Behind Closed Doors (The Mccloud Series Book 1) Read online

  Raine tried to speak, but her lungs were heaving beneath his weight, and her lips were trembling. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, and he leaned over and kissed them away.

  “It’s OK,” he crooned, kissing her forehead, her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He let go of her wrists, stroked her damp, tangled hair off her forehead and eased off his weight.

  She closed her eyes. “Seth, I think that maybe we should stop—”

  “Shhh. Don’t think.” He kissed her throat with seductive tenderness, nibbling her ear. “Just relax and let me do my thing.”

  “But I—but you—”

  “No power games,” he said soothingly. “Just pleasure. Just me driving you crazy, making you melt, making you come. Nothing scary, sweetheart, I promise.”

  Her shuddering tension was subsiding under the influence of his unexpected gentleness, his soft, pleading kisses. She could sense his sincerity; it blazed out at her like the heat of a roaring fire. But she also sensed a hidden trap behind his sensual promises.

  She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t want to know. She let her doubts sink into the depths of her unconscious mind, spiraling down until they were lost to sight and forgotten. He was dangerous and unpredictable, but his lips were so tender and sweet against her face. Her body ached for his touch. He swamped her mind with need, blotting out reason. She had been starving for years, and he was a glutton’s banquet. She couldn’t resist. She had to risk it.

  She turned her tear-streaked face to his and dropped a tiny kiss on his jaw, accepting his wordless apology. He said nothing, but his arms tightened reflexively around her, and she could feel the relief that flooded him, the way his breathing relaxed and slowed.

  Her legs were still clamped together, and he caressed her, coaxing them apart. “Let me in, sweetheart,” he urged. “I can give you so much more pleasure if you’ll just relax and let me in.”

  He caressed the swell of her backside, pushing his knee between hers, and let out a soft growl of satisfaction as she yielded and opened to him. He slid down her body and cupped her breasts, pressing them together and rubbing his face against them with hungry appreciation. “God, these are so sexy,” he said, his voice a rasp of pleasure. “I’ve wanted to nuzzle you and kiss you and suck your breasts since the first moment I saw you.”

  The shaky giggle that shook her felt alarmingly similar to a sob. “Um, thanks,” she murmured.

  His teeth flashed in a brief, reassuring grin, and he lowered his head and began loving her breasts. Slow, dragging kisses pulled her into a whirlpool of chaotic, melting sweetness. He licked her as if she were an exotic fruit dripping with syrup, soft and succulent. His tongue swirled in sensual circles against her plump curves, as if he could never get enough. She fell back against the pillows with a gasp, arching herself, offering him everything.

  He took her nipple tenderly in his mouth and dragged at it gently with his teeth, and she cried out at the searing, bright silver wire of sensation, perilously close to pain and yet a million miles away from it. She clutched his head against her chest, shaking with pleasure as he pressed her breasts together and licked the deep valley between them. The bright overhead light came through her closed eyelids, coloring her universe a glowing, endless red. Red was the color of the wet, pulling heat of his mouth, the swollen, pulsing ache between her thighs.

  She was so sensitized that the faintest touch of his hand between her thighs almost made her climax then and there. Her eyes flew open as he slid his long finger inside her. He murmured softly in approval, and slid in another one alongside it, stretching her tenderly.

  His clever hand caressed her sensitive folds and furrows with tender skill, petting and coaxing her tirelessly until she crested and came, long and liquid, a wave of shimmering pleasure.

  When Raine opened her eyes again, Seth was studying her, his face thoughtful. He pushed a lock of her hair gently out of her mouth and smoothed it behind her ears, and she smelled her own scent against his damp hand. “You came apart right in my hands. I felt your orgasm like it was my own,” he said softly. “I love how you let yourself go.”

  She waited until she had control of her voice to reply. “I never have before,” she whispered. “Not like this. It’s you who does it to me.” His grin was openly triumphant. “It’s not nice to gloat,” she muttered.

  “Who ever said I was nice?” He slid down between her legs again, pressing them even wider.

