Trick Me, Treat Me Page 10

  Get a grip, man!

  Ducking into the nearest old-fashioned, recessed door frame, he tried to recall the face of the criminal he was supposedly chasing. He couldn’t even try to match the photo with the man in the hall. He still didn’t trust his own eyes, or his own conked brain, because the figure had looked so damned strange. Though he’d felt okay for a while now, he had to wonder if he really did have a concussion. Because he seemed to be seeing things.

  Leaning out to see what the man was doing now, he was stunned to find the hall empty. The man was gone, he’d disappeared in a matter of seconds.

  What the hell is this? Before he could even try to figure it out, Miles felt a cold draft of air rush past his face. It was sudden and shocking, pricking his skin as if he’d stepped out into a frigid Moscow night.

  Just as quickly, almost before he’d even had time for his brain to register it, the cold pocket was gone.

  “That did not just happen,” he whispered, shaking his head in confusion. “You’re imagining things.”

  Or maybe he wasn’t. A soft, haunting laugh echoed from down the hall, as if the strange man was happy with whatever he’d done. He ducked back, close to the door, certain he was not the only one up and about in this quiet house.

  Okay, Miles, think like a superspy.

  All he could think was that he was a pretty pathetic secret agent. His ass was cowering in a door frame when he should be out there karate-chopping the guy straight to hell.

  Or, maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to let this suspect know he was being tailed. Perhaps the case hadn’t been built yet, and would be blown if he revealed himself too soon.

  Dammit, if he couldn’t remember his own name or birth date, how was he supposed to remember his mission? Discretion seemed the best course of action for now. So he prepared to wait the man out before slipping to the next doorway—his own room.

  That was when the handwritten sign on the door where he stood caught his attention. “Pretty Boy’s Pad,” he whispered.

  God, he really was messed up. He’d miscounted the number of doors between his room and the stairs? Not only could he not rely on his memory or mental acuity, now his eyesight was failing him.

  Maybe there hadn’t been a man in the hall. Or maybe there had. Either way, it was time for this supersleuth to go to bed and let his brain cells do their magic, so he could wake up in the morning and deal with the truth. Whatever that might be.

  Easing into the room and shutting the door, he promptly slipped on some loose fabric on the floor. He wondered what the slippery item beneath his feet had been, but didn’t care enough to turn on a lamp to see. He didn’t want the man in the hall—if there really was one—noticing a light.

  Though he should have been tired to the bone, he was keyed up, energetic, full of adrenaline. He somehow thought he liked this kind of espionage, maybe even got off on it. Part of him wanted to leave again, to follow the shadows, become a creature of the night, like his suspect. A wiser part told him he should go to bed and proceed tomorrow with all his circuits firing.

  Stripping, he climbed into the bed, anticipating the way the cool, crisp sheets would feel against his body. But he suddenly realized three things. The sheets weren’t cool. The king-size bed he’d been in minutes earlier seemed to have shrunk.

  And it wasn’t empty.

  8

  SINCE GWEN had gone to bed with Agent Miles Stone on her mind, it probably wasn’t surprising that her subconscious filled her nighttime dreams with the mysterious stranger. She drifted into a light sleep, the one she always fell into moments after her weary head hit the pillow. And soon she was in that surreal place where dreams began, but consciousness hadn’t fully faded.

  She knew she was dreaming. But she welcomed the dream.

  Miles was touching her with those big, warm hands of his. He started at her feet. Her dream lover rained alternately firm, then featherlight caresses over her ankles, and up her calves. He lingered at the back of her knee, and she arched against the sheets, wanting to sink deeper into sleep and give herself over entirely to her erotic vision.

  When his mouth replaced his hands, she sighed with pleasure, able to picture his dark head against the pale skin of her thighs as he nibbled, kissed and sucked his way up her body.

  “Yes,” she mumbled in her sleep, still knowing she dreamed but wanting to dream on.

