Metsy Hingle – Lovechild (страница 8)

He lifted her, placed her on the bed and then joined her. He slipped his hand beneath the black lace to thread his fingers through the pale triangle of curls between her legs. Easing first one finger inside her tight channel and then another, he gently stroked her.

Liza gasped. Her body shuddered and she lifted herself against his hand as he increased the rhythm and pressure.

“That is it, chérie,” he encouraged, his own voice ragged with need as he felt the first spasms hit her, sending her honeyed warmth to flow onto his fingers. When her body went limp, he began the slow stroking again.

“Jacques, no. I can’t ... I ... not without you.”

“For me, Liza. Let go for me.” Ignoring her cries,he brought her to the peak, again and again, extending his own pleasure and pain as he watched her come apart for him. When he could wait no longer, he stripped off his clothes and moved between her thighs.

The rain beat fiercely against the window, matching the frantic pace of his pulse. He ripped open the foil packet with his teeth.

“You don’t need that,” Liza told him. She took the packet from his fingers and tossed it to the floor.

“What about protection?” he managed to say, as she closed her fist around him.

“I can’t...” Her voice broke and her eyes shimmered a moment, before she continued. “It’s a safe time for me. I can’t... I won’t get pregnant.”

He started to argue. To tell her he didn’t want to take any chances. But then she was opening herself, guiding him into her heat.

“Just to be safe—”

But then she was drawing him deeper inside her, arching her body, lifting her hips. And he forgot about arguing. He forgot about thinking. All he could do was feel.

He drove himself into her, unable to wait any longer.

“Jacques.”

He slid his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the movements of their bodies with the length and speed of each stroke. Then she was tearing her mouth free, wrapping her legs around him. Lightning flashed outside the window, thunder exploded in the distance, rocking the building.

Jacques watched in wonder as the first storm of pleasure hit Liza. Then she was crying out, convulsing around him and he was racing to join her in the storm—

“What about the chocolate mousse?” Liza was saying. “Do you think it’s a safe choice or should we stick with the fruit compote?”

Jacques jerked his attention back to the present. He gave himself a mental shake to clear his head of the seductive memory, realizing he didn’t have a clue as to what they were discussing.

“If neither of those appeal to you, the chef also does a wonderful strawberry cheesecake,” Mr. Newberry offered.

Jacques looked down at the chocolate mousse and fruit compote before him. Dessert. They had been talking about dessert, Jacques concluded. “Both of these look excellent, but why don’t we try a slice of that cheesecake before we decide,” he said in an effort to buy time.

“Really, Jacques. Do you think that’s necessary?” Liza asked, anxious to end the meal and this meeting with Jacques. She offered the catering manager a smile. “Either one of these would make a wonderful choice. Besides, I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

“Then just make it one slice, Mr. Newberry. Ms. O’Malley and I can share.”

“Of course,” the catering manager replied, and was off to do Jacques’s bidding before Liza could object further.

Liza wasn’t sure which disturbed her more—the intimacy implied by Jacques’s insistence that they share the same dessert or by his unusually quiet mood throughout the meal. After his earlier declaration to seduce her, she had felt like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. While she had been glad that he hadn’t pursued the subject, for some reason his reflective silence made her even more edgy.

Irritated with herself for her reaction to him, Liza focused on her purpose for being with Jacques in the first place—the gala dinner. “For starters, I think the Caesar salad would be the best choice. Don’t you?”

“Yes. The Caesar salad,” Jacques said without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

Liza hesitated a moment and then continued. “And for the entrée, I thought we could offer a choice of fish or the filet mignon. That way anyone who didn’t want meat would have an alternative. What do you think?”

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