  She struggled up onto her elbows, alarmed. “Again? Already? Seth, give me a minute to rest!”

  His laughter cut her off. “Forget about rest. I’ve barely even begun. I want more.”

  She clutched at his head, with the vague intention of pushing him away, but just then his tongue lashed tenderly across her most sensitive flesh, and she sagged back against the pillows with a sob of helpless pleasure.

  Time ceased to have meaning. She lost count of the number of orgasms he brought her to. At a certain point, it all blended together in one endless, shuddering wave, with peaks and valleys and immense vistas. He was insatiable, ravenous; lapping at her tender flesh as if it were her pleasure that nourished him. He pushed her further than she had ever dreamed of going, until she was writhing and pleading, her hands tangled in his hair.

  He gently unwound his hair, kissing each of her fingers, his eyes blazing down at her with unmistakable purpose as he rose up over her. “Now,” he said raggedly, grabbing one of the condoms scattered across the crumpled sheet. “You’re ready for me now, Raine.”

  It was true. He had leveled every barrier with his ruthless sensual expertise and the force of his fiery will. Her defenses were in ruins, even the silent, secret ones she had not known that she possessed before he had breached them. And she was glad.

  She held out her arms to him. “Please.”

  His face was a grimace of concentration as he smoothed the condom swiftly over himself and mounted her. He pushed himself against her drenched, ravished sex with teasing thrusts that made her pant with frustration. She slid her hands down over his hips. He was slick with sweat, muscles rigid and trembling. She grasped his buttocks and pulled, inviting him into her body.

  He drove himself inside her hard and deep, and she was more than ready; she was primed, silky soft and yielding and eager. All the little muscles that had resisted him before now clung to him eagerly, welcoming the intense friction of his thick shaft.

  He withdrew, and thrust again with a groan of pleasure. He cupped her face in his hands. “Does it hurt now?” he demanded.

  He wasn’t satisfied at the mute shake of her head. “Tell me how it feels!” he insisted.

  Her hips bucked beneath him as he drove himself deeper, harder, but she could find no words to say. She clutched his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Do you like it?” he demanded.

  “I love it,” she gasped out, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding on for dear life. “I love it.”

  The breath escaped from his lungs in a long, sensual sigh of relief, and his mouth covered hers, kissing her with passionate tenderness. They rocked together, sighing and gasping with the consuming pleasure of each deep, gliding thrust. He slid his arms under her shoulders, dragging her still closer. “You want me to give it all to you?”

  Her heart swelled at the vulnerability in his voice. It was low and shaky, ragged with desperate longing. She clasped her legs tightly around his hips. “Give me everything you’ve got,” she urged, kissing his jaw. “I’m not fragile, remember? No butterfly. I want it all.”

  He stared into her eyes as he rose up onto his knees, folding her legs back against her chest. He loomed over her, his hips pulsing eagerly. His face was a taut questioning mask. She reached up and caressed his cheek, arching her back. Silently giving him leave.

  He took her at her word. His control snapped, everything changed, and she was caught up in a hurricane. He shouted hoarsely as he drove into her. His slamming thrusts made her cry out, no
t in pain, but in savage exultation. Every part of her welcomed him, loving the slapping sounds of contact, the marvelous, sliding friction. It drove her crazy, tearing down her image of herself, releasing something deeper and fiercer, something heightened and exalted and savagely feminine.

  He had lost his control and she was glad, triumphant. She wanted to claw and bite him, to tear down his barriers and see him naked and helpless before her. She stared into his face and cried out with wild, exultant joy as he exploded and wild triumph triggered her own sweet, shimmering explosion.

  When she opened her eyes, his face was hidden against her neck. She pulled at his hair, trying to make him look at her, but he resisted, shaking his head and pressing his face harder against her, panting.

  She clasped her arms around his neck and melted into tears, but they were soft, rippling tears that cleansed and renewed her. She held onto him as the bright storm moved through her and subsided, leaving her clear and clean, like a fragrant, rain-washed sky. The feeling frightened her. It was dangerous to be this happy. Experience had taught her that it meant she had way too far to fall.

