Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(104)

His suspicious tone made her giggle. "There are some antique dolls, but they don't bite. They just sit on the shelves and watch you."

"Yikes," he muttered. "That's creepy."

"I'll keep you too busy to notice them," she said. "I can even put on ankle socks, and do my hair in two braids, and suck on a striped lollipop, if you like. Just say the word."

"No thanks, Lolita," he said. "I like women, not little girls."

She put her arms around his neck and trailed soft, seductive kisses from his high, sharp cheekbone down to his rigid jaw. He was still resisting her, as hot and hard and eager as his body was.

Time to bring out the big guns.

"I'm naked underneath this nightgown," she whispered.

"Yeah, like I hadn't noticed," he said roughly. "I can see your nipples and your crotch right through that damn thing."

She tugged up the flounced skirt until it cleared her knees, then her thighs. She bunched it up under her breasts so that he could see her belly, her sex, the whorls of silky dark hair between her thighs. She opened her legs and lay her hand between them, brushing her fingertips against her labia. "Don't you want to touch me?"

"Goddamn it, Erin," he said hoarsely. "This isn't fair."

"I know," she whispered. "I can't help myself. I would never have dreamed of making a spectacle of myself to turn a man on before, but I'll do it for you. I want to drive you crazy." She slid her fingers into her cleft, tightened her thighs around the trembling ache of arousal.

He jerked her onto his lap. She almost sobbed in relief, and gave herself up to his strong hands, his ravenous mouth. His fingers slid inside her, and she whimpered and lifted her hips, desperate for the relief that only he could give. She had wanted to make him helpless with desire, but now she was the helpless one.

Connor's slow, seductive kisses made her lose all sense of gravity. His thrusting hand, his demanding mouth were her only points of reference. His fingers teased and caressed her until she splayed herself wide, shaking. Pushing herself against his hand in a silent demand for release. He withdrew his hand and set her down on the seat.

"OK. You win," he said. "You've got me right where you want me, but I've got you, too. Take me up to your room and f*ck me, Erin."

She drew in a sobbing breath and got out of the car. Her legs shook so hard she could barely stand. "On the first flight of stairs, the fourth step creaks," she said breathlessly. "Be sure to skip it."

His eyes narrowed. "You realize, of course, that if your mother walks in on us, I will have a heart attack on the spot."

"There's a hook latch on the door," she told him. "Mom's not the type to kick in doors. Dad would have, but not Mom. She's the type to wait until later and then look at you with big, hurt eyes."

"Yeah, and then bash in my skull with a cast-iron skillet."

"Oh, don't be such a scaredy-cat," she chided.

They crept in the front door. Erin reset the house alarm, and beckoned him up the stairs. She listened for his footsteps, but she heard nothing, not even the brush of fabric against fabric. She turned, expecting to see him still at the foot of the stairs.

He was right behind her.

He smiled at her gasp of surprise and put his finger to his lips. He followed like a ghost, floating over the squeaky parquet floor to her attic bedroom. He closed and latched the door as she searched through a drawer for the matches.

She began to light her candles, and without conscious intent, the action took on a ceremonial reverence. She was gathering power, lighting an altar to love. Rose, lavender, hibiscus, and jasmine on the vanity. Heliotrope, lilac, lily of the valley, and vanilla on the dresser. Natural scents, not overpowering, but delicately effective. Candle flames reflected into the mirrors, dancing in the currents of subtly perfumed air that moved through the room.

She turned around to face him. She felt ridiculously shy, after all her seductive posturing. The room seemed to turn back time. It made her feel younger, more unsure. More vulnerable, if that were possible.

His eyes were soft with wonder. "You're straight out of a fairy tale, Erin. That perfect body, in silhouette, and the candles behind you that turn your nightgown into pure light. My enchanted princess."

"Princess?" She blushed rosy red. "Oh, please."

"That's how I've always thought of you," he said quietly. "A beautiful princess in a tower too high to climb. Wall of thorns, magical spells, dragons, the whole deal."

If he kept up with this sweet talk she was going to start crying again, she just knew it. She sniffled, and tried to laugh. "My tower was only so high because you were the only one I ever wanted to climb it."

The power games and seductive wiles and playful banter had evaporated. They had no place in the reverent hush. Time collapsed, and she was seventeen again, the first night she met him. She had lit her candles and lain awake for hours, tossing and turning. Troubled by sensual dreams and fantasies, by a restless ache in her body that sharpened, grew delicious and agonizing when she thought of his smile, his laugh. The shape of his hands. The breadth of his shoulders.

A crazy, fanciful thought began to form in her mind.

"Would you play out a fantasy for me?" she asked.

"I would do anything for you," he said.