Crush Page 13

  Lucas stretched an arm invitingly over the back of the sofa. Miranda moved into it and allowed him to hug her to his chest. “I’ll wager you’ve broken a number of hearts over the years,” he sighed into her hair.

  “Look who’s talking. Women probably hug their pillows in bed at night, pretending that the pillows are you. How much fan mail do you get?”

  He gently combed his fingers through her hair. “The last figure I recall hearing is a half-million pieces annually. It wasn’t always like that, even after my first American single hit number one. I was something of a late bloomer myself. I had a man’s voice at thirteen, but physically, I was a skinny bobolink until I turned seventeen. In the course of a year I went from eleven and a half stone, five-foot-ten to six-foot-four, fifteen and a half stone of solid muscle. Women began taking notice of me in ways they hadn’t before.”

  Using her reporter’s tact, Miranda asked, “How many lovers have you had?”

  “It’s unseemly for a man to talk about his sex life.”

  “So it was always just sex?”

  “And it was always safe. My father was a musician, so he drummed into me from the beginning how important it was to keep the cannon capped until I was ready to bring children into the world.”

  “You want children someday?” She looked up at him, and Lucas lost his heart all over again.

  “Absolutely. You?”

  “I never thought about it.” She laid her hand flat over his lower abdomen. He almost groaned as his cannon strained against his blue jeans. “Kiki Langlois seemed pretty set on getting you to the altar.”

  “Don’t tell me you actually believe those tabloid reports, Miranda.”

  “This one came firsthand, from the Bernie’s mouth. He saw you with her at a party after the Grammy awards. He said that she was stuck to you like a spray-on tan.”

  “Kiki and I met on the set of one of my videos,” Lucas said. “Our relationship lasted as long as the three days of filming.”

  “Rock stars and supermodels.” Miranda sat up off of him and swung her feet to the floor. “They’re like chocolate and peanut butter. Kiki Langlois isn’t just a regular supermodel, Lucas. She’s an American Swimsuit Magazine supermodel. I see her face and her skinny arms and knobby knees on every magazine—including The Great Outdoorsman and Fitness For Seniors—every time I go to 7-Eleven for Slim Jims after a game.”

  “What are Slim Jims?”

  “Don’t change the subject. What are you doing here with me when you can have your pick of the Kiki Langloises of the world?”

  He sat up, bracketing her between his legs. “Because I want you. I want a one-of-a-kind, exotic Miranda Penney, not a run-of-the-mill Kiki Langlois.”

  “I guess I am a nice change from the long-legged, plucked, waxed and exfoliated beauties you’re accustomed to.”

  “Miranda, you’re beginning to exhaust my patience.” He took her by her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Hear well what I’m about to say to you, love. When I pulled you from that crush, and you opened your eyes and looked at me, I thought you were the most exquisite creature God ever dared set before me. In your eyes I saw the inspiration for every love song I’ve ever sung.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but the words stalled in her throat. No matter how much she wanted to believe he was just feeding her a line, she couldn’t, not while he was holding her gaze and giving her an unobstructed view of the contents of his heart.

  “I’m more of a Looney Tune than a love song,” she said. “Who knew your idea of beautiful is a mouth that looks like a fist.”

  “Picasso couldn’t have created a lovelier face.”

  “My fingers are fat.”

  “Like Portuguese sausages.”

  “I have flat feet.” She crossed the bare toes of one foot over the other. “My sister used to call me Slappy.”

  Lucas eased her back on the sofa and lifted her right foot from the floor. His thumbs glided over her sensitive instep while the rest of his fingers moved over the smooth top of her foot. He kissed her instep, then the spot just beneath her ankle, and her toes curled as an erotic shiver traveled through her.

  “My legs are too long and skinny.” She arched her back a bit and spread her arms over her head in response to the way his fingers worked the sensitive places between her toes.

  “Like twin telephone poles.” He set her left leg over his shoulder and moved forward, using his teeth to tease along the inseam of her jeans.

