Pearls of Passion Page 2

her. Literally.

  She hoped.

  “It’s Valentine’s Day,” she said. She ran her finger down the side of his arm, enjoying herself when the muscle there twitched. “Be my Valentine, Robert.”

  “Valentines.” He repeated the word like it was foreign, sounding it out syllable by syllable. Couldn’t he see the need pouring through her? The fear of rejection, mixed in equal parts with red-hot desire, was making her shake from head to foot. She’d never taken such a risk in her life.

  Then a horrible thought struck. She didn’t think so, but. . . “You don’t have a Valentine already, do you?”

  Robert shook his head. He seemed dazed, the books still clutched in his hands. A slight frown gathered between his dark-winged brows. Sabrina wanted to smooth it with her fingers, was dying to touch him again, but this one crucial point had to be settled first.

  “Robert?”

  “What? No, I—no.”

  Relief made her giddy. The humiliation of making such an overt move on another woman’s man would have destroyed her. But now. . .

  She knew he was attracted to her. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension emanating from his body. She wanted so much more than sex from him, but if physical attraction got the ball rolling, she could be content with that. For now. She refused to think about what would happen to her heart if it ended there. No. She would focus on now, tonight.

  The fluorescent lights didn’t do much for setting the mood, but Sabrina wanted to see him in their blue-white glow. She wanted him to see her. She wanted the familiar, musty scent of books, old and new, to meld with the musk of their bodies, intertwined and heaving. She wanted to walk in this library every day for the rest of her life and see the two of them, just there, in her mind’s eye. To feel the passion rising and smile a secret smile every time she sat behind the counter.

  When Robert leaned close to her to set his much-reduced pile of books on the counter, black wavy hair falling across his forehead, it was all she could do to keep from leaning over and taking a bite out of him. She angled into him instead, pressing her breasts into his side and reveling in the instant flash of heat that sprang from his body. It was only fair—her own already felt like a volcano about to erupt. She tucked her head into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, breathing deep.

  Mmmmmm. . .

  God, he smelled fantastic. Like hot, dark nights, cool mystery and carnal sin wrapped together in one delicious package. All man.

  “I—I need to close up,” he said, not moving away from her, but making no move toward her, either. Was the man paralyzed?

  “Robert,” Sabrina said on a sigh, “don’t you like me at all?”

  That got his attention. His head shot up and his eyes, so deep and blue, snapped to hers. Electricity arced between them, the jolt so intense she nearly gasped aloud.

  “Don’t I like you?”

  He turned fully toward her, his hands grasping the sides of her face. The look in his eyes said he was about to ravish her mouth, and her pulse kicked hard, triumph and need in one heavy beat, but when he finally moved in, it was by slow, torturous degrees. He kept his eyes open on hers, the drowning depths of them sweeping her away as his lush, soft lips finally met hers in a testing kiss.

  Slow, achingly slow, and sweet, and soft. Sabrina thought she might die from the sheer beauty of it. He brushed her lips with his, once, twice, three times, each one a hard, low pull in the belly, and all she could think was finally, finally, finally.

  “Don’t I like you?” he whispered, and slid his hands into the fullness of her hair. He moved between her splayed thighs and pulled her into his body, her skirt riding higher and higher. She wondered if he realized yet that she was bare underneath, that her naked core was pressed tightly to his, every line of his blazing erection branding her through the fabric of his conservative, good-boy trousers. The sensation sent her spinning, so hot she nearly came.

  “Don’t I like you?” he asked again, and dove. His mouth fused to hers, his tongue plunging between her lips to stroke her own, mirroring the feel of him against her most secret place. Heat radiated through her body like molten gold. She took her breaths in panting gasps, her heart galloping in her chest. She wanted his hands on her, and hers on him.

  “I’ve wanted you for months.” Robert growled the words into her mouth, sending shivers coursing down her spine. He traced her lips with his tongue, nibbling along their edge before diving inside for another taste.

  Sabrina recognized the moment when she lost control of the situation, when he became the aggressor, and gloried in it. He wanted her, and the proof was pressed to her, stoking her fires to flash point. When he tore off his wire-rimmed glasses and tossed them on the floor behind the desk, she couldn’t stop the moan. Hello, Superman.