  Miles skirted the heated place between her legs, making her crazy with want. When he pressed a heated kiss against her stomach, she writhed, tilting toward him. She wanted that intimate kiss, wanted his tongue to lick a flame of fire, to make her heated body burn even hotter. Wanted that extreme intimacy, which she’d never felt comfortable enough to share with a real lover. This phantom one, however, was most welcome to introduce her to such pleasures. She ached for him to do so.

  But she couldn’t control the strong-willed man, not even in her dreams. She whimpered as he teased her, made her wait, pressed kisses up her midriff, seeming to delight in sampling every inch between her navel and her collarbone. His rough cheek scraped the side of her breast and she turned toward him, wanting his mouth there. Wanting the light, teasing caresses to stop and the sensual, erotic ones to begin.

  Finally she felt it. Felt a warm hand cupping her fullness, felt strong fingers tweaking her nipple into a tight bud of pure sensation. “Oh, yes.”

  “More?”

  “Definitely,” she whispered. “Taste me. Use your mouth on me, Miles. Let me feel your tongue.”

  He groaned. “God, you make offers I can’t refuse, even though I know I should.”

  “Don’t refuse.”

  Her dream Miles put his lips to her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She moaned as he nibbled slightly, rolling the tip on his tongue, all the while running his hand across her belly, her hips, her thighs. But not where she wanted him most.

  “Here,” she murmured. “Touch me here, too.” She moved her own hand down her body, not surprised her nightgown had disappeared in her dream. Reaching the curls between her legs, she slid her fingers lower, testing the slippery wetness of her body. She heard his breath grow hoarse and choppy as he watched her touch herself.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Touch me. Taste me. Show me.”

  His hand replaced hers. She shuddered as he dipped one finger inside her, swirling in her wetness and groaning with pleasure, obviously noting her arousal. A second finger joined the first as his thumb teasingly flicked against her clitoris, making her jerk with a pleased moan.

  Gwen gradually began to realize something. She was burning up inside, but her skin was prickled from cool night air. The sheets and quilt no longer covered her and her gown really was gone. The mouth on her breast was not dry and dreamlike. It was hot. Moist. Agonizingly pleasurable.

  She focused on the pleasure, so intense she could barely breathe, think or move. Pleasure much too intense for a dream.

  Willing herself awake, she forced her eyes open and saw the impossible. Miles Stone, the man. Not the phantom.

  She wasn’t dreaming. This was happening. What had started out as an erotic fantasy had turned into reality.

  For one wicked moment, she allowed herself to wonder at exactly which point the dream had ended. Part of her hoped he hadn’t heard her beg to be tasted. Another part very much hoped he had. “Are you real?”

  He smiled as he gently nipped her neck. His fingers still made her quiver as he stroked, then withdrew, swirled, then plunged in again. “Very real.” His thumb moved again to her most sensitive spot, playing, tweaking, heightening sensation until she let out a long, shuddery sigh. “Are you real?”

  More fully awake now, she nodded. “We had a conversation like this earlier tonight. About whether we were real or ghosts.”

  He didn’t look up, continuing to kiss and suckle one breast, then the other. His stubbled face scraped her skin with exquisite sensation. “Did we? Forgive me, I somehow don’t remember.”

 
; She should have been leaping up, turning on the light, demanding answers and ordering him out. But she didn’t. She didn’t protest, didn’t pull away, didn’t consider getting up. What it came right down to was, she didn’t want to stop. Period.

  “Are we really doing this?” she asked, knowing she didn’t sound shocked or dismayed. No, her voice was as lethargic as her body, made languorous by the sensations washing over her.

  “Yeah. We’re doing this. It’s crazy, and I don’t know why you changed your mind, but we’re here and it’s happening.”

  Yes. Yes, he was here. How he’d gotten into her room, she had no idea. What would happen tomorrow didn’t seem to matter much, either. Because this was, indeed, what she’d wanted. She’d gone to sleep dreaming about having this man. Stranger or not, she wanted tonight with him more than she wanted to wake up tomorrow.