  Seth looked up, alarm plain upon his face. She laughed through her tears, dashing them away with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry,” she told him with a watery giggle. “I’m all right. More than all right. I’m just happy. This was wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

  She was hoping that he would take her in his arms again, but he withdrew abruptly, climbing off the bed. Suddenly the air in the room felt unpleasantly chilly against her damp, flushed skin. He turned away, disposing of the condom. A vague, fearful feeling clutched at her midriff, blocking her tears at their source.

  “What’s the matter, Seth?” she asked.

  He waited an agonizingly long time to reply, then turned to her.

  “How do you let yourself go like that?” His voice was cool. Wondering.

  She sat up, smoothing her hair away from her damp face, and smiled at him. “How could I not?”

  “So you’re like this every time, then? With everyone?”

  The cold look in his eyes made her shiver, as if a cliff had appeared unexpectedly before her feet. “What do you mean, everyone?”

  “Every time that Lazar sends you out to fuck one of his business associates,” he said.

  Her insides turned to ice. She stared at him, half-hoping she had heard wrong, knowing she had not.

  She swallowed around the jagged lump that had taken form in her throat. “You thought that I—that Victor—” Her voice trailed off, breath finished. She was unable to inhale and replenish it.

  “I hope he pays you well,” he said. “You deserve it. You’re amazing. I’ve never had sex like that in my life.”

  She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. She shook her head, wanting to cancel, to negate, to erase, the last ten seconds.

  He just stared at her, eyes cold and unwavering. He believed it.

  God, he had made love to her believing it.

  No, not love. Not even sex. He had fucked her, believing it.

  She shook her hair forward, hiding her breasts. Being naked in front of his cold gaze was unbearable. “God, Seth,” she whispered, “I’m a secretary, not a call girl.”

  His expression did not change.

  Raine scrambled off the bed and began searching for her scattered clothes. She yanked them on with cold, trembling fingers, not bothering to button her cuffs or to tuck in her tattered blouse. She shoved her bare feet into her pumps and lunged for the door.

  He blocked her, trapping her between his powerful arms. “Wait,” he said flatly. “I’ll get dressed and drive you home.”

  She looked into Seth’s dark eyes, inches from hers, and said, loud and clear, words she had never said aloud to anyone in her life.

  “Fuck you.”

  She shoved at his naked chest with all her strength, sending him stumbling back two steps. She wrenched the door open, and ran.

  Chapter 7

  The patron saint of humiliated lovers must have been watching over her. A cab from the airport was discharging its passengers outside the lobby as she tore through the lobby. She made her getaway before Seth could follow her downstairs and reduce her to a state of hysteria.

  She was teetering on the verge of it now, using every trick she knew to stave it off. The grizzled old cabbie could tell. He kept glancing back in his rearview mirror, his eyes troubled behind his thick glasses.

  “You all right, miss?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Her lips felt numb as they formed that terribly familiar phrase. She almost laughed, but choked it off. Laughter opened the floodgates. Then the tears would come, and then she would definitely lose it.

  I’m fine, thanks. She’d been saying that for seventeen years while she was dying inside. She was not fine. She was worse than she’d ever been, which was saying a great deal. And this time it was all her fault.

  What did she expect? She’d overcompensated, like always, and leaped into bed with a man without even having dinner with him, or even exchanging basic personal data. She didn’t know where he grew up or what college he had attended, or even his phone number. She’d done a slutty thing. She had to deal with the consequences.

  But she was so contracted with pain, she could barely breathe.

  Think pirate queen, she reminded herself.

  Like hell. The pirate queen would be sophisticated enough to use a man for sex without letting all her barriers crumble, even when her body was flying apart with pleasure. She would have had the presence of mind to say something besides that blunt, inelegant “fuck you.” Something that would’ve pierced him to the heart, or to the bone at least. She doubted that the bastard had a heart.

