Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance Read online

CHAPTER NINE

  RYANNE REELED, UNABLE to catch her breath. Jude was in her apartment. Gorgeous Jude, who looked a little shell-shocked by the intensity of his desire for her. Sexy Jude, whose gaze remained locked on her as he removed the shirt she’d given him.

  As if she could leave now. The man was cut with muscle, enhanced by sinew. In the light, his bronzed skin appeared dusted with gold, and his plethora of tattoos only added to his masculine appeal. A heart in the center of his chest, pierced by five different swords. On the handle of each sword was a name. Constance. Bailey. Hailey. Daniel. Brock.

  Constance, his wife. Bailey and Hailey, his twin daughters.

  Ryanne’s own heart squeezed. Over and under Jude’s tattoo was a detailed countryside, complete with trees and winding roads.

  She wondered if the countryside reminded him of home while overseas?

  Her gaze followed the trail of golden hair leading from his navel to the waist of his jeans, and she groan-gasped. An odd sound. An animal sound. He was already hard, and his erection appeared to be as thick as her wrist, so long the glistening tip stretched above the waist of his jeans.

  Something had changed for—and in—him. He hadn’t made a token offer. You’re going to get fucked. He’d meant what he’d said. She could have him. Here and now.

  Things had just gotten real.

  She’d gone two and a half years without a man...not that she’d ever had one. So. Scratch that. She’d gone two and a half years without kissing or making out or even hand-holding, and now she was dealing with a sexual god.

  “I notice you’re not running for the door.” Jude’s voice was low and husky now, setting her blood on fire.

  “The only place I’m willing to run to is my bedroom.” She walked away, but didn’t actually stop in her bedroom. Instead, she ended up in the bathroom.

  As she’d hoped, Jude followed.

  The large space had counters made of Italian marble, mirrors framed by hand-hammered brass from Scotland and wall tiles that created a beautiful Spanish mosaic of colorful flowers. Beside the Victorian claw-foot tub was a shower stall complete with steamer, rainspout and her beloved bench. That stall was her most extravagant indulgence.

  Jude took hold of her hand, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. For some reason, the new position was far from comforting. It said: you are well and truly trapped.

  He was the spider, and she was the fly.

  Shivers danced through her as he clasped her by the waist and anchored her against him.

  “Jude.” So hot, so hard.

  He swooped in, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He conquered. He owned. The heat of him scorched her, the stubble of his beard abrading her cheeks, sending tingles straight to her core.

  He kissed her slow, and he kissed her fast. He kissed her as if he had no tomorrow. As if his dying wish had just been granted: Ryanne, in his arms. Warm honey seemed to flow through her, softening her—hardening him further. His muscles bunched underneath her hands, and the shaft he rubbed between her legs began to cover more and more ground.

  Desire fogged her head, and for a moment, she felt as if she were in an X-rated dream. Her nails curled into his shoulders, scraped through his hair. He nipped at her bottom lip—approval. When he cupped her breasts, her nipples puckered for him; they wanted his approval, too.

  A growl rose from him, and it was pure auditory porn. More shivers danced through her.

  About to reach a point of no return...

  Okay, she really needed to think this through, maybe weigh the pros and cons. Sex with Jude, here and now, during work hours. A delicious idea. But. Despite all her flirting, she hadn’t learned much about the man. Plus, his low opinion of her hadn’t really changed.

  Did she trust him not to brag to others about nailing her? Strangely enough, yes. Could she trust him not to cheat on—

  Whoa. How could he cheat? They hadn’t agreed to any sort of commitment, only momentary pleasure.

  “Ryanne?” He lifted his head, his warm breath fanning over the lower part of her face. “A second ago, you were eating my face. Now you’re stiff and unresponsive. What’s wrong?”

  Head check! Ryanne jolted from his arms and took a step back, remaining out of reaching distance. “I can’t do this. You don’t even like me.”

  His brow furrowed, his eyelids slitting. “I like you. I just don’t like what you make me feel.”