  “My thighs are too big.” A choppy breath escaped her as his hot breath penetrated the fabric over her inner thigh.

  “Postively ponderous.” He clutched her hips and softly mouthed the “V” at the apex of her jeans.

  Miranda pushed her hands into his hair. “I have no waist,” she moaned.

  “Nor much of a neck to speak of.” He parted the flaps of her shirt to expose her midriff and flick the tip of his tongue across the shallow indentation of her navel before trailing kisses up to her chest, unbuttoning her shirt as he went.

  Just as he would have exposed her completely, Miranda regained her senses and grabbed the flaps of her shirt, holding them closed until Lucas softened her grasp with kisses and a gentle touch. She watched his face as he lowered her hands and then opened her shirt. Her heart, and several other parts of her, throbbed under his gaze. “My boobs are way too small,” she said.

  “Small, agreed.” He dipped his head to them. “Humble in their perfection.” Her toes curled at the brush of his breath over her skin, but when his lips closed around the dark bud tipping her right breast, she groaned, clasping his head to her.

  He hunched over her, tasting and tantalizing with his teeth, lips and tongue. She took his hand and guided his longest finger to her mouth to suckle it, matching her rhythm to his. Her hips rose against him, grinding into the hot coil of want between his legs. When his mouth left her breast to claim her lips, she sat up, kissing him even as she grabbed his shirt and worked it over his head.

  Lucas broke away to look at her tousled hair, kiss-swollen lips and flushed skin. The tip of her tongue licked the right corner of her upper lip, and Lucas thought he would explode. He pushed his fingers into her hair and cupped her head. “Are there any more complaints, love? Any other faults I should seek out?”

  Faults? How could she admit to any, with him looking at her as though she were a goddess. “I have this one weird hair that—”

  “We’ll tie a jingle bell to it come Christmas,” he chuckled.

  She hooked her fingers into the front of his waistband and tugged him closer, as if to kiss him. “We may not be together at Christmastime.”

  The left side of his mouth rose in a grin though the sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “We’re together now.” He slipped his hand inside the back of her jeans and cupped her bottom. “What should we do about that, Miranda?”

  * * *

  Moonlight shone brightly through the stained glass window in her bedroom, tinting Lucas’s bare torso in deep reds, blues and golds, as he kneeled before her, unfastening and then lowering her jeans. Miranda struggled to breathe evenly as she ran her fingers through his soft, thick hair, but a sharp gasp escaped her when she felt the heat of his breath on the damp cotton between her legs.

  As he stood, his body grazed along hers. He held her hips, steadying her while she stepped out of the pool of denim and cotton at her feet. His hands fisted as he fought for control. If her wetness was a fair indication, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He wanted nothing more than to flatten her body beneath his and plunge into her, but at the same time he wanted to take the time to cherish every part of her.

  “Are you sure?” he asked her. He lowered his head to take her nipple through the fabric of her shirt. She pressed her hips into him and pitched her head back, allowing his strong hands to keep her upright.

  “I want this,” she said in a breathy sigh. “I want you.”

  He slipped the shirt from her body and moved her to the bed, forcing his tho
ughts to cool as he gazed upon her. Miranda sat up on her elbows, the lower right corner of her lip caught in her teeth as she watched him strip off his pants. His was a notch above the ornamental beauty of a male model, and his physique rivaled that of the fittest athletes. He was perfectly proportioned without being bulky, and Miranda loved the way his broad chest and shoulders tapered to a trim waist with chiseled abdominals. His legs were long and well muscled and there, where his legs met, strained a part of him that would have made him the envy of every man in locker rooms across America.

  “It’s so big,” Lucas said.

  “I’ll say.” Miranda’s eyes zeroed in on what she thought he was talking about.

  He appreciated her agreement, but had to clarify his comment. “Your bed. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was really big.”

