His clever mind wouldn’t miss the less than subtle displays of nesting.
And he wasn’t pleased.
“What is this?” he growled.
“My home.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, acutely aware that he’d left behind his jacket and tie. With his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of the chiseled muscles of his chest, and his dark hair ruffled, he’d never looked more outrageously male. A shiver shook her body as the image of licking her way over that smooth, caramel skin seared through her mind.
No.
She was not supposed to be fantasizing about the annoying puma. She’d spent too many years in that daydream. She forced herself to meet his burning gaze. “And I don’t recall inviting you.”
His hands landed on his hips, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights. “You had a home.”
“No.” She shook her head, refusing to be intimidated. “I was an employee who happened to live beneath your roof.”
He looked shocked at her blunt words. “That’s bullshit. You know my mother considered you family.”
Molly rolled her eyes. Of course he would try to use his mother to convince her. God forbid he actually said that he might think of her as family.
“But I’m not,” she insisted, turning to pace toward the mantel where she’d placed a photo of her mother and father. Her father had his arm around her mother’s shoulders and they were gazing into each other’s eyes with blatant affection. Loneliness sliced through her heart. “Not in any real way.” With an effort she turned back to Garrick, willing him to understand. “Tonight, when you and your mother light your family candle on the Noël tree, I’ll be alone.” Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “Next year, I want to light a candle with someone.”
He prowled forward, his presence seeming to shrink the already small room. “Don’t do this, Molly. We’ve shared five years together.”
“Through letters,” she snapped, ignoring the magic of their almost daily correspondence. She might have discovered the real Garrick beneath the composed Diplomat, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a flesh and blood lover who would share her life. The good, the bad. The ups and downs. To hold her during the night and stand at her side during the day. “While you were thousands of miles away.”
His eyes softened, and he reached out to lightly brush a finger over her cheek, his touch agonizingly gentle. “And yet I never felt closer to anyone in my life.”
Oh, his words…his gaze… Pleasure seared through her, her cat surging toward the touch of the male she considered her mate.
It was the logical side of her brain, however, that was currently in charge. With a deliberate motion, she brushed his hand away.
“The distance was safe. But as soon as you came home, you treated me like a stranger. You put up barriers between us.”
His expression became guarded. “That’s not true.”
“No?” Her voice revealed her pent-up pain. “How many times did I wait at the door for you to arrive, only to be treated with an aloof politeness when you finally made your rare appearance? Or how about when I invited you to take an afternoon to spend alone with me? Every time, you told me that you had too much work to get away.” She gave a shake of her head, feeling raw as she exposed just how deeply she’d needed him. “It might have taken me awhile, but I finally got the message.”
Ignoring her warning glare, he once again trailed his fingers over her cheek, tracing the line of her stubborn jaw.
“What message, Molly?”
Her cat clawed beneath her skin, desperate to reach the male she desired with every fiber of her being.
“I might be good enough to relieve your boredom when you’re far from home, but obviously I’m not the type of female you want to have an intimate relationship with.” She shrugged, pretending she wasn’t melting beneath the feathery stroke of his fingers. “That’s fine. I’ll find someone who does.”
Those honey eyes darkened to molten lava, and his expression went feral and hungry with the power of his beast.
“Any male touches you, Molly,” he snarled. “And he dies.”
And just to accentuate the point, he kicked the door closed with his boot.
CHAPTER 5
The fire, the heat, the madness that raged through Garrick was barely contained. Maybe it was because he’d thought about Molly for too many years to count. Or shit, maybe it was because he’d tried not to. Whatever the reason for the onslaught of desire, he couldn’t stop himself now.
As he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, he felt ready to consume her. And hell, anyone who might be foolish enough to walk into the room at that moment.
Her head back and her dark, velvety eyes pinned to his, Molly whispered in a pained voice, “Why are you doing this, Garrick? It’s not fair.”
“I don’t care about fair,” he nearly growled. “Do you?”
She didn’t answer him. “You had your chance and you lost.”
He bent his head and took her mouth—that perfectly pink mouth he’d dreamed about every damn night when his head hit the pillow—kissing her with all the hunger he’d been storing up and shoving away.
