Mission: Irresistible Page 20

  “Stay out of biker-bar strip clubs and away from guys named Big Ray.”

  She giggled and sent the lettuce for a ride in the salad spinner. “No, I mean about your brother.”

  “He wasn’t the one in the Indy hat who passed Gabriel the envelope.”

  “The next logical conclusion is that Adam is the mummy.”

  “Which means he got stabbed.”

  “He could be dead,” Cassie whispered. She looked over her shoulder at him with such sadness that Harrison had to glance away. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t think he’s dead.” Harrison refused to consider the idea. “He’s not dead.”

  “But then where did he go? What happened to him? He could barely walk. How did he get out of the courtyard?”

  “Better yet, who stabbed him, and why?”

  “And if he isn’t dead, then why hasn’t he tried to contact us?”

  They looked at each other. They were no closer to the answers than they’d been last night at the masquerade party.

  Had it only been twenty-four hours ago? That meant they had forty-eight hours left.

  “Let’s walk through it one step at a time,” Harrison said.

  The steak was getting warm, so he took it off his eye and went to wash up at the sink. As he leaned over for the hand soap, his hip casually grazed against Cassie’s. He glanced down to where their bodies made contact.

  “You’re not fooling me.” She chuckled. “I’ve been to Europe. I know when I’m being groped.”

  “I’m not groping you.” He moved his hip away.

  “Your eyes are.”

  “Correction, my eye is groping you. One eye is swollen shut. Besides, eye groping doesn’t count. If eye groping counted, you’d have to slap nine out of ten men you came into contact with.”

  “Good point.”

  “I couldn’t be married to you,” he said. “I’d be blind from the black eyes and the busted glasses over defending your virtue.”

  “Nobody asked you to marry me.”

  “That’s good.” He snorted.

  “You’re mad. Why are you mad?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then why are you snorting?”

  “I don’t like the idea of all that eye groping going on.”

  “It’s not your problem,” she said. “Go sit back down.”

  He did. Not because she’d told him to. He just didn’t have anywhere else to go, and he was starting to feel a little woozy. He managed to make it back to the table without breaking into a sweat.

  Cassie placed a steaming bowl of ziti with meat sauce and grated Parmesan cheese in front of Harrison, along with a garden salad and a glass of red wine. He had no idea he was so hungry until he got a whiff of the food.

  “That was fabulous.” He pointed at his bowl with the back of his fork after he’d polished off the food. The wine was good too. He took another long swig. “You’re a helluva cook.”

  “You want dessert?” she asked. “I’m up for dessert.”

  “Whatcha got?” He let the change of subject go.

  “Strawberry shortcake.”

  “My favorite.”

  “No way.” She beamed at him. “It’s my favorite too.”

  Cassie couldn’t say for sure how it happened, but one minute they were eating strawberry shortcake, and the next minute Harry was staring at her as if she were the dessert.

  “Hmm,” she said, knowing it sounded forced, but she felt compelled to cushion the sexual tension with a barrier of words. “Strawberries are really plump and juicy this time of year.”

  Great, that came out all wrong.

  “Yes, they are.”

  She slipped him a surreptitious glance and her heart committed hara-kiri, slamming suicidally against the wall of her chest.

  Every time she looked at Harry, he got cuter and cuter. She hardly noticed his mismatched outfits anymore. Clothes were just clothes, right? And she no longer thought of his unruly hair as unkempt, but instead found it just-rolled-out-of-bed sexy.

  This was an alien experience, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. In the past, she was either attracted to someone or she wasn’t. If she wasn’t instantly attracted, then things went no further. But if she was attracted, she would immediately romanticize the guy. In the beginning, the men she loved were always taller, smarter, better-looking than in reality, but as the relationship progressed, she bumped up against that reality and quickly lost interest.

  But it was different with Harry. From the moment she’d met him, she’d found him irritating and elusive. And while his serene, self-contained isolation had initially intrigued her, she hadn’t been bowled over by the sexual chemistry. He was the reverse of every man she’d ever been with. The more she got to know him, the more attractive he became.

  Until, pow! All she had to do was look at him, and her libido rocketed through the ceiling.

  Whoa. Slow down. What if Phyllis and Ahmose were right, and Harry was in this weird Minoan Order cult thing? She didn’t want to get involved with a guy like that.

  Except she couldn’t imagine introverted Harry joining any kind of group organization, much less a secret society that probably dressed up in silly costumes with robes and hoods and such. No matter what proof Ahmose claimed to have.

  Nope, Harry was not a costume-wearer. When she’d tried to get him to dress up as Mark Antony for the masquerade party, you’d have thought she had asked him to wear a purple tutu and march in a gay pride parade.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want to eat me up.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Last night I would have been all over that offer,” she said. “But tonight you’re bunged up. You should be resting. You need to heal.”

  “I need TLC.” He lowered his voice, lowered his eyelids, and gave her a sultry masculine stare.

  “You’ve had too much wine.” She took his glass away and deposited it in the sink with the rest of the dishes. “I can’t take advantage of you when you’re in a compromised position. Wasn’t that what you told me last night?”

