Mile High (Up in the Air #2)(23)

“You said you had done that in New York. And I didn’t imagine it was anything like this. This is too much, James.”

“It’s nothing,” he said curtly, pulling a tiny transparent slip off of a hanger and thrusting it at me. “Put this on and get in bed,” he ordered, and started to strip.

“Do you always do this? Looking at this closet, you’d think you were living with a woman. Is this your usual…arrangement?”

“Of course not! I’ve never lived with a woman, never even considered it. You will be the first, when I’ve talked you into it,” he told me, pulling off his shirt.

“It will be an easy transition once I convince you,” he continued blandly, “since all of my properties have been stocked with your things. As I said, you can add whatever you like. And if there’s any decorating changes you’d like to make, please feel free to do so. I know I can be controlling and possessive about my things, but I want you to feel that what’s mine is yours.”

I froze in the act of unbuttoning my pants. The things he was saying, and in that dispassionate tone, just weren’t computing in my head.

“You can’t be serious,” I said softly.

“About what?”

“Living with me.”

“I see by the look on your face that you aren’t pleased with the notion, but I’m a very determined man. Start getting accustomed to the idea.”

I went back to undressing, dismissing the notion. Maybe he was trying to say outrageous things just to get me to talk about the things I didn’t want to. I didn’t know. But, instead of feeling caged or trapped by the arrangement he was proposing, I felt…nothing. Denial was my reaction, and I welcomed it.

“You’re insane,” I told him lightly as I pulled on the tiny slip he’d handed me.

I crawled into the luxurious covers of yet another of his ridiculously oversized beds. I felt him hovering near my side, standing over the bed.

“Well, I suppose that’s not the worst reaction I could have gotten. I was scared you would run screaming from the house, so this is actually a positive, compared to that,” he told me, his voice still so dispassionate. I’d heard him use that tone on the phone before. I realized it was the one that he used for business transactions.

I heard him go into the bathroom, not shutting the door. The shower began to run. I was asleep before he joined me in bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

James was a hot weight enfolding me from behind when I awoke. The clock on the bedside table read 1:30 p.m. I’d slept at least four hours, and I desperately needed a shower. I slid out from under his heavy arm, going into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me as quietly as I could. The man seemed to get so little sleep. I’d feel bad if I woke him, when he seemed to be sleeping so deeply.

I was rinsing conditioner from my hair when he pressed his naked body against my back. I gasped.

“Good morning,” he murmured, reaching around me to pump some soap into his hand. His arousal was already hard and pressed against my backside. He rubbed the soap over me with one hand, kneading at my br**sts. I was already clean, but I didn’t protest. Who would?

He was washing himself with his other hand, and I felt it as he reached his own arousal, stroking the length, again and again. He reached between my legs as he did so, his expert fingers giving attention to every fold.

“Put your hands against the wall,” he rasped into my ear after he’d teased us both for several minutes.

I laid my hands flat against the wall, and he grasped my hips roughly. He buried his face in my neck as he drove into me. It was a smooth entry, but he hammered into me, again and again, holding nothing back.

Every stroke pulled along that perfect spot, and I arched my back, sobbing. One hand held my hips anchored while the other slid up to a wet breast, gripping it roughly. He pinched the nipple, twisting hard enough to make me cry out. He bit my neck at the same moment.

I came instantly, sobbing out his name brokenly. The name James had never had so many syllables.

“Fucking perfect,” he groaned into my ear. “Tell me you’re mine. I need you, Bianca. I need you to know that you belong to me.”

“Yes,” I gasped, already building inexorably towards another powerful climax.

“Say it,” he bit out.

“I’m yours, James. I belong to you.”

“Now come,” he ordered, spilling into me with a rough shout.

The shout did it, and I was lost again in the rolling waves of pleasure.

He washed me again, leaning my near limp body against him. “No one else can do this for you, Bianca.

Don’t ever even consider it. You were made for me.”

He dried me and nearly carried me to the bed, laying me down. “I’ll get your clothes. I want to dress you.”

He didn’t return for several minutes, and when he did the sight of him made me prop myself up on my elbows to study him more thoroughly. He was wearing skin-hugging tan riding breeches, with dark brown chaps that came to his knees. He wore a thin bright white V-neck shirt. The getup hugged nearly every muscle of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was absolutely, mouthwateringly sexy.

My jaw dropped. He smiled, and it was wicked.

He set a bulky pile of clothing on the bed beside me, and began the drawn-out process of gearing me up to ride. He dressed my bottom half first, slipping on my tiny panties, caressing every body part that he passed. He had to work the tan riding pants up my legs more slowly, they were so tight.