Sun-Kissed Page 3

  Not that she was interested in college boys. Au contraire. They were too young, too silly—what had Selena always called them? Young, dumb, and full of come. Julia almost laughed aloud. Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

  She wanted a man, darn it—one who knew what he was doing. Who had sense enough to care about her wants, her needs. One who could touch her with the same intoxicating combination of desire and self-control as her fantasy lover.

  And damned if that thought didn’t send the pulsing warmth inside her flaring into fire again. Her knees buckled slightly, and damp heat slicked her passage as she remembered that low voice, that firm, demanding touch that had tormented her breasts and squeezed her ass cheeks and…and…

  A low moan vibrated through her as the memory of everything he’d done to her pounded through her veins, making her ache and throb and tingle in ways she’d never felt before. Dimly, Julia realized she was standing stock-still on the pavement, swaying and yearning and almost panting with arousal. God, what sort of fantasy could hold her spellbound like this, heedless of passersby or any common sense? She could almost feel him stroking her body, a calculated, teasingly playful caress that drew a whimper from her throat and left her nearly frantic for more…

  Flushed and panting, Julia blindly spun to her right and shoved through the heavy glass doors before her.

  She was in a hotel lobby, she realized after a moment. One that bore absolutely no resemblance to the nice-but-unremarkable place she was staying in. Dense, broad-leaved plants filled the spaces between richly upholstered couches, their ivory-white flowers perfuming the air with a subtle fragrance. Chandeliers hung overhead, glittering above the entryway. A broad, curving, cream-colored carpeted stairway rose at the far end of the lobby, and set to one side was the vast, smooth expanse of a mahogany reception desk.

  “May I help you?”

  “I… Uh…” Forcing her eyes to focus, Julia glanced at the man behind the desk. Glanced, and then gawked. Damn, the desk clerk at her hotel sure didn’t look like that. Of course, nothing about her hotel looked like this place.

  Man, they must have raided the pages of GQ for him.

  He was still looking at her expectantly—waiting, she suddenly realized, for an answer. Julia gulped, fumbling for a response, but what was she going to say? I’m looking for someone. No, I don’t know his name, no idea what he looks like, in fact I seriously doubt he’s even real… Yeah, right. Gazing around for inspiration, she spotted a door on the far side of the lobby, its heavy etched glass indicating that it was the lounge.

  A drink. Yeah. A drink sounded like a very good idea about now. With a vague wave, she indicated her destination to the desk clerk, then hurriedly yanked open the door and went inside.

  She paused a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. The room was comfortably large, with snug, leather-upholstered booths lining the walls, a scattering of tables, and a long bar occupying the center, its polished wood gleaming mellowly beneath warm, low lights. Julia headed straight for it, ordering a Tanqueray and tonic from the sinfully cute bartender and gulping half of it in one fast swallow before pressing the cool glass to her heated cheeks, trying to get her raging hormones back under control.

  Christ, get a grip, Jules! It’s just your imagination. That’s all it is.

  Of course it was. Just a little hyperactive sexual fantasy. One that made her throb in all the right places and didn’t seem in the least to mind molesting her in public…

  Yeah. Just her imagination. No problem.

  Except why, then, did her gaze flick expectantly over the room, disappointment pooling in her gut at the sight of vacant tables and empty corners? Had she really thought some fantasy man might suddenly materialize behind her, whispering Hello, Jules in that wickedly sexy voice?

  From the unhappy sense of letdown in her stomach, she had to admit that yes, some part of her had.

  This was crazy. Oh sure, she’d had fantasies before—what woman hadn’t? Even a few that had successfully curled her toes under her desk at work, necessitating a furtive trip to the ladies’ room once or twice. But nothing like this. Nothing so overpowering that it could stop her in her tracks, completely oblivious to the world around her, aching for the touch of a man who didn’t even exist, damn it!

