Total Rush Page 6

  ———

  Sean smiled when the doorbell rang, knowing just who it was. The electronic chime made Pete and Roger hop excitedly on their perches and they began squawking. Not the most relaxing sound in the world, but he was used to it.

  “Settle down, guys,” he soothed as he opened the door to reveal Gemma.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  “Hi,” he returned, ushering her inside and closing the door.

  Gemma’s gaze covered every inch of his living room: the dusty bookshelves crammed with his history books and spy novels; his coffee table, which held the latest issue of Firehouse magazine.

  His gaze, meanwhile, was riveted on her. Her curling red hair looked windswept, and she was wearing the same scent as at the christening, faintly floral, but with a hint of spice that stirred his blood. His mind kept flashing back to the teddy on her bed, then flashing forward to an image of her in it. No one had ever captivated him so thoroughly, so fast. He felt bewitched.

  “Care to introduce me to your roommates?” she asked, her gaze coming to rest on his birds.

  They crossed the room, approaching the twin cages. “This is Pete and this is Roger. Pete is a parakeet, and Roger is a cockatiel.”

  As if they sensed they were the subject of conversation, the birds squawked even louder. Gemma leaned in to get a closer look at them, especially Roger, who boasted a small patch of orange feathers on his chest.

  “You rescued them?”

  “Yeah, from a fire in a dry-cleaning store, of all places. After the fire the owner went back to Korea and I took them.”

  “His loss.” She tilted her head this way and that, observing them from different angles. “They’re pretty.”

  “Pretty neurotic. Sometimes the only way I can get Rog to calm down is to pace with him, like a baby.”

  “Interesting.” She turned to him, her smile shy. “Thank you.”

  “For—?” he asked, pretending he didn’t understand.

  She jostled his arm playfully. “You know what for. I love them.”

  “I’m glad. You have no idea how hard it was finding a pink wildebeest.” Outwardly he was cracking jokes, but inside, he felt pure relief. It had been a gamble: Either she’d love it, or she’d think he was a nut. Lucky for him, it was the former. “Does this mean I’m forgiven for my deception?”

  “I don’t know,” Gemma teased. “One of my neighbors was pretty upset.”

  Sean frowned. “Croppy, right?”

  “Yes! How did you know?”

  “The woman’s a professional ball buster. Take off those orthopedic shoes of hers and you’ll find cloven hooves.”

  Gemma laughed.

  “I like making you laugh. C’mere.”

  As smoothly as he could, he took her face in his hands and, with the care of an artist, brushed his lips over hers once, then twice. Teasing kisses, nothing too forceful, just a taste of what could come should Gemma desire more. “More?”

  Gemma’s smile was demure yet seductive. “Yes, please.”

  “FDNY at your service, miss,” he breathed, crushing his mouth down on hers as his arms drew her in tight. Through the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, he could feel her heart beating as fast as his own. He pressed on, feasting on the sweetness of her mouth. What was it about this woman that bewitched him so?

  “Stop.”

  Stunned, Sean lifted his burning lips from Gemma’s, and cleared his throat. “Stop?”

  “Yes.” Gemma gazed up into his face sheepishly. “I can’t do this with them”—her voice dropped down to a whisper as her eyes slid quickly to his birds—“watching.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Their little eyes are glued to us.” She gave a small shudder. “It’s avian voyeurism!”

  “I’ll cover their cages. Or”—his thumb traced the plump curve of her lower lip, shocking even himself— “We can go into the other room.”

  Gemma hesitated. She was attracted to this man—very attracted. But she wasn’t the sort to sleep with someone on the first date. Then again, this wasn’t really a date, right? And she was a grown woman. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to fully take in all she was feeling. “Can we go downstairs to my place?” she murmured.

  “Of course.”

  She opened her eyes to look up into his. There she saw the deep, perfect blue of a Caribbean sea in which she longed to drown. Life without risk was no life at all. And since she was the one who was always telling others to have faith, it was time to practice what she preached.

