Lora Leigh - Guilty Pleasure

He stared back at her silently for a long moment.

“What do you want, Marty?” he finally asked, his tone darker now. “You can’t know what you’re getting into here. You can’t know what you’re actually reaching for.”

“I want you.”

Yes, she knew exactly what she wanted, who she wanted. Just as she knew he wanted her. He could deny it until hell froze over, but the truth was there in his eyes, in the hard contours of his face and the sensual fullness of his lips. He seemed to freeze. Like a predator suddenly catching scent of prey, his nostrils flared, his gaze narrowed as it flickered over her and seemed to reflect an intent, dangerous hunger.

He wasn’t a man to play with; she had known that for years. There was something intrinsically predatory about him, a silent warning that nothing about him was as it seemed. Unfortunately, that something drew her in ways she couldn’t fight.

“Stop tempting me, precious. You may not like what you find on the other side,” he said harshly.

Marty inhaled slowly, allowing her tongue to run slowly along her lower lip, as though hesitant, as though considering his warning.

His gaze flared with hunger, with dark, gleaming lust.

Oh yes, he wanted her. Perhaps almost as badly as she wanted him.

She let a smile curve her lips before lifting the tea and sipping it slowly. She wasn’t going to argue with him any longer. There was nothing to argue about. They both knew what lay between them like a fire threatening to blaze out of control.

“I understand.” She finally nodded. “I’m not a woman who already has a lover. It’s rather hard to remain unconnected from a woman when she’s your lover rather than another man’s.”

He was known to share other men’s lovers instead of having one of his own. He was the perfect third, from what she understood. Kind. Caring. Considerate. And having absolutely no desire to capture the heart or the loyalty of the woman he slept with.

“Perhaps,” she continued, “I should simply find someone willing to consider my choice of a third. Would you be interested then, Khalid?”

She had to admit that the thought only infuriated her. It was Khalid she wanted, totally. His bed she wanted to share, his life she wanted to be a part of.

“I may become murderous,” he murmured, before cursing himself for allowing the words to slip free.

Khalid watched Marty now in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to before. The threat of another man coming into her life pricked at the darkness that brewed inside him. A sense of possessiveness, of dominance that he had sworn he would never feel again, roiled inside him like a beast struggling to break free.

He had fought too many years to stay the hell away from her. The fascination with her that had built inside him. It was a desire that ate at his soul.

He shouldn’t allow himself to touch her. He should never tempt himself as he did now. To touch her would be to risk her, and he knew exactly the cost of that risk.

As he watched her, he realized not for the first time how incredibly fragile and delicate her small body was. It made him see how easily she could be taken, broken. And he had enemies who, though they had remained silent in the past ten years, would strike at her at the slightest opportunity. But even the knowledge of that couldn’t still the hunger tearing through him or the desperation that thickened his cock and left his balls pounding with lust.

“I completely understand how such an offer could frighten you, Khalid.” Her tone was as gentle as a Southern rainfall, and yet as cutting as ice. “After all, I do believe such things are against club rules, aren’t they? The member himself chooses his third. Perhaps I should stick with a lover with a tad more possessiveness.”

He almost laughed in surprise. The little wench had managed to turn this around on him and leave him scrambling to find his balance.

“Fear is not quite the emotion I would attribute to what I’m feeling at the moment.” He let his gaze rake over her, remembering in exact detail how she had looked glistening beneath the sun, as she lay by the pool’s edge.

He watched her flush and saw the innocence, despite the knowledge in her gray eyes. She was self-aware, independent, and, her father swore, willful. But she wasn’t a woman who shared herself easily; he rather doubted she had shared herself at all. Yet here she stood, daring him to take her, challenging him with those quicksilver eyes of hers and that damned mocking smile.

They had been playing this game for ages, it seemed. The thrust and parry, the challenge and retreat had gone on so long that he had nearly given in more than once. Until he had learned that she was investigating him.

Did she know, he wondered, how he had missed the flirting, the teasing, the choice that had been taken from him when he’d learned he was a suspected enemy of his country?

There had been nights when he had thought of nothing more than touching her, than filling her eyes with knowledge rather than curiosity, with lust rather than innocence.

The nights he had nearly broken down, had prayed that his past was that, in the past, and that he could reach out for her.

It was that past that held him back. The knowledge of the horror and the blood that could so easily repeat itself. Yet still, he longed for her with a hunger that was nearly impossible to resist.

She had been built for touch, for pleasure. Her sweetly compact body, the full, high breasts, and the gentle curve of her hips were God’s gift to any man who set eyes on her. She was beautiful in ways that other women could only hope to be.

From her button nose and pouty lips to her determined chin and stubborn expression, he could see the willful, independent little minx she was. But her eyes. Those eyes truly were the windows to her soul. If the look in them was any indication, then he knew she would burn him alive.

He let his gaze travel over the delicacy of her body once again. He wondered if her skin was as soft as it appeared, if her nipples tasted as sweet as they looked?

His entire body clenched at the thought, while his cock throbbed in heated anticipation. He could touch her, he thought. He could taste the sweetness of her and still pull back, he could still walk away.

He’d never intended to develop more with her than a very close friendship. A friendship that would allow him to share her with whichever lover she eventually chose. If she ever chose one. He’d be damned if he wasn’t getting tired of waiting. Of wondering.

“Tell me, are you still a virgin?” He couldn’t hold back the question, the need to know. Just as he couldn’t hold back the desire that tormented him.

“Are you?” Anger shimmered in her tone, in her gaze. Better the anger than the invitation that glimmered in her eyes moments before.

“I? A virgin?” He grinned at that thought. “Sweetheart, I was born sexually aware. I don’t believe I’ve ever been a virgin.”

Of course, that wasn’t exactly true, but he loved seeing her eyes narrow with interest and disdain. It made her all the more tempting, made anticipation burn through his loins as he considered all the ways he could touch her, challenge her, be challenged by her.

There was something about her that made him wary, made him fear the man he would be when he touched her. But on the flip side of that coin was the knowledge that inside this woman burned the soul of a sensualist-a lover who would meet him, match him. One who could burn down the night with him. For a while. If he could keep her safe long enough to learn all the intriguing secrets that shadowed her eyes.

“Yes, I also sincerely doubt you were ever a virgin.” She gave a soft, ladylike snort at the very thought of it. “That doesn’t mean it’s any of your business if I’m one or not.”