  She slipped her fingers between their bodies and worked the top button of his shirt loose, then the next, and the next, while his hands traveled the length of her back, smoothing her through the satin. He ran his fingers through her hair, fisted his hands at the small of her back, pressing her closer, closer, as though he wanted to absorb her into his body. She reached his belt and pulled the shirt free, pushed it open to splay her hands across his chest, delighting in the strength, the smoothness of his skin, the sheer masculinity.

  The plan had been to get Robert a little worked up, enough to finally finagle a date. Maybe even progress to a passionate night together, if she was lucky. But now, under the harsh lights and in full view of the unlocked library doors, Sabrina tossed the plan out the window in favor of oh-God-yes-please-now. Her body ached in all the best places, need driving her beyond her usual inhibitions. She didn’t care if the entire rest of the staff walked in at that moment. They could pull up a seat, grab some popcorn, but this man—he was hers. Now.

  Tracing her fingers around his sides to his back, Sabrina pulled him even more tightly to her, nearly crying with need, but instead of sinking into her, Robert pulled back. His eyes, hot and piercing on hers, contrasted exquisitely with his hands, gentle but insistent on her shoulders, making her shiver. He laid her back on the counter.

  Bereft of his heat, Sabrina shivered again and reached for him, her eyes glued to his. But Robert captured her hands in one of his and, leaning over her, held them captive above her head on the desk. She moaned in her throat, frustration, desperation making her squirm.

  “Robert,” she whimpered. She wanted to feel him!

  “Sabrina,” he whispered back, his voice smoky and teasing, and she wanted to force him closer, make him touch her.

  But then he kissed her and she forgot everything, even to breathe, as their tongues mated and teased and she went wet and slick, the tension and excitement spiraling out of control.

  How she’d dreamed of this. He was so much more than she’d dared to hope.

  Robert broke the kiss. His eyes, mere inches from hers, blazed with heat, with desire for her. Pushing up, he stood before her, his eyes following the motion as he traced a path down the front of her blouse with one hand, his other still holding both of hers captive. She shuddered in the wake of his palm, the craving in her nipples so intense she didn’t think she could bear it another moment.

  His hand wandered over her torso, stroking up and down and sideways, warming the satin until the fabric itself seemed to scorch her skin, coming ever closer to where she wanted that touch the most. He teased the undersides of her breasts, first one, then the other, then came back to lightly squeeze. She arched, thrusting her nipple into the center of his palm, wanton, commanding, the feeling so powerful she wanted to weep. He let go of her hands, and she reached for him, but he stopped her with his eyes. He was in charge. Only he could touch.

  For now.

  The restraint required was unimaginable, another form of sweet torture. The desire to touch him, hold him, grew nearly painful as he continued to tease and mold her breasts with his hands. She fisted her hands in her own hair, pulling at the roots to keep from grabbing him and lapping him up where he st
ood, from throwing him to the floor and mounting him, riding him like a rodeo bull.

  “I want—”

  “I know,” he said.

  “But I need—”

  “Shhh. . . ”

  Her nipples moved beyond ache to painful tingling, demanding. She could see them rising higher, tighter, harder beneath the red satin, begging, begging, until finally he was there. A feather’s touch first, drawing a moan from deep in her throat, then a glorious, firm stroke. Electric shocks shot through her body and she cried out with relief, and again when he took both nipples in his fingers and squeezed.

  And pulled.

  And squeezed again.

  Robert rubbed his cock between her legs, his erection like steel against her, and rolled her nipples with his fingers. Sabrina mewled mindlessly, thrashing on the desk, her hips pumping, the passion riding her so fiercely she feared she might shatter right there in his hands. When he took one plump, throbbing nipple in his mouth, she screamed, a high, keening shriek as she came, her hands clutching his head, fingers twisting into his thick, dark hair. He chuckled against her but only moved his lips to suckle the other nipple while his fingers continued to torment the first, no time for recovery, and the spirals began again, coiling deep in the pit of her belly.

  Robert reached for her hands, still clenched tightly in his hair, and moved them back above her head. Sabrina wanted to curse