Read Online Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature by Susan Johnson - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Johnson
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tumultuous sexual need?
“Tell me your name—or something,” he said, taut and low. “Talk to me.”
“You know my name. I don’t feel like talking. What I feel like is—”
“Humor me,” he cut in, “or I might scare the hell out of you.” He backed away another step. “Understand?”
“Giuseppina Adelaide Attenborough. I can’t think of anything else to say, and I’m not sure who might frighten whom the most right now.” She kicked off her slippers. “I hope you understand.”
He watched the arc of her red silk evening pumps as they soared over his bed and landed at his feet. “Nice,” he said, surveying the beaded silk. “Red suits you. Would you like a drink?”
“Everything about you suits me. And no, I most definitely would not like a drink.”
“Well, I would,” he muttered, and turning away, he walked from the room.
Incredulous, she jumped from the bed and ran after him. He was already halfway down the stairs by the time she reached the hall landing.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, without turning around. “Don’t go away.”
“Damn you!” she shouted. “I just might!”
“No, you won’t.” And he turned at the base of the stairs and disappeared from sight.
He sounded unconcerned, damn him, when she was ravenous for sex—an inclination hitherto beyond her wildest imagination. Although, if Flynn’s tone was any indication, he was entirely familiar with females in heat.
She really should go.
It would serve him right.
She should march out of here, go back to the party and tell Trey he was right—Flynn Ito was not her type.
But she sat down on the top step instead, in a pouf of petticoats and ivory silk because much as she’d like to dramatically take her leave, she was breathless with desire and longing. And the very specific object of her desire was the tantalizing Flynn.
Reason had apparently taken a holiday.
A disconcertingly novel state for her; she was never a slave to cravings. And for an afflicted moment, she wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s lamentable infatuation with amour after all.
In the midst of her fretful irresolution, Flynn reappeared, holding two glasses tinkling with ice. “I brought one for you, too.”
“I don’t want any,” she said, testy and resentful. While she was beside herself with longing, he was more interested in quenching his thirst.
“It’s lemonade.” He began mounting the stairs. “You’ll like it. And I promise to make love to you soon.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” she snapped. How dare he sound as though he’d fit her in after his lemonade.
“It’s not an unselfish impulse, darling, believe me,” he said, gently. “Here.” Having reached the top of the stairs, he held out a glass. “It’s good ... an old family recipe of my cook’s.” When she wouldn’t take the glass, his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Would you like me to feed it to you?”
“What I’d like is you in bed with me, unclothed and not drinking lemonade.”
He grinned. “Don’t be shy.”
“I didn’t think it was a requirement.”
“It’s not.” Sitting down beside her, he drank some lemonade. “And I apologize. I’m not reluctant. On the contrary, I feel like making love to you for the indefinite future.”
“Beginning—when?” Her gaze was arch and challenging.
He set the glasses down on the carpet, turned back to her and took her face between his palms in a not altogether gentle way. “I’m feeling very much out of control. I’m trying to deal with it. It’s not normal.”
“I don’t mind you out of control.”
His hands tightened on her face. “You probably shouldn’t say that.”
“I’m not a schoolgirl.”
“I’m very aware of that,” he said, curt and low. “That’s part of the problem.”
“Do you think I can’t say no if need be?”
“The question is, rather, would I hear you,” he replied, very softly.
Her gaze held his. “You don’t frighten me.”
He took a
“Tell me your name—or something,” he said, taut and low. “Talk to me.”
“You know my name. I don’t feel like talking. What I feel like is—”
“Humor me,” he cut in, “or I might scare the hell out of you.” He backed away another step. “Understand?”
“Giuseppina Adelaide Attenborough. I can’t think of anything else to say, and I’m not sure who might frighten whom the most right now.” She kicked off her slippers. “I hope you understand.”
He watched the arc of her red silk evening pumps as they soared over his bed and landed at his feet. “Nice,” he said, surveying the beaded silk. “Red suits you. Would you like a drink?”
“Everything about you suits me. And no, I most definitely would not like a drink.”
“Well, I would,” he muttered, and turning away, he walked from the room.
Incredulous, she jumped from the bed and ran after him. He was already halfway down the stairs by the time she reached the hall landing.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, without turning around. “Don’t go away.”
“Damn you!” she shouted. “I just might!”
“No, you won’t.” And he turned at the base of the stairs and disappeared from sight.
He sounded unconcerned, damn him, when she was ravenous for sex—an inclination hitherto beyond her wildest imagination. Although, if Flynn’s tone was any indication, he was entirely familiar with females in heat.
She really should go.
It would serve him right.
She should march out of here, go back to the party and tell Trey he was right—Flynn Ito was not her type.
But she sat down on the top step instead, in a pouf of petticoats and ivory silk because much as she’d like to dramatically take her leave, she was breathless with desire and longing. And the very specific object of her desire was the tantalizing Flynn.
Reason had apparently taken a holiday.
A disconcertingly novel state for her; she was never a slave to cravings. And for an afflicted moment, she wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s lamentable infatuation with amour after all.
In the midst of her fretful irresolution, Flynn reappeared, holding two glasses tinkling with ice. “I brought one for you, too.”
“I don’t want any,” she said, testy and resentful. While she was beside herself with longing, he was more interested in quenching his thirst.
“It’s lemonade.” He began mounting the stairs. “You’ll like it. And I promise to make love to you soon.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” she snapped. How dare he sound as though he’d fit her in after his lemonade.
“It’s not an unselfish impulse, darling, believe me,” he said, gently. “Here.” Having reached the top of the stairs, he held out a glass. “It’s good ... an old family recipe of my cook’s.” When she wouldn’t take the glass, his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Would you like me to feed it to you?”
“What I’d like is you in bed with me, unclothed and not drinking lemonade.”
He grinned. “Don’t be shy.”
“I didn’t think it was a requirement.”
“It’s not.” Sitting down beside her, he drank some lemonade. “And I apologize. I’m not reluctant. On the contrary, I feel like making love to you for the indefinite future.”
“Beginning—when?” Her gaze was arch and challenging.
He set the glasses down on the carpet, turned back to her and took her face between his palms in a not altogether gentle way. “I’m feeling very much out of control. I’m trying to deal with it. It’s not normal.”
“I don’t mind you out of control.”
His hands tightened on her face. “You probably shouldn’t say that.”
“I’m not a schoolgirl.”
“I’m very aware of that,” he said, curt and low. “That’s part of the problem.”
“Do you think I can’t say no if need be?”
“The question is, rather, would I hear you,” he replied, very softly.
Her gaze held his. “You don’t frighten me.”
He took a
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