  “Another?” The bartender glanced at her, and she nodded. Why the hell not? It wasn’t like she was doing anything better tonight, apparently. Moodily, she swirled a straw in the fresh drink he brought her, making the ice clink lightly against the sides, too out of sorts to even admire his luscious butt as he moved away.

  Damn, but she was sick of men. Sick of their moods, their needs, their demands. Their conspicuous absence whenever there was something she wanted—but when it was something they wanted?

  Julia gave an angry, unhappy chuckle. Yeah, it was a different story then, all right. She could still remember—with crystalline clarity—exactly how much of a prick Kyle had been when he didn’t get his way. Repressed, he’d called her. Vanilla. Boring. Anytime she’d balked when he’d tried to push her into something kinkier than she was sure she was up for.

  God, Julia, don’t be so repressed.

  She scowled and took another slug of her drink, remembering the hint of derision in his voice as he’d said it, the disgusted look in his eyes. The look that had seared her with a sense of her own inadequacy until she’d just given in. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

  And you know what? She wasn’t boring. She was fine the way she was. Absolutely fine. And it wasn’t even the acts themselves she was uncomfortable with, she realized belatedly—it was Kyle.

  Yes.

  The affirmation in her head was warm, approving, serenely confident in both her and her judgment. Encouraged by that confidence, she plunged ahead down the track of her thoughts, following it without tripping over the pangs of guilt and humiliation and grief and loss that usually muddled up her brain whenever she tried to think about Kyle.

  What did it say about a man that he’d try to shame her, bully her into doing what he wanted, totally ignoring how she felt? What kind of man—hell, what kind of person—did that make him?

  “An asshole,” she muttered.

  The bartender looked over, startled. “I’m sorry?”

  She raised her chin defiantly. “I said, Kyle’s an asshole.”

  He flashed her a warm South Carolina grin. “I’m sure he is, honey.”

  Damn, he really was cute. She grinned back, feeling something dark and unpleasant drop away inside her, like chains rattling suddenly to the ground. She felt almost buoyant as she let her gaze trail over him—not ogling, just appreciating his tanned beach-boy good looks.

  His grin widened, accepting the compliment, and he tipped her a friendly wink before turning back to the lemons he’d been slicing.

  Shaking her hair out, Julia sipped at her cool T and T, enjoying the crispness of the tonic water, the slightly oily tang of lime. She leaned against the bar, her skin tingling pleasantly. So the trip had been a bust, fling-wise. So what? She felt good, damn it. Better than she had in…hell, in years. Better than she had since she’d first met Kyle.

  Wow, that really had been a fucked-up relationship. How long had it really been good for, anyway? Three weeks? A month? How long before he’d started in with the little cuts, the nasty little backhanded put-downs that had slipped like razors beneath her skin, each one making her feel more and more like a loser?

  God, she really did deserve better.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Oh, shit.

  Julia froze, her pulse suddenly stuttering in her veins. She knew that voice. She knew it. Deep. Sexy. Laced with sensuous heat. And this time she hadn’t heard it in her head. She’d heard it, the exact same way schizophrenics heard angels—or demons.

  The question was, which one was he?

  A warm rumble of laughter vibrated straight through h
er, sending shockwaves through her belly all the way to her groin, followed immediately by a low, wicked whisper. “Turn around and find out.”

  Oh, hell no. If she turned around now to nothing but empty air, she was going to have to check herself in to the funny farm. Frantically, she signaled the bartender, holding up her glass for a refill—and saw his gaze flick inquiringly over her shoulder.

  “Turn around.” That low whisper again, urging, cajoling.

  For a second Julia wavered, half-inclined to make a break for the door. Then she sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned.

  Oh…my…God.

  He stood before her. Tall. Confident. Heart-stoppingly handsome. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his lips as they moved, shaping words that her mind was frantically scrambling to decipher. It was difficult as hell, what with the pounding in her ears, the surging thud of her pulse, the throbbing ache in her groin at the memory of what those lips could do…

  “Hello, Jules.”

  And he smiled.

