Star Kissed: A Crane Series Romance Read online

  His sigh had more to do with relief than satisfaction. “I wasn’t sure how good a time you really had, last night being our first time together.” He sucked in another breath for courage. Since he had no idea what had happened, he was going to have to finesse the details out of her.

  “Our first time?”

  “As lovers,” he said. Surely he’d managed penetration. Never in his life had his body let him down that badly.

  “Right,” she said, shaking her head so her hair tossed about. He wanted to smooth it back off her face, but held himself in check until he knew more.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not much of a morning person.”

  He could let it go and forget about dragging the details of his performance out of her, but for some reason he really had to know.

  “I was just wondering, about last night, when we made love . . .” This was a lot tougher to talk about than he’d imagined. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone but Jen, he realized; he had no idea how to go about this.

  “Which part did you like best?” she cooed, that smug little smile annoying the hell out of him, as did the fact that she got the question in before he could. Damn it. Panic flooded his brain. He had no idea since he couldn’t remember a thing. Bluffing was his only option.

  “Oh, um. The part where you . . .” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “and the part where we,” he made another equally meaningless hand motion.

  “Mmmm,” she sighed, clearly interpreting the gesture and imbuing it with meaning. “Me, too. We were something, all right. I never remember coming so many times in one night.”

  Relief washed over him like an unexpected summer rain. Pure, cleansing, cooling. His pounding heart slowed. His panic receded. It was a tragedy that he couldn’t remember last night, but at least he’d satisfied this woman. More than satisfied her. All right! This Australian plan was already working out better than he could have imagined.

  “And you,” she said dreamily, her fingertips trailing down his chest to his belly, “well, I never knew American men could be so . . . creative.”

  When she got to the last word she did a pretty creative move herself and wrapped her fingers around his cock, which had already perked up nicely with all the flattering talk. She said they’d been spectacular together. Damn, he wished he could remember it. Maybe if he stopped trying so hard, it would be easier, or maybe if he started the day in his favorite manner he could bring it all back. He rolled her over until they were pressed together.

  “Think we can be just as good the second time?” he asked, kissing her.

  A tiny sound of pleasure escaped her lips as their mouths met. He let his hands stroke her sleep-warmed skin. Her shoulders, down her arms, up her belly to her breasts. They fascinated him, those generous mounds with the proportionately large nipples. He was dying to see them, taste them. So he did. Easing the sheet down her body caused a soft sigh that was a caress to his ears. They were gorgeous breasts. Tanned all over, the tips dark apricot. When he sucked a nipple into his mouth, unable to wait, her back arched and she reached her arms above her head like a cat stretching in the sun. He ran his tongue around her nipple, then sucked lightly, delighted to feel the peak harden against his tongue.

  Amazing he hadn’t remembered the touch and taste and responsiveness of her body. He must have been more tired than he thought. Her skin tasted warm and a tiny bit salty as though all her time on surfboards and in the sea air had imprinted her with the flavor and scent of the sea.

  “You taste like a mermaid,” he mumbled and felt the taut muscles of her belly shift as she giggled softly.

  She moved as sinuously as a mermaid, too, when he took his tongue down her belly and she groaned as his ultimate target grew closer. Her shallow breaths of excitement spurred him on and heated his blood so he thought of nothing but plunging into that wet, pulsing heat. Moving down the bed until his head was between her legs, he noted that her tan was smooth and even all over. He pictured her naked in the sun, imagined how the light would glint dark gold on the curls he was currently nuzzling.

  She was as plump and juicy and succulent as ripe fruit. When he licked her, he felt her quiver, felt her glory in her own body and her pleasure in her own sexuality. He toyed with her gently, building her up slowly, exploring her mysteries with lips and tongue and fingers. Her intimate flesh grew plumper and firmer under his ministrations. He licked at her, teased her, eased the tip of his tongue inside her, and her body pulled it into her like a riptide pulling an unwary swimmer. He was aching with the urge to let her suck his cock into her body in the same way. His own breathing grew harsh as he stoked her excitement. She was panting, moaning, her lower body making crazy figure eights as he swirled his tongue over and around her hot button. “

  “Now,” she cried, grabbing his ears and pulling. “Now!”

  As much as he wanted to feel her come right in his mouth, he wanted more to be pumping inside her body when she came, so he slid back up, grabbed one of the condoms off the night table, sheathed himself in record time. Considering he’d made love so recently, he felt as eager as he’d ever felt in his life. He was about to plunge into her in animal frenzy when he stopped himself. He never acted like an animal. What was wrong with him?