  She took his hand.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  ———

  Gemma led Sean into her apartment. Since they were at her place, at her suggestion, she was now the one responsible for seduction. She went to light the candles scattered around her living room, hoping she appeared nonchalant, even serene. Part of her wanted to be the one in control: to show him how beguiling she could be, how powerfully she could enchant using the untapped magic of the senses. But another part wanted to be the one who surrendered, to be guided by this man to the place where she could soar free of the confines of her body, experiencing the past, present, and future in the simplicity of a single kiss.

  Candles lit, she turned back to Sean, expecting to find him where she’d left him, standing near the front door. But he wasn’t there. Instead, he was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, right hand held out to hers in unmistakable invitation.

  “What are you doing there?” Gemma asked coyly as she walked toward him, kicking off her shoes along the way. Sean did the same.

  “Checking to see if you’d gotten that new smoke detector.”

  “I thought you were getting one for me.”

  “Only if you’re a good girl.”

  “I’d much prefer being a bad one, Mr. Kennealy.”

  “Prove it. Put on that black teddy of yours.”

  “That can be arranged.” She nudged him gently in the direction of the bedroom door. “Give me a minute.”

  “Certainly.”

  Alone, Gemma paused to catch her breath. His request excited her more than she thought possible; a total rush of anticipation was twisting its way through her, delectable yet maddening. Trembling, she quickly shucked her clothing and took the teddy out of her dresser. She slipped it on, reveling in the soft feeling of the silk upon her bare skin. Tousling her hair for good measure, she threw back her shoulders, pushed her cleavage forward, and flung open the bedroom door.

  There was Sean, restless, waiting, desire for her shining in his eyes. Drinking her in, he smiled. Candlelight suited him: The handsome angles of his face were made more so by the soft glow warming the room. Twining her fingers lightly through his, Gemma began pulling him toward a sea of oversized silk pillows arranged on the floor.

  “No bedroom?”

  Gemma smiled, catlike, and shook her head. Making love in the bedroom was predictable, and predictable was the last thing she wanted this experience to be. She wanted him left speechless, the memory of their coming together seared into his brain. She wanted him to want more.

  “Come,” she whispered, bidding him to sink down on the pillows with her.

  “This is interesting,” Sean observed. Gemma’s reply was a smoldering smile and a swift, lusty nip to his lower lip. Sean’s head jerked back slightly, eyes swallowed up by surprise. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. But she could see he liked it. Surprise gave way to animal drive and he clutched her to him.

  “You sure this is how you want it?” he growled, his breath hot as he teased her earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

  “No.” It was hard to think straight. “I mean yes. I mean—”

  His mouth silenced her, pressing upon hers with such fire, such demand, that Gemma could feel her body sizzling away, taking the last remnants of rational thought with it. There was only this: complete and total surrender to the sensual, spurred on by the thirst for more. She heard a voice crooning
yes, yes! and it was a few seconds before she realized it was her own. Sean rewarded her begging with roughness, his teeth nipping and scraping so expertly that Gemma found herself gasping as golden heat shattered her core. She would go mad if she didn’t learn every inch of his body, feel his burning skin beneath the soft pads of her fingertips. One minute she was clutching him tight, the next she was caressing his hair, his soft black curls a gift in her hands. She ached for more than simply being with him; she wanted to become him, to not be able to detect where he left off and she began.

  His mouth’s fierce demands left her lips bruised and swollen. Suns exploded behind the closed lids of her eyes, pleasure sluicing its way through her body like a river. All he demanded she would willingly give, and more. The harder he kissed, the more fervently his fingers explored, the deeper she dug her nails into the muscled terrain of his back. She was an animal, an animal whose blood and bone and sex beat out only one thought: More. More. More.

  Breath ragged, Sean lifted his head, his wild eyes meeting hers. There was no need for words. Every need was conveyed in a glance. He tugged at the thin straps of her teddy, desperate for the softness beneath. Gemma helped him and held her breath, back arching as Sean lowered his mouth to her heated flesh.

