Before Daylight Read online

  That first dinner, she’d looked down her nose at him. But holding her in his arms tonight, bending her over the back of his couch as though he had some sort of claim on her, making her writhe uncontrollably at the height of her pleasure made him see that she was dark and light and all extreme measures.

  Now that she was laid out on his bed, almost naked—just her dress twisted and hopelessly wrinkled around her waist. Her eyes almost black; her gaze was glassy and unfocused. That wouldn’t do because he wanted her right here with him.

  He grimaced and she smiled at him lazily. He loved the way she looked completely undone. Her black hair a stark contrast against his white linens, messy. He crawled up on the bed and knelt up, looming over her, memorizing how she looked like this for him. “I like your hair like that.”

  “Messy?” She drew her big toe up his thigh. He caught her foot by the arch before she nudged his cock. It would be embarrassing if she tried and likely succeeded to get him off with a foot job. He was kind of a kinky bastard—after all he’d eaten her out from behind tonight and he hadn’t even kissed her on the mouth yet. But foot fetishist he was not.

  “Watch it, gorgeous.”

  “Watch it?” Her smile got bigger and made even more blood rush to his cock. “I haven’t even seen it yet.”

  “You’ve felt it though.” He rubbed himself over his pants, but it didn’t relieve the almost unbearable ache of not being inside of her right now. “And you’ve tortured it.”

  “You call a few bumps and grinds torture?”

  “You’ve been torturing it ever since Bali.”

  “That’s your own damned fault, though.” She wrenched her foot free from his hand and ran her shin between his legs. “I’m fairly sure I offered to take care of it.”

  He caught her foot again, and pulled the dress from her waist. Naked Laura was the best Laura, and he had to take a moment to appreciate her grandeur. “You were drunk, and that wouldn’t have been right.”

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that after what just happened in the living room.”

  “I think it’s downright chivalrous that you made me come first.”

  “You think that was me being considerate?” She nodded, and he came over her on all fours. “No, gorgeous, that was pure selfishness. I wanted to taste you there so bad that I don’t even remember what we had for dinner tonight.” He palmed her between her thighs, satisfied that his hand came away wet. He pumped one finger into her and shifted his other hand to her clavicle, feeling her pulse speed up and her skin heat. “I needed to know that you would give over to me more than I want to fuck you right now.”

  Her eyes dipped to his lap. “You want to fuck me a whole lot?” Her voice was breathy, and she was close again. He could feel it. She turned him into a predator, and it filled him with something he didn’t recognize. He’d never felt like he wanted to conquer a woman before. And he’d never felt this needy kind of pulling in his gut to take and dominate. It disturbed him a little, but that faded away when he realized how much it turned her on for him to take control.

  “I want to fuck you so much that I’m afraid it will fall off if I don’t get inside you soon.”

  “That’s not a thing.” She snaked one of her hands between his legs and undid his belt and his pants. He knelt up and pulled off his shirt. Instead of moving closer to the goal of putting him out of his misery, she trailed her hand over his stomach. He was glad he was up to her standards. When he’d seen the guy she danced with every day—how close and intimate that was—he felt like maybe he wouldn’t measure up. He’d always been tall and lean, had a hard time putting on muscle, but he wasn’t used to feeling like he might not be enough.

  The way she was looking at him made him feel like he was the only thing she wanted, and he couldn’t help but lean over and kiss her. She moaned and opened to him, gave him so much in her kiss. She didn’t stop kissing him, but she pulled up her legs around his waist and pushed his pants the rest of the way down with her toes. Her high arches against his thighs were going to make him rethink the whole foot fetish thing.

  He was so close to being inside her that his cock bumped against her inner thigh. They must have been thinking the same thing when he pulled back to grab protection from the side drawer.

  “Condom?” she said. Her lips were swollen and almost magenta.

  He rifled around in the drawer and pulled one out. “Always.”

  He got the condom on faster than anyone had ever put a condom on before. “Ready?”

  “I wouldn’t still be naked if I wasn’t.”

  He smiled into her neck, kissed the soft skin there and sank into her. Right at that moment, the air changed around them. He became aware of nothing other than the sensation of touching her, of feeling her body against his, the smell of her mixed with him.

  Jesus, she was something else. Every time he withdrew she followed him, giving everything to him right back. Her arms wrapped around him, keeping him close, filling his chest with a sensation he couldn’t name.

  He moved at a steady pace until her mouth found his earlobe and she bit down. The tiny shock of pain spurred him on and she moaned with satisfaction.

  “You’re a little hell cat, aren’t you?” He didn’t expect an answer, so he kept talking. “You keep everything all buttoned up and tight with bobby pins, cover up this body with sequins and feathers.” He slipped a hand down to where their bodies met and rubbed. Her eyes flew open, and she met his gaze. “That’s right. Look at me when I’m telling you that whole ‘ice queen’ thing is a front. You have so much fucking passion, and you only give it to me.”