  “Or maybe you like what I make you feel too much?” The question lashed from her.

  He glowered but nodded. “Maybe. Probably. Definitely.” His gaze remained steady as he unclasped the button on his fly. “How do I make you feel?”

  Heated breath snagged in her lungs, and goose bumps rose, sensitizing her skin. The tingles returned. Between her legs, she ached. “You make me feel—” Sexy. Powerful but vulnerable. As if I’m standing in the middle of a storm but also flying. “—curious. How can you like me? I’m the bane of the world, remember?”

  Let’s say they hooked up. Would they cuddle afterward, or would he rush out the door, hating himself for what he’d done? Or worse, would he blame her for any perceived weakness in his resolve to avoid her? And like she’d told him, she wasn’t in the market for a long-term boyfriend. As a teenager, she’d made a vow. She would not become her mother, and her happiness would never depend on a man.

  “Will this be a one-time thing?” she asked.

  Jude toyed with the top of his zipper, teasing her with what she wanted but couldn’t have. “I like you,” he repeated. “Don’t make me try to explain why or how. I just do. And yes, this will be a one-time thing.”

  He’d just told her everything she’d wanted to hear, so why did she experience a flicker of disappointment?

  Didn’t matter. Two of her worries had been alleviated. He liked her, and they both wanted a one-night stand. Did anything more need to be discussed?

  Well, yes. One thing.

  Mimicking him, proving she could tease, too, she played with the button on her jeans. “You want me, then you can have me. But first you’ve got to compliment me. Just one. Tell me something you like about me.”

  As he watched her, riveted by the movements of her fingers, his pupils swallowed his irises. What he didn’t do—lower his zipper. Imbécil!

  “I’d rather touch you,” he said, “and show you the parts of you I like best.”

  Tempting, so very tempting. “Compliment me, then,” she insisted.

  A vein pulsed in his temple, but he grated, “I’m glad I met you.”

  “That’s not a compliment but a statement of fact.” He’d taught her the difference. “Why are you glad you met me?”

  “You—” A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Damn you, you brought me back to life.”

  She gasped.

  He yanked her into his embrace, crashing his lips into hers.

  Swept up in a searing wave of desire, she poured herself into the kiss, tasting him, devouring him, becoming addicted all over again. Their panting breaths blended, his every inhalation marked by her every exhalation, until they survived on the other’s air. This couldn’t be real. Men only kissed women like this in books and movies.

  Anticipation collided with a sense of contentment. There was no man so danged perfect.

  Really going to do this?

  Yes. Yes! She was going to do it. She was going to give herself to Jude.

  Should she tell him she was—technically—a virgin?

  “Take off your shirt,” he commanded.

  New shivers of excitement danced through her. No, she wouldn’t tell him. What if he stopped?

  She obeyed his command, revealing her lacy pink bra. Cool air kissed her bared flesh, and yet, inside she continued to heat up, her bones seeming to crackle with flames. Her tremors worsened, re
maining on her feet a chore. Every fiber of her being longed to stretch out on the floor, his weight pressed against her as her hips cradled his.

  “Jude.” She flattened her palms on his chest, his nipples hard little points against her skin.

  His gaze perused her, aggression radiating from him. “I want more of you. Take off your pants.”

  He was so fierce, so male, she only wanted more of him, too. But she forced herself to say, “And deprive myself of a show? No way, cowboy. It’s your turn to take something off.”

  She would give, but she would also take.

  Without a moment of hesitation, he kicked off his boots. Zzzzzip. Down went his zipper. He lowered his jeans, kicked the denim out of the way, and her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest. He wore white boxer briefs, his leanly muscled physique the sexiest she’d ever seen.

  “Now it’s your turn,” he rasped. “Show me everything.”

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, she toed off her shoes and slipped out of her jeans, revealing pink lace panties to match her bra.

  He stopped breathing, his chest no longer rising and falling. “You...”