  Sean’s tongue flicked and teased. His hands roughly explored her body—squeezing, probing, kneading—each sensation provoking in her a new round of blind arousal. She wanted him soon. She wanted him now. She needed to wrest back control.

  Forcing his head up, she began frantically unbuttoning his shirt. He pushed her back down among the pillows and tore her teddy away from her body, the sound of ripping silk the most seductive music on earth. Gemma felt her own wet heat between her legs.

  “Which of us is in charge?” Sean demanded hoarsely.

  “You,” Gemma moaned, dizzily ceding control. “You.”

  Nodding, Sean hurried to free himself, his breath hitching as his eyes locked on hers. Naked, he climbed atop her, fingers grasping her hips, hard, as Gemma arched upward, opening herself to him. He paused over her a moment and then plunged hard and deep, Gemma catapulting over the edge as their bodies began moving together, her dream of melding into one coming true.

  His thrusting was strong and sure. Gemma tightened herself around him as he drove into her again and again, each meeting of flesh upon flesh pushing her higher and higher into the stratosphere. One minute she was a sweet prisoner of her body, her shocked senses unable to catalog the firestorm of relentless sensations coming one after another after another; the next she was flying, her body just a memory as she bucked wildly beneath him. It was a sensation she never wanted to end.

  Gemma smiled with pleasure as Sean’s body tensed and began moving faster, slamming itself into hers with an abandon that left her breathless. His desire for release was so urgent the expression on his face resembled pain. His hands searched for hers, their fingers twining together tight. Now! Now! Now! she thought feverishly, delighted when the drumming between her own legs resumed, sharp and insistent. Together they rode the storm their bodies created. And when he came—when they both came—a happiness she had never thought possible surged through her.

  Her spell had worked.

  She had found her soul mate.

  CHAPTER 5

  “What does your tattoo mean?”

  Adrift on a cloud of postcoital bliss, Gemma languidly turned to Sean, in whose arms she lay. His thick curls were tousled wildly and his body boasted a thin sheen of sweat that made his flesh glisten in the candlelight. He looked like a warrior back from battle, weary yet triumphant, and very sexy. She’d been wondering when he’d notice the delicate tattoo gracing the small of her back. A small purple full moon framed by two opposite facing crescent moons, it was a present she’d given herself for her thirtieth birthday.

  “It’s a symbol of the goddess,” she answered softly. Was the conversation about being a witch going to happen here, now, when they were both naked and vulnerable? Why not?

  If Sean was baffled or curious, it didn’t show. He nodded slowly as if mulling it over. Then he slid down her body, kissed the tattoo, and slid back up, holding her tight in his arms.

  “I think tattoos on women are sexy.”

  “I’m glad,” Gemma purred, trailing her fingers along the strong muscles of his damp back.

  He grimaced. “I also think if we don’t get off the floor soon, you’ll need to call EMS. My back is killing me. Can we shift to the bed?”

  Gemma chuckled. She was feeling uncomfortable herself. During their fierce lovemaking, the pillows she had so artfully arranged had slid, leaving the two of them lying on the bare wooden floor. Bed, with its promise of clean sheets and body-hugging blankets, seemed a wonderful suggestion. They could curl up together, maybe even make love again. In the morning they could go out for breakfast.

  Gemma kissed his shoulder. “Bed sounds like a great idea.” She stretched, surprised when it generated a small, sharp pain in her left shoulder. “I’m stiff, too.”

  “I guess this is what happens after thirty.”

  “Yoga helps.”

  “I’ll stick to Advil.”

  His affectionate smile made Gemma’s heart dance. Kissing the top of her head, he rose to his feet, extending his hand. Gemma took it, marveling at how easy this all felt, how natural, sharing her body with this man and now being led to her own bed. Hand in hand, they walked past the parade of stuffed animals, Sean pausing to pat the stuffed wildebeest on the head as if it were a faithful pet.

  “Can I stay the night?” he asked as they burrowed beneath the covers.

  Gemma nodded yes, burying her head in his neck. If she had her way, he’d never leave.