  “I’m not drunk.” He got up and walked toward her, palms held wide. “See, no stagger.”

  No stagger but lots of swagger. He looked so rough and rugged with that black eye. Like a proud tomcat. His battered face shouldn’t have been a turn-on, but it was. Did that make her seriously twisted?

  Probably.

  He had gotten into a fight protecting her honor, and that’s what was turning her on. Not his poor wounds.

  All righty then.

  She had to keep him out of her bed. As much as she wanted him, it wasn’t the right time. He was beat up, and she was feeling too susceptible. It would have been okay if all she felt was lust for him, but things with Harry were too complicated to muck up with sex.

  “You’re much too inhibited for me, Harry. I need a spontaneous guy.”

  “I can be spontaneous.”

  His Godiva brown eyes glistened with a very masculine agenda. He had had too much wine. His mind was on serious mattress moves. She had created a monster. Where were those damned silver bullets and wooden stakes when you needed them?

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. See?”

  He stripped his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to his chest. Not movie-star ripped, but not bad by any means.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m calling your bluff.”

  “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

  “Who cares about the morning? We’ve got tonight.” He hummed a tune with similar lyrics.

  “Oh, please, don’t start singing.”

  “We’ve got tonight,” he warbled and came toward her.

  Cassie grabbed for the can of Reddi-Wip on the table. “Stay back, or I’ll shoot.”

  He stepped menacingly around the table.

&nb
sp; Cassie’s heart galloped, and damn her, but she kept staring at his naked chest. “I’m warning you …”

  “Warn all you like. You’re the one who plied me with ibuprofen and merlot. And now, sweetheart, I’m taking you up on your offer.”

  “That was last night. The offer has been rescinded. The coupon expired.”

  Harrison unbuckled his belt and walked toward her. He pulled the belt off and it slithered through the loops with an erotic, whisking sound. “Oh, I get it. You want to be the one to call the shots.”

  “Stay back,” she teased, when what she really wanted was for him to advance. But what had happened to change him? Why had he been so reticent last night, but now he was so frisky? Was it merely the wine? Or was it something else. Something more?

  He grinned seductively, not looking the least bit nerdy, and unzipped his pants.

  “Don’t you dare take off your pants.”

  “Don’t play coy. You want me.”

  “I don’t.” She giggled, completely blowing her denial.

  He lunged for her. She jumped back. “Don’t make me use this.”

  “Bring it on.” He kicked off his pants.

  Holy smokes!

  “You’re naked,” she gasped.

  “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not observant.” The expression on his face was purely wicked.

  She extended her arm, depressed the nozzle on the Reddi-Wip. A long white stream shot across the room, slapping his brow.

  But getting a face full of sugary whipped cream did not stop his forward motion. He swiped the Reddi-Wip out of his eyes and flung a foamy wad at her. She ducked just in the nick of time. The goop hit the wall behind her.

  She squirted him again.

  It grazed the top of his head.

  A third squirt and she was backpedaling for the door, but no dice. Strawberry shortcake topping was not strong enough to hold him at bay. She attempted another futile spurt in self-defense, but the aerosol can was out of oomph.

  Harry strode across the room, his hair spiked up and sticky with whipped cream. “Come here.”

  She shook her head, exhilarated.

  “Don’t run from me.”

  But she was already running, skipping through the living room, body on fire with excitement and lust. What a game. What fun!

  She wondered if Solen and Kiya had ever played “your pyramid or mine?”

  “Your punishment will just be that much more severe the longer you postpone it,” he threatened.

  “How much worse?” she squeaked.

  “I’m going to give you the most thorough tongue—

  licking you’ve ever received.”

  Omigod. She almost fainted on the spot.

  Who’d have thought boring old Harry would be the most fun she’d ever had?

  She bolted for the bedroom, but he was far quicker than she ever imagined. He scaled the back of the couch, climbing over and dropping to the other side, almost cutting off her wily escape.

  But somehow she managed to wriggle past him. Her pulse was pumping with enough endorphins to kick-start Freemont’s customized Harley. She was high on adventure and ready for action.

  Without really meaning to, she had thrown down the gauntlet and invited him to engage in a sport guaranteed to supercharge any heterosexual man’s libido—the pursuit of a woman.

  He caught her arm just as she reached the bedroom door. Her excitement was like a bird bashing frantically against her rib cage, desperate to get out. To burst free.

  A giggle exploded from her, high and nervous. Their eyes met and Cassie stopped breathing.

  What was he going to do? Wicked intent was in his eyes. A jolt of pure, raw sexual energy rushed through her, and her world narrowed into agonizing slow motion.

  They were ensnared in the web of each other’s gazes, transported to an endless time and space. They had reached the point of no return. They were about to become lovers.

  And she feared the intimacy almost as much as she craved it.

  In the muted hallway lighting, his complexion glowed golden and exotic. With his shock of black hair (never mind the whipped cream, of course), his proud patrician nose, and his sinewy build, he could have been Solen.

  But she was no Kiya.

  Cassie was too blonde and too soft and too flighty. Harrison needed someone more like himself. Someone dark and exotic and cerebral.

