of calluses, the strength in those long fingers as he tilted her face up to meet his, and she waited, ready to kiss him back, ready to take what she wanted with no excuse or justification.

“Parker, wake up,” he whispered, his mouth a fraction of an inch away from hers.

She opened her eyes to the murky light, to the face of the man beneath her, to Ryder’s eyes w

atching her steadily, to his mouth that was so close. She’d somehow managed to end up sprawled on top of him in her sleep, and he was warm and strong and hard beneath her. Very hard.

She didn’t move, frozen, staring at the mouth that had done such wicked, wondrous things to her in her sleep, the mouth that had never touched her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and tried to slide off him.

His other arm came up around her, holding her in place. “Who were you dreaming about, Parker?” His voice was low and sinuous. “You were making the most delicious noises.”

She racked her brain, trying to come up with some ridiculous name, but she was too caught in a sensuous haze, and all she could think of was him. “I . . . No one,” she stammered.

“It’s warm in this bed, and your nipples are hard. Were you just reacting to me?”

Her entire body felt on fire. They were both practically nude—her stomach against his, her legs twined with his long ones, her hands clutching his shoulders, not letting go him.

Her brain wasn’t working. Jet lag or lack of sleep or too much stress—all of them had taken their toll. She couldn’t think, couldn’t judge; she could only feel, only know what she wanted to feel, and that was Ryder’s mouth on hers.

He stared up at her. A moment later he moved, turning her beneath him, half on top of her, holding her in place. “I can get up,” he said quietly. “I can get in the other bed, right now, and leave you alone. That’s the smart thing to do.”

She said nothing. He was heavy, a good kind of heavy, on top of her, and he was between her legs, his erection pressing up against her insistently. “Tell me to be smart, Parker,” he whispered, his mouth hovering above hers. “Because right now I think brains are highly overrated.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to get off of her. She opened her mouth to tell him no. She opened her mouth to the man who’d hurt her, and she lifted up and pressed it against his.

His reaction was instantaneous. He cupped her face, holding her still, and slid his tongue between her teeth, an intimacy that startled her into even greater arousal. He kissed her with such thoroughness, his tongue dancing, tasting, teasing, and she heard her soft little whimper of response as her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she closed her eyes. She could go on like this forever, lost in the glory of his mouth, the feel of his teeth against her lower lip, tugging, then using his tongue to gentle it.

He moved his hand down her neck, a slow, sleek caress that caught the narrow strap of her bra and pulled it down her arm, and he moved his mouth to her jaw, to her wildly beating pulse, sucking at it, as he pulled her other bra strap down. She felt the faint sting of his teeth against her skin, and then he rolled her partway, and she felt the bra give way. He pulled it from her body, and she was lying beneath him in nothing more than the sensible white panties. She would have said something, would have tried to cover herself, but he slid his hands up over her, covering her breasts, his fingers on her nipples. Arching against him, she shivered in sensation as his mouth moved back up, first to kiss her again, a brief, claiming kiss, before he slid down and bit her ear, hard.

Reaction shot through her. She wanted his mouth on her breasts, between her legs, she wanted him now, before she could regain her caution and common sense. She wanted to be naked with him, wanted him inside her.

“Please,” she whispered.

He was kissing his way down her neck, over the soft swell of her breast. “Please what, Parker? Please leave you alone?”