  ———

  Sean didn’t believe in fate. Yet there was something magical in the way their bodies had so smoothly blended together, a sense that this was meant to be. How else to explain his need to seduce this woman so quickly?

  And she had a tattoo!

  “A symbol of the goddess,” she’d said. He knew a lot of women nowadays were into goddess worship. Not only had he read about it, but one of the guys he used to work with on Wall Street, Darryl Armbruster, was married to a woman who’d started out Catholic, gone Buddhist for a couple of years, and eventually wound up in some kind of all-girl coven. Armbruster used to bitch about coming home on the full moon to find his McMansion in Sommerville filled with chanting women. He glanced down at Gemma, who was sleeping peacefully. Could he picture her doing that? His gut tightened a little as he realized the answer was yes.

  He continued watching her, her breath coming in short little puffs, the tangled mop of red hair curling wildly around her face. He envied her ability to just drift off. His rumbling belly kept him awake. He decided to go make himself a snack.

  He gingerly slid out from between the sheets and made his way to the kitchen. He switched on the light, blinking against the momentary harshness. The feel of cold tile shocked the soles of his feet. Pretty weird standing naked in someone else’s kitchen, he thought. Gemma’s fridge held lots of salad and yogurt. He hated yogurt. Disappointed, he shut the door, and got a drink of water. Then he started opening cabinets, delighted to find Irish Breakfast tea among the boxes of herbal tea. A peek into the tiny pantry revealed a half-empty box of chocolate graham crackers just begging to be liberated. He put on her electric kettle. The appliance interested him; the only other person he knew to have one was his mother.

  Waiting for the water to boil, Sean took in his surroundings. Her kitchen was small, but clean. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling in a corner of the room, and on the kitchen table sat an unopened box from Amazon.com. Curiosity drove him to check out the other bed-room. Turning on the light, he saw the room was basically bare, apart from an odd little table at its center and a bunch of giant candlesticks. Drawing close to the table, he saw a goblet, a white-handled knife, and a small bowl filled with ashes. There were also fresh flowers, two candles, and an old cracked, five-pointed star. He pic
ked it up and turned it over in his hands. He’d seen these stars before. They had to do with heavy metal music or Satanism, he thought to himself grimly. Mildly perturbed, he tossed the star back onto the small table. What was the deal with the white-handled knife? The kettle buzzed and he jumped.

  “Sean?”

  He’d woken her up.

  “Just making some tea,” he called out. He turned off the kettle and poured the hot water into the cup. His chest now felt tight with anxiety. Between the vegetarianism, the herbs, and now this, he was having a hard time picturing Gemma hanging out with his friends. She just didn’t fit in. Not only that, but she owned her own business. Were he still a stockbroker, it wouldn’t be a problem. But some of the guys at the firehouse could be real pricks about this stuff. He could hear it already: You pussy-whipped, Kennealy? Does she give you an allowance? She your sugar mama or what?

  “Can you bring me some, too?” Gemma called.

  “Sure,” he replied, forcing himself to sound calm.

  “Bengal spice, please.”

  “You got it.”

  He extracted another cup from the cupboard as well as the tea in question. Tea steeped and ready, he picked up both steaming mugs and started back to the bedroom, acutely aware of his nakedness. He felt like the butler in a porn film.

  Propped up in bed, Gemma smiled as Sean came through the bedroom door nude bearing two cups of tea. “You should have woken me,” she said, eyes following him as he sat down atop the covers beside her. “I could have fixed you something.”

  “What? Yogurt pie? All you’ve got is yogurt and graham crackers.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. We could order in; the Indian place around the corner doesn’t close until one a.m.”

  “If I eat Indian food at this hour, I’ll be up all night with heartburn.” He shook his head, biting into one of the graham crackers he’d brought with him. “This’ll tide me over.”

  Gemma sipped her tea, the taste of cinnamon and cardamom making her mouth tingle. She turned to thank him; that’s when she noticed the pensive look in his eyes.