  Her eyes widened in shock before she went to close them. He couldn’t let her do that. He needed her right there with him for this. If he was going to convince her that they should be together, he had to keep her with him as she was now—wild. If he let her forget how they made each other feel, then she would retreat. The next time he saw her, she’d pretend she didn’t know him. At least not like this. She’d treat him like a stranger, and the idea of that made him see spots in his peripheral vision.

  “If you can’t look in my face while I’m fucking you, I can take you from behind.” He stroked the column of her throat with his thumb. “Is that what you want?” She nodded, so he withdrew, flipped her over, and put her on her knees. “I don’t mind looking at this glorious ass and your back arched for my cock.” He reentered her, and her body curved up.

  She backed up into him until he was inside her to the hilt. From this angle, he was deeper, so deep she whimpered. “Am I hurting you?” She shook her head and followed him when he tried to move away, just a little, whimpering. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her scalp, not pulling. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to hold you while I fuck you.”

  “Yes.” Her words were a throaty gasp.

  Something about making this woman feel so much that she could hardly speak made him wild and he pumped into her so hard the bed frame moved across the floor. He was going to come soon, but she needed to come while he was inside her. “Rub your clit, Laura. I need to feel you coming around my cock before I let go.” She shook her head again, and he stilled her. “You want me to stop?”

  “N—no. Don’t stop.”

  “Then rub your clit, gorgeous.” He grabbed one ass cheek and rubbed one of his fingers over her asshole. She jumped and moved one of her hands between her legs. Almost immediately, her inner muscles started flexing around him. He gritted his teeth to keep from orgasming inside her right then. “Are you close?”

  “Yes. So close.”

  “What do you need?”

  “H-harder.” He’d bet he was the only man who’d ever made her stammer and beg for it harder. One look down her nose and most would scurry away. Maybe it was because he was her husband—for about another minute—that he felt li
ke he wanted to tear down the wall she had up in between her and everything sensual and earthy and uncontrolled. Perhaps it was just the way their two chemistries meshed. He didn’t know, but he would give her whatever she asked for in that soft raspy voice.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want Laura, whatever I have.” The next day she’d forget he said that, and pretend that this was simply fucking. But he had to tell her how he really felt when he was this wide open to her, when she’d stripped off the civilized man parts of him to reveal a Neanderthal who just needed to claim, and fuck, and mark.

  When she came, the arm holding her up collapsed. Between that and her pussy squeezing him, he was toast, done. His brain couldn’t work and roll over. He didn’t even have the brain power to think about making sure she didn’t leave in the middle of the night.

  He didn’t black out, but he definitely came back to himself in stages. No memory of collapsing on top of her spent body while still inside her. It took him a few moments to be able to move again. He pulled out of her, and his muscles protested. Before going into the bathroom to get cleaned up and get rid of the condom, he kissed the back of her neck. She stirred, and the fear that she would leave came right back.

  “Don’t move.”

  “I don’t think I could if I tried.” He could see her smiling through the strands of hair that lay across her face.

  “Did I break you?” He chuckled. “If I did, does that mean I get to keep you?”

  When her smile faded, he walked into the en suite, moving faster because he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers.

  When he returned, she was still in the same spot, and relief flashed through him like a summer storm. He stretched out next to her on the bed, placing his hand on her back as though it would hold her here. Her eyes were drooping, almost closed. Having her here and getting to see her mussed up and sleepy—satisfied—fulfilled the part of himself that she’d revealed.

  He realized that he’d been a little bit asleep before. Although he’d moved to Miami to get away from the expectation that he would be the same heartless captain of industry his father was, he’d lost touch with having any real ambition at all. And, being with Laura made him realize that he had ambition, but maybe it was different than his father’s had been. She made him want to protect her, build a future with her.

  The sad irony of it all was that a future with him would cost her everything she wanted.

  Chapter 8

  Sneaking into her own home the night after a one-night stand was not something Laura had ever envisioned herself doing. She hadn’t done it as a teenager. And, as an adult, she’d never had the need.

  She turned the lock in the door quietly, opened the door slowly so it wouldn’t creak. Held her shoes in her hand so they wouldn’t clack all over the hardwoods.

  But she needn’t have bothered. By the time she got to the credenza where she stored her bag, she realized that her grandmother, the person she was trying to sneak in to avoid, was on the couch.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  Mortification gummed up the blood in Laura’s veins and she stood stock still as she took in what was happening. Grandma Lola was making out with someone who looked very much like Laura’s grandfather. Laura had never seen her grandparents kiss; she hadn’t seen them together until Carla’s wedding. And they hadn’t spoken at that event, much less groped each other.

  She wasn’t a preteen, and she knew older people got frisky, but this was a shock on so many levels. Her grandparents had been divorced for almost thirty-five years. As soon as her grandfather decided to flee Cuba, he’d become a stranger to her grandmother. According to the family lore, she’d chased him out of her family home with a knife, screaming that he was a traitor. She would have gotten him killed by the government if anyone had been of the mind to snitch.