  Chapter Three

  This was impossible. The whole situation. A stunningly gorgeous man who made love to her telepathically, who knew exactly where and when and how to touch her, who even knew the pet name she’d never allowed any man—not even Kyle—to use?

  She should run, Julia thought faintly. She should book it right out that door, make a beeline straight for the airport and head directly back to Maine—do not pass go, do not collect two hundred bucks, and to hell with the stuff back in her hotel room.

  If only her legs would cooperate. If only her knees would stop shaking. If only she could stop staring at his face for two damn seconds…

  His smile deepened in response to that last thought, revealing a small dimple. Like he needed dimples. “I’m glad my looks please you,” he said, his tone betraying his amusement.

  “Please me? You’re only just about the handsomest man I’ve seen in my life,” she blurted out. And then froze, her face flaming. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that.

  It was true, though—he was so far beyond plain old good-looking he gave “gorgeous” a whole new meaning. His hair was like sun-burnished silk, a rich, golden blond that cascaded back from his forehead, just long enough to brush the collar of his suit jacket. His eyes, a clear, almost crystalline blue, held the same mesmerizing depths as the Caribbean. There was something haughty—regal, even—about the lines of his face—an impression that only increased as his brows drew together, creating a small groove of displeasure between them. “Just about the handsomest?”

  Yup, he looked like royalty, all right. And with an ego to match, apparently. Suppressing a grin, she tossed her head. “All right. That was an understatement.”

  His frown disappeared like mist in the sunlight. “Good. I’d hate to have disappointed you.”

  Yeah, not bloody likely. She was achingly conscious of every inch of him, from the hard lines of his body beneath his tailored, sand-colored suit, to the tiny, appealing sun-lines around his remarkable blue eyes. If anything, those small wrinkles made him even sexier.

  His lips quirked. “I’m glad you think so.”

  She blushed and looked away. “Would you stop that, please?”

  “Stop what?” He stepped closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. Her heart pounded faster.

  “Stop reading my mind,” she snapped. Christ, he had to be six foot two, maybe six-three. Beneath the open collar of his shirt, she could see a light dusting of soft hairs, gleaming like spun gold against the deeper bronze of his chest.

  “But I like your mind.” A warm, strong hand stroked her upper arm. “I like the thoughts it contains.”

  Especially now. The words whispered in her brain, and her blush deepened as she realized she’d been picturing him naked, wondering how far down that tan went, whether his body hair was that blond all over…

  Her flush spread down her neck to her chest. She felt his gaze follow it with inordinate interest, and her nipples perked up as if vying for his attention.

  “What are you, a hypnotist?” Her body’s reactions were starting to piss her off—almost as much as his overly familiar scrutiny was. Snapping her attention back to his face, she demanded, “How did you do that anyway?”

  “How did I do what?”

  “Make me think you were touching me.”

  “But I was touching you.”

  Bullshit. She’d been alone on that balcony. She knew that as certainly as she knew her own name.

  And she didn’t know his. Hell, she didn’t know a damn thing about him, and yet here he was, talking to her as if he knew her.

  I do.

  “Yeah, right.” Fleetingly, she wondered what the bartender must think of this seemingly one-sided conversation. “Tell me my name, then.”

  “Julia Kazinski.”

  Okay, so that only proved he was a spy as well as a Peeping Tom. She folded her arms over her chest, painfully aware of the way her nipples poked out beneath the black lace of her bra. “Great, so you stole a credit card receipt from my trash, or something.”

  He laughed, the sound a warm, rolling wave of sensation that caressed her senses, full of life and vibrancy and absolute confidence. “Your full name is Julia Eleanor Maria Kazinski. You were born on December twelfth 1984. Your favorite color is purple, although you never wear it. When you were six, you had a dachshund named Gomer. And the first time you climaxed, you screamed like a cat.”

  Julia’s eyes widened till she thought they’d pop out of her head. Her mouth gaped. “That’s not possible.”