  “I’ve wanted you from the minute I came to and saw you kneeling above me in the kitchen,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and thick. “You’re all I see when I close my eyes.”

  The intensity of his words turned her on almost as much as his touch. It had been a long time—perhaps forever—since she’d known a man wanted her so much. So much he’d risk anything to have her. Anything. “And I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you standing there in the shadows.”

  “Tomorrow…”

  “Forget about tomorrow.”

  “I think I’ve forgotten enough for any one lifetime,” he retorted. “Tomorrow, we deal with the rest.”

  “And for tonight?”

  He chuckled softly as he moved over her, straddling her body, his knees on either side of her hips, leaving her unable to move or resist. “Tonight,” he continued, “we play.”

  Then he was moving lower, going down the way he’d come up earlier. But this time, he didn’t slide past those most erogenous zones. No, he zeroed in on them, until his breaths tickled the swirl of soft hair shielding her mound, and his tongue flicked there, making her lose her mind.

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be tasted?”

  Oh, God, he had heard. He wanted to give her exactly what she’d asked for. All she had to do was confirm that she wanted it, admit she wanted him to pleasure her in so intimate a way, and he’d do it.

  Did she? She didn’t have to give it another thought. Damn right, I do. “Yes. I want you to taste me, Miles. Then I want you to take me.” Remembering how much he had to give her, she almost shivered in anticipation of being filled by him. Being plunged into, over and over, while she clutched his lean hips and taut butt, letting herself be connected to him, consumed by him. Fully alive, completely a woman. For the first time in ages.

  “Good.”

  Then his tongue moved to caress her hottest, most sensitive spot with erotic precision. That was all it took, that one hungry taste, and she came in a quick, shuddering blast of physical pleasure.

  He had to have noticed. The way she cried out, Aunt Hildy probably could have noticed from downstairs. But he didn’t stop, didn’t take pity, didn’t wait for her to come back to earth. He continued to relentlessly savor her, sucking that nub of flesh, swirling his tongue over it. Opening her legs, he draped one over his shoulder so he could gain closer access.

  The kiss became more intimate, his tongue sliding lower, teasing her opening, making her crazy. She trembled, unable to believe it could be so good, so incredibly, mind-blowingly good.

  “You shouldn’t…”

  “I am,” he mumbled, pulling away and looking at her, completely exposed to his hungry gaze and hungrier mouth. Then, with slow deliberation, he slid his tongue inside her body, while suckling her outer folds. Her second orgasm washed over her so quickly she had no time to prepare.

  “God, you’re so incredibly responsive,” he whispered as he moved back up until they were again face-to-face. His dark eyes glittered in the soft moonlight illuminating the room.

  She’d never seen such a look of hunger on a man before. And she knew that in spite of the hour, the night was still very young. Thank heaven. “I’ve never, I mean, no one’s…”

  “Never?”

  He stiffened, and she knew he wondered if she was a virgin. “I mean, that in particular. I’ve never done that.”

  His smile was decidedly masculine, cocksure. “Good. What else have you never done?”

  “I’m afraid my experience is terribly limited. I’ve never, um….” Though the room was dark, she wondered if he could see the soft blush spreading up her body.

  “What?”

  “Never reciprocated,” she whispered. “But I want to.” She wanted to taste him as he’d tasted her. Wrap her lips around that glorious erection of his and suck on him like he was a big fat lollipop. She wanted to make him as crazy with need as she’d been.

  “Oh, what a wicked woman lies beneath that angelic exterior,” he said, his voice low with need. “But that’ll have to wait, Gwen. This is about you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Well,” he admitted, “I don’t remember what I most enjoy in bed. So we’ll focus on anything you want most.”

  She arched sinuously against him. “But if you don’t remember what you most enjoy, maybe we should try a bit of everything and see if anything in particular rings any bells.”

  He chuckled softly. “Sexual smorgasbord. I like it.”