  “It’s a queen-size king, according to Bernie.” Miranda said. “It sleeps six. Bernie has one, too, only his has a built-in 8-track tape player. He dated a furniture designer who spoiled us silly.”

  A shuddering breath left Miranda’s parted lips as Lucas joined her on the bed. She usually didn’t care for nudity, her own or anyone else’s. Too many athletes had used nudity to try to intimidate, shock or distract her in the course of her career. She had to reconsider her preference when Lucas covered her with his body, warming her skin with his.

  “I didn’t expect this, Miranda,” he said. “I didn’t bring any caps for the cannon.”

  It was hard for her to think with his soft touch at her temples stealing rational thought from her brain. “I have some,” she managed. She rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. Lucas almost drooled as he watched the movement of her shapely backside. She hung over the bed and retrieved a shoebox from under the edge. Lucas didn’t know whether to laugh or run when he saw that the box overflowed with dozens of condoms of all sizes, colors, textures and flavors.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda said after meeting his questioning gaze. “And it’s not what you’re thinking.” With one hand she sifted through the dusty box, which she had set between them. She ran her other hand through her hair, absently guiding it over one shoulder to cloak her breast.

  Watching her, Lucas felt his heart beat out of rhythm.

  “These are freebies from a lot of the stories I’ve covered,” Miranda explained. “They come in a lot of the press goodie bags. You’d be amazed at how many sports-related functions are sponsored by condom manufacturers.” She picked out a single gold packet and peered at the expiration date. “Wow. This one’s three years old.” With a perfect flip of her wrist, she used a hook shot to pitch it into the waste can across the room. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had to use anything from this box.”

  Lucas pushed the shoebox aside. He pressed her onto her back, spreading himself over her, and ran a gentle hand over the length of her hip. “It’s been awhile for me, too.” Miranda focused on his caress, which moved to her thigh.

  “How long of awhile?” Her eyes slowly closed now that his hand settled between her legs.

  “You tell and I’ll tell.” One of his fingers slowly traced the sensitive cleft hidden by her damp curls. “On the count of three. One…” Her lower belly jumped when his finger breached her silky folds. “Two…” Her thighs fell apart as his finger slid into the welcoming heat of her body. “Three.”

  “Six months,” she groaned breathily over his “Fifteen months.” Her hips thrust upward to meet his finger as it withdrew and slid into her again, and he watched her face as he stroked deeper, slightly curling his finger each time he withdrew it. He added another finger, and used the heel of his palm to apply gentle but firm friction to the hard kernel tipping her sex. She moaned, her back arching, her elbows and heels pressing into the giant mattress.

  Lucas bent over her to take a pouty breast into his mouth. He drew on it, first hard and sudden then slowly, tenderly, sending bursts of pure pleasure through her. With maddening expertise he nipped and licked, teasing her nipple into a hard pebble. Miranda cradled the back of his head, losing her fingers in the softness of his hair. Her body writhed under his hand and his mouth, and he knew that she was close. He grabbed a condom from the shoebox, tore it open with his teeth and quickly sheathed himself before she pulled him atop her.

  He kissed her, his tongue probing her mouth, imitating what a more needy part of his body was poised to do. She took him in her hand and guided him, forcing her head into the mattress as he angled into her, filling her. A long, satisfied groan climbed from her throat and she hugged him to her, wrapping her legs around him. His body quaked from the strain of trying to hold back, to bring her with him to the summit of pleasure. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to find a slow, languid rhythm, to prolong the most exquisite agony he had ever known.

  She matched his movements, her body gripping him with each thrust of his lean hips. Her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed and her pearly teeth caught the corner of her lower lip as her passion climbed.

