Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(53)

I melted on him, moaning, while the need for sex, to be filled, pulsed all through me. Turning my mouth to his, I let him kiss me as deeply as he wanted, welcoming the aggressive thrust of his tongue. His hand left me, and he reached for the fastenings of his pants . . . and it was then that disaster struck.

As I felt him so huge and hard against me, all the pleasure disappeared. Just . . . vanished. Suddenly all I could see, hear, feel, was that last time with Nick, the searing pain, the brutal thrusts eased only by the slick of my own blood. My throat and stomach pulsed with nausea, and the masculine body against mine was revolting, his weight unbearable, and I began to struggle without thinking.

"No," I panted, twisting away, shoving hard at him. "No. I don't want it. I don't want it. I — " I stopped myself by biting hard on my lip, realizing my voice was rising in a harsh echo.

"What is it?" I heard Hardy ask, his breath coming in rough pants.

I was shivering, hostile, every cell in my body geared up for self-preservation. "Leave me alone," I snapped. "Take your hands off me." I fumbled with my dress, trying to pull it into place, my fingers shaking violently.

"Haven — " His voice was ragged. "Did I hurt you? What is it?"

"I'm not into f**king in public places," I said coldly, edging toward the door. If he touched me again, I would fall apart . . . I would go crazy. "And I don't like being pushed."

"Like hell I was pushing you. You wanted it."

"Don't flatter yourself, Hardy."

He looked flushed and dangerously aroused and annoyed as hell. Slowly he began to restore his own clothing. When he spoke again, his voice was low and controlled. "There's a word, Haven, for a woman who does what you're doing."

"I'm sure you know a lot of interesting words," I said. "Maybe you should go tell them to someone else."

And before he could reply, I fled from the stairwell like an escapee from prison.

Somehow I found my way back to the modular theater, the sounds of dancing and laughter swirling around me. I was terrified by the realization of how much was wrong with me, that I couldn't tolerate the normal act of ha**ng s*x with a man I was attracted to. And I was humiliated by the way I had just behaved. Hardy had no choice but to think I was a bitch, a cocktease. He would never want anything to do with me again. That thought sort of relieved me, but at the same time I wanted to burst into tears.

Todd found me immediately. He had been talking with a guy at the bar, his gaze leisurely sweeping the room, when he saw me come in. He came to me, his gaze focused on my pale face and kiss-swollen lips. "You look like you just banged the Dallas Cowboys," he said. "First and second strings."

"Please, can you call me a cab?" I whispered.

Concern warmed his blue-green eyes. "I'll take you home, sweetheart. Here, lean on me."

But I flinched as he tried to put his arm around my shoulders.

"All right," Todd continued pleasantly, as if he hadn't noticed my bizarre reaction, "why don't you take my arm, and we'll go out the side door?"

He drove me to 1800 Main in his BMW Coupe, asking no questions, maintaining a comfortable silence until we finally got to my seventh-floor apartment. He had decorated it with an eclectic mix of antique-shop furniture and a couple of his own cast-off pieces. Creams and whites were balanced by dark distressed wood. And Todd had added a few touches of whimsy, like covering the inside-facing panel of my front door with an antique bamboo hula-girl screen.

Taking one look at my wretched face, Todd reached for the green chenille throw on my sofa and wrapped it around me. I snuggled in the corner of the sofa, drawing my feet back to make room for him.

"Must have been some dance," Todd said, untying his bow tie. He left it hanging loose on either side of his neck, and relaxed on the sofa beside me, as graceful as a cat. "What happened?"

"We didn't dance," I said numbly.

"Oh?"

"He took me to a dark corner somewhere. A stairwell."

"Purely for my vicarious enjoyment, tell me . . . is he good?" I could feel my face go crimson. "That good?" Todd asked.

A shaky laugh escaped me. I wasn't sure I could put it into words. "You know how when someone kisses you, you can tell they're only doing it as a step to something else? Like they're just trying to get it over with? Well, Hardy kisses like it's the only thing in the world he wants to do. Each kiss is like a complete sex act." I closed my eyes for a second, remembering. "And he's a face-holder."

"Mmmn. I love that. So did one of your brothers find you?"

"No, it was me. I screwed it all up. I freaked out in the middle of it."

There was a long silence. "Freaked out how? What do you . . . Haven, take your hands down and look at me. This is Todd. Just say it."

"I got scared. More than scared. I pushed him away and ran out of there as fast as I could."

"Scared by what?"

"I felt his . . . you know, his . . . "

Todd gave me a sardonic glance as I hesitated. "Hard-on?" he suggested. "Package? Lap-taffy? Bait-and-tackle? Come on, Haven, let's not talk about this like a pair of tweenies."

I scowled defensively. "My conversations don't usually include the subject of erections."