When he pulled back, her eyes were glassy and she was breathless. But she still managed to utter, “You lost me, Garrick.”
“No,” he said on a growl. “Never.”
He kissed her again, hungry and impatient, and pulled her even closer until her br**sts were pressed against his chest, and his thigh was wedged between her legs. And when he heard her moan, felt her tongue slip into his mouth, and her fingers slide into his hair, he felt his male’s stoic mind and his puma’s desperate heart collide. This was right. She was right. She tasted so warm and so sweet, and he knew that he could do this—kiss her hungrily, suckle at her lower lip, feel her taut ni**les brush his chest, revel in the sweet heat of her pu**y against his denim-clad thigh—all day and all night if she’d let him.
Desperate to know the feeling of her skin under his palms, he gripped the edges of her shirt and dragged the fabric up, up, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the thing over her head. Then he dropped it to the floor and took her mouth again. She groaned and raked her hands up his back.
He eased back an inch. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this, Molly?” he uttered against her wet lips.
“Oh, Garrick,” she whispered, a cry in her voice.
“How many nights I’ve touched myself, wishing it was you. Your hand. Your mouth.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Your wet pu**y.”
She arched her back, pressed her sex harder against his thigh. “Oh god, Garrick. Please.”
“Have you touched yourself, Molly?” he whispered in the curve of her ear as he pressed her back, groaning when he felt how wet she was, even through the fabric of her jeans. “Have you wished it was me? My hand? My mouth?”
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “In my bed. In the shower.”
Garrick’s puma growled and snarled beneath his skin. Just the thought, the image, of her lying back on her bed na**d. Or under the hot spray of the shower with her hands between her thighs, her ni**les beading, her h*ps swaying. It made him insane with lust. Fuck. She’d wanted him as he’d wanted her. He was such an idiot male. It was something he’d always known, always felt—but had pretended was nothing more than a casual connection.
And, like a true bastard, he had stayed far away to keep it so.
He drew back. No more. Not now. He wanted this—needed it. Needed her. Her touch, her taste on his tongue. With forced gentleness, he eased down the cups of her bra to reveal her heavy br**sts. For a moment, he just stared at her, every inch of him going hard and anxious.
“Damn, Molly,” he uttered hoarsely, his hands clenching with anticipation. “You are one beautiful female.”
Her eyes flickered downward. “No…”
“Yes,” he insisted, almost harshly. “Fuck yes.” He reached out and cupped her right breast, then ran his thumb over one puckered nipple. “The most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.”
Her breath caught.
“And I don’t deserve you,” he finished.
“Garrick,” she began. But when he bent his head and lapped at her other taut peak, suckled it into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, she said nothing more.
She was only gasps and moans, her hands fisting in his hair as her h*ps danced against his thigh.
Fuck, she was so responsive. So perfect. So right. So…
His.
His puma snarled, ripped at his chest with its claws. What was he doing? Thinking? Every taste, every goddamn touch, was like the hottest, most addictive drug.
As he suckled her dark pink bud into his mouth, flicked it gently with his tongue, he released her other breast and let his hand venture down, let it follow the warm trail to the wet treasure it sought. When his fingertips met denim and zipper, he made quick work of them. And, taking his mouth from hers for a moment, he dragged the offending fabric down over her hips, her legs and to her ankles, where she instantly stepped out of them. His c*ck pressing fitfully against his zipper, he drew back and stared at the vision before him.
The five-year fantasy come to life.
She was all soft curves, lightly tanned skin, and erotic wet heat, and Garrick didn’t know what he wanted to kiss, taste or f**k first. She had such a glorious body. Granted, he’d thought about it, imagined it a hundred times with his fingers wrapped around his shaft. But his imaginings were nothing to the reality. Heavy br**sts, berry-pink ni**les, small waist, shaved mound. All that, and the face and heart of an angel, besides.
It was no wonder then that he dropped to his knees before her.
Her eyes widened. “Garrick…what are you doing?”
“Worshipping you, Mol.” He dipped his head and lashed at the outside of her sex with his tongue.
She cried out. “Oh my god.”