Finding Isadora(91)

His lips came down on mine.

They weren’t gentle. They weren’t polite.

His tongue claimed my mouth. All my senses came alive and I was dizzy with sensual overload. I gave one needy little gasp, sucking him in even deeper, and kissed him back.

We pillaged each other’s mouths like starving animals after days of deprivation, greedy now that we could finally indulge. Hungry for more, then even more.

His hands were still in my hair, as if to prevent an escape I had no thought of attempting. He pulled me against him, and finally I could feel what my body had been longing for, the firm press of his erection against my belly. I cursed the thick denim of his jeans, wrapped my arms around his waist, pulled him even closer.

I had to touch his skin, so I yanked his shirt free from his jeans and ran my hands up his back, charting unknown territory and claiming it for my own. My behavior stunned me. I didn’t recognize this woman who was so bold, so needy.

Isadora, with Gabriel.

His flesh burned under my palms and I’d never felt anything so blazingly alive. Velvety skin, firm muscles, jutting bones, his body was as vital, as captivating, as his mind. I wanted all of him. Now.

His chest heaved against mine and I realized my nipples were painfully hard against my bra, craving the touch of his fingers, his tongue. But their ache was nothing compared to the one between my thighs, where the pressure built, the need centered.

Suddenly he forced my head back, tore his mouth from mine, gasped for air.

“Gabriel,” I moaned, wanting him back.

Before I’d finished saying his name, his lips descended, swallowing the last syllable.

Somehow, in all the vague fantasies I’d had of Gabriel, I’d imagined him as a suave lover, but this embrace had nothing of finesse in it, it was all about raw, primitive need. Our lips smashed against each other, our teeth jarred, our tongues dueled for dominion.

And then he hooked his arms under my butt and hoisted me. Automatically, my legs locked around his hips and my arms circled his shoulders as we both jockeyed for position until that hard ridge of male flesh beneath his fly pressed against me exactly where I wanted it. I squirmed as his hips worked, thrusting against me, and I’d never felt so aroused in my life.

If he’d been inside me, I’d have come in a split second.

Never, with Richard, had I—

Richard.

Heat had built in my body until every inch of flesh was aroused and burning. At the thought of Richard, the heat drained in a rush, leaving me weak and shaky, cold and shivering. I tore my mouth from Gabriel’s and cried, “No!”

Either he didn’t hear me, or he ignored my cry. His mouth sought mine again, but I pulled away from him, twisting my head to avoid his kiss, saying, “Stop, Gabriel. Stop.”

My message must have sunk in because he froze and stared at me. “What?” His voice was hoarse.

“Richard,” I gasped.

His hands loosened their grip on my buttocks and I began to slide. He caught me again, but only to steady me when my feet hit the ground. “Fuck! Damn it, when I’m with you I stop thinking.”

His hands gripped my elbows, taking most of my weight, holding me up but away from him. Huge shivers wracked my body at the thought of what we’d almost done.

Gabriel turned me toward the car and his arm came around me, warming me and urging me forward at the same time. I stumbled along beside him, fearing my legs would collapse under me at any moment. I clung to his arm while he unlocked the passenger door and helped me inside.

The unpredictable roof light came on this time, and even its dim glow seemed too bright. My eyes ached and I wanted to cry.

I struggled into my cardigan, frowning when Gabriel walked away from the car. What now? But then I saw him retrieve my sandal. I hadn’t even noticed that one of my feet was still bare.

He returned and tossed the shoe on the floor of the car, not touching me, and went around to the driver’s side as I slid my foot into the sandal and hugged my sweater around my chilled body.

He flung himself into the seat and sent me a dark, burning look. “I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“I…” I thought about it for a moment, then admitted, “I’m not sorry either. But it can’t happen again.”

He shook his head. “I intended one quick kiss. I didn’t know it’d be so hard to stop.”

He jammed his key in the ignition, slammed his door, and the roof light went off. We were parked under a lamppost though, and I could still see his face, his expression of intense frustration. “I hate this,” he said. “Hate situations I can’t control.”

“We can control it. We have to. Especially now we know…”

“How easy it would be to fall into bed together?” he said huskily, seductively. “How good it would be when we got there?”

“Yes! Damn you.” Just the thought warmed me, enough that I almost took my cardigan off again.

“Well, damn you, too, Isadora Dean Wheeler.” But his tone held rueful humor.

“What do we do now?”

“I drive you home. You don’t ask me in and I don’t kiss you goodnight, and we don’t tumble into your bed—” He broke off. “Where do you sleep, anyhow?”

“The couch is a pullout.”

He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have asked. Now I’ll have another image invading my brain when I’m not sleeping tonight.”