  So did she. The thought of a banquet of sensual experimentation with this man made her heart pound harder and her breath come faster. She wanted it all. As much as he could give. And until the morning light intruded and they had to face reality, she was going to savor every moment of the night.

  “I know I’m going to love everything I get to do to you,” he said, his voice husky with sensual promise. “Every time I get to do it. Now, tell me what you want. Tell me and we’ll see how I like it, too.”

  Oh, boy, that was a tempting invitation. Would he think her a greedy wanton if she told him all the erotic ways she wanted to make love with him? All the positions she longed to try? The places on his body she wanted to taste and to touch?

  Her previous lovers had both been meat-and-potatoes kind of guys, who hadn’t seemed to even know a woman had a clitoris, much less wanted to get on a first-name basis with one. But Miles…he was a living, breathing erotic adventure waiting to be explored, to take her anywhere she wanted to go.

  She suddenly felt like a kid in a candy store, not knowing what to sample first. Then she felt that thick, heavy shaft of his pressing against her legs and knew what she wanted. What she had to have. Now.

  “Mmm,” she moaned, remembering the way he’d gotten so aroused earlier tonight in his room. She’d become wet just looking at his barely contained erection. And now it was within her grasp. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

  With a sultry smile, she moved her hand down his body and took him in her hand, loving the way he groaned in response.

  “Greedy girl.”

  “Very. I want this, Miles,” she said with a lingering squeeze. “And I want it now.” She stroked the length of him, anticipating how good he was going to feel inside her. “Then other things…later.”

  “Later,” he agreed.

  She squeezed again, amazed at the silky smoothness of his skin, which encased such steel-hard strength. “You’re not making promises you can’t keep, are you?” Offering him a wicked grin, she clarified. “If tonight’s all we have, I’m going to be very greedy indeed. You sure you’ll be…up for it?”

  He chuckled. “Sweetheart, considering I’ve been hard for you since the minute I set eyes on you, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  He moved between her thighs, catching her mouth in a wet kiss that tasted like heat and sex and everything she’d long been denied. Then he stiffened. “Damn, I don’t have anything for protection.”

  Oh, God, right now she was ready to get down and kiss Aunt Hildy’s toes for insisting they put condoms in the bedside tables of each of the guest rooms. Leaning over, she quickly grabbed one f
rom the drawer and handed it to him. “We’re covered.”

  The way he groaned with pleasure, it was as if those two words were the most seductive he’d ever heard. He sheathed himself, then nudged her thighs apart. Gwen bent her legs in welcome, arching up to meet his erection as he began to slide into her body, with a delicious restraint that left her breathless.

  “Please…”

  He stopped. “Please what? Stop?” He pretended to pull away.

  She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, a laugh on her lips. “Stop and I’ll have to kill you.”

  He laughed softly and definitely didn’t stop. He kept moving forward, closer, deeper, stretching her wide and filling her until she had to cry out with the pleasure of it. Finally, he plunged all the way into her until their bodies met from neck to toe. Gwen turned her head to cry out into her pillow, not able to contain a little cry of fulfillment.

  “Good?”

  She wrapped her legs around his. “Very good.”

  And it was. He was hot and thick, deep and strong, touching her so far inside herself she almost couldn’t breathe with the intimacy of it.

  Sex with a relative stranger should have felt uncomfortable, perhaps even invasive. But she’d never been more sure of one thing: pleasure like this didn’t happen often. Damned if she wasn’t going to grab every bit of it she could. Besides, she might not know the man too well, but Special Agent Miles Stone certainly excited her more than anyone she’d ever met. And she liked him—had liked him from the moment she’d seen him standing there in her kitchen. That was enough. For tonight, it would be enough.

  “Hold on, Gwen,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple as he ground against her in a sultry, sexual dance. “We’re going for a long ride.”

  When he pulled out only to slide right back into her, she met his stroke, answered his moan with a cry of her own. She caressed his tight butt, her fingers digging into the strong, masculine muscles, not wanting to miss out on any part of this incredible experience. She matched his pace, and took every bit of what he offered her.