  “Yes?”

  “You are exquisite. And I’m...not.” He motioned to the sleeve art covering the prosthesis. It had an American flag.

  She’d done a little research and knew the metal appendage had a custom-made socket, a pylon and a foot. A pin on the end allowed the liner to lock into the socket.

  “This is me,” he added. “Broken.”

  “You aren’t broken. You are perfect.” And that wasn’t a lie.

  Maybe he believed her, maybe he didn’t. He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he said, “Give me a few minutes to shower off the blood. Alone,” he said, his voice now hard and uncompromising. “I have to remove the prosthesis. It’s sensitive to moisture, and I’d rather not have you—”

  “Whoa. You want me to leave when things are just getting good? I don’t think you understand. Water is going to drip down your muscles, and that’s a show I’d pay to see.” Did he think the missing limb bothered her? Or was the strong man embarrassed to reveal a weakness, and didn’t want her to see him hop or crawl into the shower? Was he too proud to ask her for help? Well, too bad. “I’m going to shower with you and that’s that.”

  When she twined her fingers with his, he stared at her, silent, for a long while. But he didn’t protest.

  “Want to know a secret?” she asked. “I’ve been attracted to you since the second I laid eyes on you. Getting to know you has only made me want you more.”

  “Ryanne,” he croaked.

  “Want to know another secret?”

  Appearing dazed, he nodded.

  She rose to her tiptoes and whispered, “I’m eager to get my hands on you.”

  He jolted, as if punched. Then he drew in a heavy breath, slowly released it. “You’re killing me. You know that, right?”

  A slow smile bloomed. “The French call an orgasm la petite mort. The little death. I hope I kill you well.”

  Another jolt. With his free hand, he reached inside the stall to turn the knobs. Water streamed from multiple spouts, and in seconds, sultry steam thickened the air. He didn’t enter, but released her to sit on the vanity stool, where he removed the covering from his prosthesis, pushed the lock on the ankle and removed the device from his leg. Next he rolled a thicker piece of cloth from his leg, and she saw his injury for the first time. Scars circled the top while the bottom appeared red and irritated.

  Compassion squeezed at her. How much pain did he endure on a daily basis?

  Though she longed to kneel before him, massage his knotted muscles and kiss every single scar, she remained in place, several feet away, and played with the straps of her bra. “My turn.”

  As soon as his gaze lifted and glued to her, she undid the center clasp. He sucked in a breath, tense as he waited for the straps to fall down her arms. A smile bloomed at the corners of her mouth as she held the bra’s cups to her breasts, forcing the material to remain in place.

  “How badly do you want to see my breasts?” she asked.

  “Badly. Now stop teasing.” He scowled at her one moment, and devoured her with his eyes the next. “I want to see every inch of the body I’ve been craving.”

  He craves me...

  Shivers slid down her spine, a groan of need nearly wrenched from her. “You mean this body?” She let the bra fall to the floor at long last. The kiss of cool air. Her nipples puckered, begging for his attention, ignored too long, now desperate.

  He sucked in a breath and gripped his knees. To stop himself from reaching for her?

  “How about these? Should I get rid of them?” Empowered by his admiration, Ryanne hooked her fingers in the waist of her panties and pushed the lace down one inch...two...only to pause and draw the material back up. “Perhaps I’ll leave them on.”

  He swiped his tongue over his teeth. “If you were the enemy, Wade, and this were an interrogation technique, I’d be screwed.”

  “Oh, cowboy. You’re going to be screwed, anyway.”

  He barked out a laugh, a genuine laugh of amusement that made up for his use of her last name—his desire for distance—but he sobered quickly and patted the corners of his mouth, as if smiling felt weird, the necessary muscles somehow atrophied. His next scowl proved darker, and yet a sense of triumph flooded her. I’m getting to him.

  His gaze darted to the door. Was he thinking about getting the heck out of Dodge?

  Message received. He might be ready for sex, but he wanted nothing to do with humor.