  Even when he’d bribed enough people to take her with him and their nearly grown children, she’d refused to leave. Refused to give up her home. No one in the family understood that decision to this day. Her mother barely spoke to Lola when she came to the house. Laura’s aunt refused to see her.

  Lola had remained close with her nephew, Hector, through letters. Laura had never gotten the full story on why that happened. Why her grandmother had refused to leave and given up her children.

  And now, she was watching her grandparents make out. If she’d had any breakfast, it would have come up. Had Lola been sneaking around with her ex-husband? Is that why she wouldn’t say where she’d been the other night?

  Ew. Gross. Gag. They all came to mind. Watching her grandparents roll around on her sectional was like watching a flamingo try to mate with a shark. Someone was going to get dead and bloody if she didn’t put a stop to this.

  Laura cleared her throat, and her abuelo’s head popped up.

  “You weren’t supposed to be home.” With more grace than she should have at her age, Lola extricated herself from the clinch and wiped errant lipstick from the side of her mouth, looking none too guilty.

  “What’s—what’s going on here?”

  Lola tilted her head as if to convey, “Oh dear, am I going to have to give her ‘the talk’?”

  In order to avoid that, Laura started towards the hall leading to the bedrooms. Before she got three steps, her grandfather said, “This is not what it looks like.”

  Laura turned slowly, and took in her grandfather’s half-buttoned shirt and her grandmother’s mussed up hair. She pursed her lips and nodded. “So, I didn’t walk in on my long-divorced grandparents sucking each other’s faces off?”

  Neither of them had anything to say to that. They just sat on the couch, looking like teenagers who were caught necking.

  “I need to shower and get to rehearsal.” Laura looked to her grandmother. “I think we should have dinner together tonight. Get some wine. I’m going to need it to hear you explain this.”

  Laura waved her shoes between the two of them, and they had the courtesy to look sheepish. They, of course, had the right to do whatever they wanted. They were adults, both in full command of their faculties. But she felt like she had the right to maybe not see it?

  When she got to her room and stripped off her clothes, she was reminded of places on her body raw and tender from what she and Charlie had consented to as adults the night before. When she got in the shower, she couldn’t help but run her fingers over the places where his beard had scraped her skin, places she wouldn’t expect like all over her thighs, her lower back. He’d been so different last night—not at all what she’d expected.

  Before they’d fucked she’d thought he was this laid-back guy sort of floating by on his dad’s money and connections. The show he produced for Jonah and Carla was good, but the stuff he’d done before in Chicago had been reality dating shows that pitted women with low self-esteem against each other to compete for a douchey, vacant dude bro. Those kinds of shows made Laura a little sick inside.

  But last night, his touch had revealed a different side of him. There’d been nothing laid back about the way he took her, talked to her, commanded her body with his. Before he’d done dirty, filthy things to her, she’d enjoyed looking at him. Now, she couldn’t get the sound of his voice out of her head. She’d agreed to spend one night with him, but she wouldn’t be able to keep her fingers from creeping into her panties when she was alone. Wouldn’t be able to stop the slow burn of the fire he’d lit inside her the night before from taking over. For the next long while, whenever she made herself come, she’d only be able to think about him and how well he’d learned her body in a few short hours.

  She almost wished that she hadn’t limited their affair to one night. Although she’d never admit that she wanted more, her curiosity about Charlie had been piqued. It was the same curiosity that had gotten her to take her first ballet class at three after seeing a poster for the Miami City Ballet. Standing in her bathroom now, facing the likelihood that she’d
never get to be with Charlie again, she wasn’t sure that she was living her life right. Something in her gut burned with regret—the idea of those papers she had to file so she could get where she wanted to be in life.

  She shook her head, wincing when a drop of shampoo got in her eye. She didn’t have time to think about what might have been if she hadn’t lost all control for one night with Charlie Laughlin. What was done was done, and other than opening night, she’d probably never have to see him again.

  * * * *

  Charlie sat in the darkened theater, not wanting her to see him watching them block portions of the ballet. He felt like a creeper, and he should be at work. But after spending a long night in bed with the star of the show and waking up just in time for her to leave him hard and wanting this morning, his dick was fully in charge of his schedule. That was the only explanation for the fit of madness that brought him here.

  At first, he’d only sponsored the ballet so he could see her again. It was an extremely expensive way to make sure she got that second date, but totally worth it. He would have paid more because he was a sucker for the way Laura moved. But watching her sweat-covered and straining today was markedly different than feeling her come apart in his arms the night before. Gone was the passionate, wanton woman from last night. Even from a hundred feet away, he could see the lines of strain on her face and the difficulty she was having performing each step. She was still almost perfect, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed the looks on her face unless he’d seen her the way she was last night. But now that he’d seen her face lax with bliss, he knew—knew—that she was not blissful while dancing. At least not anymore.

  He wondered if it was just being tired of dancing in Miami. Although this was a very different production of Carmen—performed with opera singers doing vocals live on the edge of the stage and brand new choreography—she’d performed this piece in different incarnations ten times. Or so he’d memorized from what he could find online. Because he’d done research on his erstwhile wife. Like a creeper.