  The storm was about to burst. She bore down and counted the seconds it would take to reach someplace private to fall apart, an old trick from her school days. Eight, seven, as she paid the cabbie and bolted up the steps to her house. Six, five, and it was taking too many tries to get the key into the lock, the way her fingers shook. Four, the key finally entered and turned. Three, she shoved open the door. Two—

  “Good evening, Raine.”

  She shrieked, and leaped back out the door.

  Victor Lazar was lounging in the foyer, sipping a glass of whiskey. “I hope you’ll excuse me for helping myself to the bar. I’m familiar with the house, you see. I stocked the bar myself some months ago,” he said.

  “I see. It’s, uh, fine,” she whispered.

  Hah. There it was again. Miss Nicey Nice, terrified of offending anyone even if they were stepping on her face, was just fine.

  Victor gave her an encouraging smile and gestured for her to come in. She took a step inside. She was poised to flee, adrenaline pumping, her brain churning out any number of probable reasons that he might be here, uninvited, in her foyer.

  None of them were good.

  Dear God, don’t let him come on to me, she thought wildly. Not that. No way. That was too much to ask. She would run, screaming; and if the dream came back, she would just beat her head against the wall of her padded cell until it extinguished itself in a bloody haze.

  Anger at his presumption rose slowly up, like a bubble from the shadowy depths. She forced herself to stand up straighter.

  “You don’t appear to drink, judging from the state of the bar,” he observed, delicately rattling the ice in his glass.

  “Very little,” she said stiffly.

  “Or eat, either, if your refrigerator is any indication,” he said in a gentle, chiding voice. “You must keep up your strength, Raine. You have no need to diet. On the contrary.”

  “You looked in my refrigerator?” She was startled at her own loud, incredulous tone.

  He looked slightly injured. “I needed ice for my drink,” he explained, draining his glass. He set it down on the telephone table. “Please, take a moment to collect yourself, Raine.” He made a courtly gesture towards the bedroom, and smiled. “I can wait.”

  For what?
she wondered frantically. She caught a glance at herself in the mirror behind him, and stifled a gasp. Her hair was a wild, tangled halo, her lips red and puffy. Her blouse was crumpled, several buttons missing, cuffs hanging sloppily open, one side tucked in, one side out. Her eyes blazed out of dark, smudged sockets.

  She let her breath out slowly. So what if she looked like a madwoman. She’d been to hell and back today. This was her home, and she would not be dismissed in it like a servant. She fished in the pocket of her jacket for the hair sticks and wound her hair into a knot, stabbing the sticks through it. She took her glasses out of her purse and deliberately put them on. “What do you want, Mr. Lazar?”

  If he was angered by her small act of defiance, he did not show it. His mouth twitched. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Mr. Mackey?”

  Heat rushed into her face. “I don’t want to discuss—”

  “I should have suggested Sans Souci for dinner, but it slipped my mind,” he said silkily. “Did you go to the art museum? Or the market?”

  “No,” she forced out.

  “So you took him directly to bed.”

  Raine backed towards the door. “Mr. Lazar—”

  “To be truthful, I didn’t mean for you to take my suggestion to entertain Mr. Mackey quite so personally.”

  Raine’s jaw dropped. “Are you implying that I—”

  “Don’t be tedious,” he snapped. “We’re both adults. And I’m certain Mackey enjoyed your interpretation of my instructions far more than a tour of the Space Needle, or a ride on the Monorail.”

  Raine stared at his smug face. “You set me up,” she whispered.

  He frowned. “Oh, please. Whatever happened between you and Mackey is your business, Raine. And entirely your responsibility.”

  She flinched at the truth in his words. No one had ordered her to throw herself at Seth Mackey today, and with such enthusiasm that he had mistaken her for a professional sex worker.

  The thought was so ludicrous that she started to giggle. She swallowed back the convulsions in her throat with a strangled cough.

  “Are you all right, my dear? Shall I get you a glass of cognac?”