  “I’m far overdressed in these panties, don’t you think?” She played with the sides of the material.

  “Agreed.” He grated, “Remove them.”

  Oh, wow, he was so deliciously forceful! Her nipples swelled, and her belly quivered, but she strove to remain calm. The moment she gave into the fever in her blood, the sooner this encounter would be over.

  “I will...after you remove your underwear.”

  In a blink, the briefs were gone, a massive erection stretching from between his legs. The moisture in her mouth dried.

  “Now the panties,” he croaked.

  “Not quite yet.” The moment she was nude, the conversation would cease. “We have a few medical matters to discuss first.”

  He inclined his head in a stiff nod.

  “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill. Haven’t missed a single dose.” She’d gotten a prescription not too long ago, when she’d decided to end her moratorium on men. “Are you?”

  “I’m clean, but I’m not on the pill.”

  Now a laugh barked from her. Maybe he was ready for humor. “I’d still like you to wear a condom, okay?” Just to be extra safe.

  He nodded, an odd look on his face. “I’d planned to, anyway. I recently had a vasectomy, but sperm remains active for a few months afterward. Anyway. Soon I won’t be able to have kids.”

  What the what! A vasectomy? He really didn’t want to have more kids, did he.

  One day Ryanne would love to have a family of her own, but only after her travels.

  He bent down to dig a condom out of the pocket of his jeans. The fact that he’d come prepared...

  Deep down, he’d known his resistance would crumble.

  With a slow smile, she wiggled her hips. “I’ve decided you’re going to have to ask nicely if you want the panties gone, mi hombre hermoso.”

  “My handsome man?” The epitome of wicked desire, he stood with stunning grace despite his handicap, reached out and ripped the sides of the panties. “I think we both know you don’t want a nice man, Wade. You want me.”

  Another use of her last name. When would he learn? Distance sucked. His gaze more than made up for the slip, however, devouring her, desire a palpable, sizzling current in
the air.

  No more playing. Ryanne wanted her man.

  Unwilling to wait for an invitation, she moved to his side and wrapped her arm around his waist, becoming a crutch to help him walk. He stiffened but offered no rebuke, and together they entered the shower, hot water raining over them both.

  After washing the blood from his hands, Jude eased on to the bench and set the condom aside, out of the spray of water.

  For several long, protracted seconds, she was paralyzed by an immense surge of uncertainty. This was so new to her. Should she climb onto his lap or remain on her feet? What did he like?

  They’d kissed twice, but they hadn’t gone on a single date. Actually, all they’d ever done was insult each other. Now they planned to have no-strings sex?

  Was foreplay even necessary, considering two and a half years had passed without satisfaction? Despite the pain of being deflowered—was that even the right term?—Ryanne suspected she would come the second he thrust inside her.

  “Nervous?” he asked, his features softening. “Don’t be. I’m just like every other man.”

  No. No, he wasn’t. He was more. He was better. “I haven’t... I mean, I’m not...” Ugh! Get the first time over with. Next time you can—

  News flash: there wouldn’t be a next time.

  Right. Despite another surge of disappointment, she waved her hand through the air.

  “You’re not what?” he asked.

  “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “You want a play-by-play or a few surprises?”

  “Play-by-play.” Pretty please.

  “All right. Straddle me, and I’ll kiss you. I’ll touch every inch of you, every perfect curve and hollow, and when you beg me to fill you, I’ll thrust so deep inside you that you’ll feel me tomorrow every time you take a step.”

  Just like that. Frenzied need overtook her. She straddled him, saying, “Thank you for the play-by-play, but now it’s time to follow through, cowboy.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SKIN TO SKIN. Heat to heat. Wet to wetter.

  Incredible hardness pressed against the softest part of Ryanne, electrified nerve endings purring with approval. She was careful to brace her weight on her knees rather than Jude’s thighs, unwilling to exert undue pressure on him. With only one foot, he might have trouble remaining balanced.