  “For you to scream like a cat? Au contraire. Shall I prove it?” His smile was a wicked, teasing challenge. Her heart skipped a beat, then raced like a thoroughbred.

  “N-no. That won’t be necessary, thanks.” She swallowed twice, trying to regain control of her vocal cords. Of her galloping heartbeat. Her trembling body. The images flicking through her stunned brain.

  “I told you, Jules. I know you,” he said softly, moving even closer. His gaze held hers, intimate and intent. “I know the way you walk. I know your scent. I know every curve, every inch of your body—well, almost.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, even as his voice dropped to a deep, thrilling murmur. “And I intend to remedy that lack tonight.”

  She was practically panting, her chest heaving. Wetness slicked her most private places—but she wasn’t some kid to be so easily led by her hormones and a few sensual promises. Not like she’d once been.

  Not like with Kyle.

  Thunderous shadows darkened his eyes. His brows drew together—not in the faint, almost playful frown he’d shown her before, but in a hard, deep furrow that brought her heart to her throat. “I am nothing like Kyle. Don’t compare me to him again. Ever.”

  Okay, so now she knew the difference between playful displeasure and real anger. Heart hammering, she stepped back quickly—and found herself trapped against the edge of the bar.

  Shit. She gulped. But he didn’t step closer, didn’t hem her in as she almost half-expected him to. Maybe it was simply the presence of the bartender behind her that was keeping him from crossing that line.

  Looking up at him, though, Julia dismissed that explanation. This wasn’t a man who’d be stopped from doing what he wanted by anything as pedestrian as a few casual onlookers—and why, precisely, did that thought make her nipples tingle?

  He laughed, and the storm clouds in his eyes disappeared as if they’d never existed. Warmth flowed over her, amused and approving. “Oh, Julia. How any man could have thought you’re repressed is beyond me.”

  The idea that he’d caught her errant thought made her cheeks burn with embarrassment “I am,” she gasped defensively. “I am repressed.”

  He smiled slowly, the blue of his eyes going a deeper, smoky cobalt. “Are you?”

  “Yes!”


  He slid closer, his body brushing teasingly against hers, pressing her against the smooth wood of the bar. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “Then why are you tempting me with thoughts of taking you in front of strangers?”

  She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden flare of lust in her groin, struggling unsuccessfully to squelch the erotic images his words sparked in her brain. His gaze held hers, direct and unflinching.

  You can’t hide from me, Julia. Why are you hiding from yourself?

  “I’m not,” she panted, willing him to believe it.

  He shook his head slowly, a knowing smile on those lush, lickable lips. “Do you need me to prove you wrong, Jules?”

  God, yes. Right now. The answer came straight from her tingling nerve endings, the deep, sodden thud of heat in her groin. She bit her lip in mortification.

  His smile widened in triumph, his eyes lighting with an answering heat. “Remember, you asked,” he murmured, sliding his arms around her.

  His eyes really were the most remarkable blue, she thought faintly, her blood pounding in her ears. Like sunlight on tropical ocean, dazzling, hypnotic… God, if he didn’t kiss her soon, she was going to…going to…

  His mouth came down on hers, almost bruisingly hard, trapping her against the polished wood of the bar. She gasped beneath his demanding kiss, feeling his body against her, rock hard and intoxicating.

  Aw jeez, what was she doing? “Wait,” she whispered—tried to whisper; the mouth covering hers made speech all but impossible. His tongue flicked between her teeth, taking advantage of her open mouth, and Julia moaned as it danced against hers. Unconsciously she raised her arms, twining them about his strong neck.

  Growling, he slid one hand behind her head, angling his mouth more firmly against hers. His tongue probed insistently, and she opened her mouth wider, letting it press deep inside, licking, tasting, devouring…

  God, he felt good. He tasted even better. She whimpered beneath his kiss, both appalled at herself and hungry for more. She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake! Worse, she didn’t even care. Every nerve in her body was singing in delight, throbbing and aching, eager for his touch.