  “Miranda,” he grimaced as if in pain. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes met his for a fleeting instant before she closed them again. The glimpse of naked heat shimmering in them sent him straight to the pinnacle of his climax, and with a feral grunt, he exploded within her. He slightly changed his movement, shortening his strokes and tilting his pelvis more toward hers to create delicious pressure on the quivering epicenter of her passion. The effect was immediate. He brought Miranda to a howling, body-shattering climax that violently pulsed from the place where they were joined. She constricted around him as though the tight glove of her body contained a strong, determined fist. Lucas gritted his teeth and cried out his seemingly endless release, her flesh ruthlessly milking him as he went rigid atop her.

  Her body held him prisoner even after he was spent, and he slipped a hand between them to seek out the slippery pellet of heat between them. He kneaded it, sending wave after wave of toe-knotting pleasure coursing through her. Lucas was amazed by her voracious response to him, and how rapidly his own body recovered to start anew.

  He glanced at the full shoebox, thankful for it as he dipped his head to claim her mouth in a tender yet penetrating kiss. His immediate hunger for her satisfied, he took the time to love her as he had meant to all along.

  Miranda was lost. Her eyes closed tight, she surrendered to pure sensation. Lucas’s lips and hands and limbs against hers were heaven, and she delighted in her fierce response to him. This was the first time sex had made her want to scream, rather than yawn, or stop to draw a diagram for her partner. Lucas didn’t just know her anatomy; he was learning her body. He discovered he could make her purr by kissing the backs of her knees, that he could make her beg by whispering his songs against the moist petals of her womanhood.

  She was so comfortable with him that she called upon skills and techniques she hadn’t used since the night of her college graduation. They had meaning this time rather than textbook applications, as she gave and received pleasure with glorious abandon. Using every square inch of her gigantic bed as though this first night together would be their last, Lucas gave himself entirely to her. In the course of his life, he’d had enough sex for ten men. Usually it was a matter of satisfying a base, physical urge, but his need for Miranda went well beyond the physical. He wanted her with his whole self, and that feeling was new. He had shared his body before, but never his soul. On this night, he gave it freely to Miranda, hoping she would reciprocate each time he asked her to look into his eyes as their bodies fused.

  * * *

  “Are you there, God? It’s me, Margaret.”

  Miranda rolled onto her belly, tangling herself further in her bed sheet, and picked up the phone before Bernie began another rant into her answering machine. “Good morning. What’s up?”

  “You, finally,” he said. “It’s almost two o’clock. I called you three times. Where were you?”

  “I was here.” Miranda buried her face in a pillow to smother a smile.

/>   “Was Lucas there, too?”

  She pulled her face from the pillow and ran a hand through her hair to smooth it from her face. “Are you friend or reporter right now?”

  “Friend. Tell.”

  “Lucas left a little while ago.”

  Bernie let loose with a joyous whoop that Miranda practically heard in stereo—over the phone and through her bedroom window, which was four blocks from Bernie’s. “How was it, baby girl?”

  “It’s unseemly for a lady to talk about her sex life.”

  “It wasn’t unseemly before Sir Lucas rode into your life. Or did you do the riding? You ain’t no damn lady, so spill it.”

  Miranda slid onto her back. Her big bed seemed as vast and empty as the Mojave Desert without Lucas there sharing it with her. She sighed, running her hand over the space he had recently occupied.

  “That good, huh?” Bernie said. “Well, let us discuss this in terms you understand. Stamina?”

  “Boston Marathon.”

  “Execution?”

  “Sixes all across the board, both in technical merit and artistic presentation.”

  “What about his equipment? Standard issue?”

  She was tempted to make a Kentucky Derby analogy. “You know that pitcher I told you about, the one who stuffs tube socks in his cup when he dresses for games?”

  “Yes…”

  “Lucas’s tube sock is one-hundred percent natural.”

  “Overall performance?”

  “Olympic caliber.”

  “The morning after?”

  “It was the best I’ve ever had,” she laughed, kicking her heels against the mattress. “It stretched into the afternoon. And guess what else?”

  “What?” Bernie responded greedily.

  She paused dramatically before saying, “He brought me coffee. He made it himself.”