  Disturbed by her thoughts, she pulled away.

  But he would not let her go. It was as if he’d read the trepidation in her eyes and understood it.

  “Tonight,” he said, “you’re mine.”

  And that was exactly what she wanted to hear. The whipped cream glistened like new-fallen snow against his ebony hair. Cassie’s gaze tracked down his face to his chest to his flat abdomen and beyond.

  She inhaled sharply.

  His penis and testicles, heavy with desire, dangled between his thighs. He was wholly, unreservedly male. The sight of him tightened her lungs until she could barely force the air out.

  She inspected him from head to toe, but he stared only at her face. Finally, when she felt brave enough, she lifted her chin and met his gaze full-on.

  He peered straight into her, his brown eyes shining so intensely they were almost black.

  She realized he was trembling. It was subtle. Barely noticeable. But his little finger quivered oh-so-faintly against her skin.

  How sweet.

  She was blind for believing Ahmose Akvar even for a second. There wasn’t a larcenous bone in this man’s body.

  His vulnerability yanked her up short. He might have initiated this game, but he was as scared about the follow-through as she was. He was totally exposed, standing naked before her while she was fully clothed. He was open to her. Hiding nothing.

  Cassie realized at once what a precious gift he was offering, even though he did not speak of it. Harrison Standish wasn’t a guy who easily dropped his guard. He spent a lot of time by himself for a reason.

  And yet Harry had chosen to trust her.

  She felt more privileged than words could express. Her body grew warmer, moister.

  His shaft stirred thicker, harder, jutting up ferociously, arcing toward his belly.

  Irresistibly, Cassie’s eyes were drawn downward. Her knees melted and her mouth watered. She gulped but found she could not swallow. She hadn’t expected him to be so impressive. She’d had her share of men in her life, but none of them had ever captured her imagination the way Harrison did.

  His erection crooked slightly to the right. The shaft of him was fuller than the spherical throbbing head. His tip was already moist, ready for her. She heard a rough groan of desire and was startled to realize the sound had slipped from her own throat.

  Her pulse throbbed in the hollow of her neck. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him there for the very first time. She was shocked at how big he felt in her hand. Her breasts swelled, grew warm.

  He unbuttoned her blouse, undressed her with care. By the time he was finished and Cassie was standing naked before him, they were both trembling.

  “You have the most gorgeous figure,” he breathed, running a hand from the curve of her breast down the cinch of her waist to the flare of her hip. “Hourglass, curvy, a real woman’s body.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I love the way you love your own body. Most women don’t, you know.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she suddenly felt shy. Impossible, improbable, illogical. Cassie didn’t do shy. She ducked her head, confused by her feelings.

  Why did she suddenly feel so incredibly weak-kneed and defenseless? What was this strange hesitancy, this unexpected quietness?

  Harry caught her chin, lifted her face up, and forced her to look at him. “I want you,” he said, and with those three words her shyness disappeared.

  There was nothing slow or lingering about his kisses. They started out hot and hard and quickly jumped to a frenzied pace. Passion poured out of him, poured o
ut of her; it mingled, flowed, and became one blinding, driving force.

  He tenderly caressed her breasts, and the space between her legs went hot and wet. His kisses slowed, then turned languid. He was changing things on her. His tongue licking hers was like fire dancing in the darkness.

  He walked her backward until her butt bumped the edge of the bed.

  “Lie back,” he commanded. “And wrap your legs around my waist.”

  She did as he asked, curling her spine into the mattress. Her pulse thundered in her ears. What was he going to do next?

  His cock bounced playfully against her belly. He was standing on the floor, looming over her.

  She was on the bed, her butt almost hanging over the edge, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. She grinned. Once he was inside her, she would have control over his thrusting. What a great arrangement.

  But then he surprised her completely.

  He slipped his hand down and gently massaged between her thighs. She flinched. The sensation was so invariably sweet. He leaned down and his mouth fastened onto hers, kissing her as he tickled her slick feminine folds.

  And then he inched his finger inside her, easing in and out until she thought she might scream from the superbness of it all.

  Harrison slipped a second finger inside her while his pinky stayed on the outside, doing some very interesting tricks. His wrist swayed back and forth to a smooth, balanced rhythm. All the while, his ambitious pinkie was circling lower, around and around and around, increasing the tempo and thoroughly glazing her with her own wet, honeyed essence.

  “Oooh,” Cassie said and shifted her hips upward, definitely wanting more of that technique.

  And then he took it one step further and rimmed her tight, puckered rosebud. Caressing it carefully, pressing in with a light, steady pressure.

  She groaned and grabbed the bedcovers with both fists. He did not stop. He kept up the warm, provocative finger glide. In and out and over and around. On and on and on he went, until she was dazed with need and desperate to sate her hunger.

  “Where,” she gasped, and then had to stop to catch her breath before she could continue with her question—“did you learn how to do that?”

  Never in a million years would she have guessed that a guy who spent so much time with ancient artifacts would be so knowledgeable about a woman’s body. She hadn’t given Harry nearly enough credit for versatility.