Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

“No. You haven’t. I just need it out of my head for a while.”

“You need rest. Come on. I’m going to carry you to bed. Nobody should be up this early on a Sunday.”

He shifts so that he can stand, and I press my hand against his thigh.

“Wait.”

The muscle of his thigh is tense beneath my hand, like a spring ready to explode. His entire body seems to quiver with the struggle of restraint, and when his eyes meet mine, I see the moment when realization hits him. “No,” he says, his voice as taut as a wire. “That’s not what you want. Not now.”

“Please,” I say, because right then he is exactly what I need. “Help me fight my demons. Tuck me up in bed like a child and it will feel like he’s won. Like he’s taken something from me.”

He cocks his head, his blue eyes as sharp as lasers and at least as penetrating. I hold his gaze, wanting him to see not only what I need, but what I want.

“Please,” I repeat after another moment clicks by. “Don’t you get it? I wanted you so desperately last night, but not like that. Not when it felt like revenge. Like you wanted to fuck me out of your head or something.”

“Oh, baby.” He cups my cheek in his palm. “I never wanted you out of my head. Just the opposite. I wanted you too damn much.”

“Then stay with me.” I don’t have the words to tell him how much I need this. How much I need him. And I can only hope that he can hear it in my voice. “I need you. And oh, dear god, I’ve missed you.”

“Sylvia.” My name is so soft that it’s little more than air upon his lips. Then he cups my head in both hands and pulls me toward him. “I’m going to make love to you, Syl. And if you don’t want me to do that, you need to say something right now.”

I say nothing, merely tilt my head back and part my lips in silent invitation.

And when he bends his head to mine—when he brushes his lips softly over my mouth as if testing this new reality—I cannot help the moan of acquiescence and pleasure.

I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, then pull him closer. I know what I am risking—only a few hours ago, the nightmares had sent me running, literally, for the hills.

But it is morning now, and I do not intend to sleep anytime soon.

And when the nightmares do inevitably find me … Well, I guess it will be worth it.

fourteen

Jackson’s mouth closes over mine, his lips soft, yet demanding. But right now, no demand is required, and I surrender eagerly, opening my mouth to him, welcoming him. Letting him fill me, taste me, consume me.

His hands are on the chaise, one on the back support and the other on the cushion near my waist. Our bodies touch only at our lips, and yet every inch of me is alive with awareness, as if there is not even the tiniest bit of flesh that he has not explored and brought to life with his finger, his lips, his tongue.

He breaks the kiss, then sits beside me as I gasp, trying to remember who and where I am. “I’m going to take you inside,” he says, even as he moves to gather me up.

“No.” I push his arms away, the plea clear in both the word and my tone. “No, I want to stay.”

“You have neighbors,” he says, though I don’t really. My balcony is private on both sides, and though it is theoretically possible that someone is on top of the roof of one of the retail buildings across the street and looking this direction and through the glass barrier with a pair of binoculars at four in the morning, I highly doubt it.

I say nothing, just take his hand, and tug him toward me.

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes.”

He lifts a brow. “I suppose that’s fair. In our original deal, you belonged to me. So for this morning, I’m entirely yours.”

I lick my lips. “Entirely?”

His smile manages to be both devious and sensual. “Tell me what you want, Sylvia. Exactly what you want.”

I meet his eyes. “Undress me,” I demand.

His mouth curves up, his eyes bright. “At your service,” he says as his fingers work down the buttons of my dress.

He makes a quick job of it, doing no more and no less than removing my dress, and since I had burst out of the hotel in nothing else, I am now completely naked.

But there had been nothing sensual about his movements. No seduction. No stolen caresses. And though I am frustrated at first, I soon realize what he is doing. Despite his promise, Jackson Steele is still playing games.

“Stroke me,” I say. “Draw your fingers over my belly and down to my sex. But not quite there. I want to be teased. I want you to take me to the edge.”