  Aching all over with the effort, he slowed down, kissed her softly and sweetly and eased himself into her like a lover rather than a madman. That lasted about a minute, then she started doing that crazy figure eight thing again and madness gripped him and wouldn’t let go. He plunged and bucked, driven half-mad by the scent of her, the sound of her, and the wild way she gripped him. She stayed right with him. Under him, while her panting grew loud and sweat sheened her forehead, she wrapped around him and they flipped, changing the angle but not the crazy speed now that she was in control. He felt the squeeze, watched her eyes grow blank, and doubted she was even aware that her fingers gripped his shoulders like claws, her short nails still managing to make respectable dents.

  He kissed her when she climaxed, taking her wild cries into his mouth. He flipped her again, thrust deep, rode out the aftershocks. Then she flipped them. For a wild second they teetered on the edge of the bed, but it was a losing battle between passion and gravity. Mark hung on to just enough sense to grab her hips and hold her to him so that when they hit the floor they were still joined. She fell on top of him with a laugh and even though the breath was knocked out of him, he laughed up at her.

  God, she was gorgeous. She leaned back, giving him a view that would be imprinted on his mind forever. Her position also gave him easy access to her sweet spot. He played her with his fingers, bringing her up again. As much as he wanted to drag the loving out, he couldn’t. When she came the second time, he was lost. Maybe his grunt wasn’t as musical as her cries of release, but it was heartfelt. He came deep inside her, burying his face in her neck when she slumped on top of him.

  In the five years he and Jennifer Talbot had been together, he’d never considered another woman. He’d imagined growing old, faithful and true to his wife through thick and thin, richer and poorer, sickness and health. Now he’d slept with someone new. Not only that, but it had been incredible. Even as he breathed in the wonderful fresh scent of the woman he’d met and bedded within twenty-four hours, he was conscious of a desire to get to know her better. To make love to her again and again. She was sweet, a little goofy, too gorgeous for words, and there was something about her that made him relax and have fun.

  He’d turned down all her offers yesterday to get outside and enjoy life, and forced himself to work. He’d spent more time wishing he’d said yes, than actually working, and since his reason for saying no was to keep his hands off the woman, it hadn’t worked anyhow. Today, he was going to make up for lost time. He and Bron were going to have some fun.

  “Have you seen the enormous bathtub in your bathroom?” Bron whispered in his ear, ending the question with a nibble on his earlobe. “It’s a good size for two people.”

  Oh,
she was fun all right. And that creative mind of hers didn’t stop at designing beach fashions. He ran his hands up her back, still slightly damp with the sweat of their mutual morning workout, and said, “I am a big believer in conserving water. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 4

  “Welcome to King’s Cross,” said Bron with forced cheer. “Where anything can happen.”

  She’d kept Mark as busy as she could manage today. They’d walked for miles, through the Botanical Gardens, around the Rocks, where they’d visited the market and she’d bought him a ridiculous sun hat with enormous koalas all over it, and he’d bought her a pair of earrings that only a half-blind Las Vegas showgirl could love. Then they’d taken the ferry across the harbor to the seaside suburb of Manly and lolled around on the sand, gone for a swim, and eaten fish and chips on the beach.

  They returned home and made love again, and she cursed Jennifer Talbot for taking one of the sweetest men she’d ever met and turning him into a cynic. He wasn’t a hardened cynic, though, and that gave her hope; he was more of a sweet, hurt darling with a cynical crust she was determined to break through. After all the shopping and sightseeing, and some pretty athletic sex, she was certain he’d crash and put his party plan out of his head. But he was both tenacious, she discovered, and tireless.

  She was cuddled against him, all but drifting into a nice early evening nap, his hand toying lazily with her breasts, when his hand suddenly stiffened as though he’d got a cramp and he said, “Where’s a good place to go tonight where the singles hang out?”

  So she’d pulled herself awake. She could tell him to get stuffed, and then he’d probably go off on his own, make a fool of himself, and drag home some dreadful tart who wouldn’t make him happy. Empty sex was never going to make him happy, she knew that already about him. She was going to make him happy. He was sweet, serious, decent, and she was already halfway in love with him. So, she’d chaperon him tonight and keep him out of trouble, and out of anyone’s bed but hers. When Cam had told her to babysit the Yank, he couldn’t have known how much Mark needed looking after, or that she was exactly the woman for the job.

  “I’ll take you with me. Some of my mates are clubbing tonight at King’s Cross.” An outing she’d already decided to skip in favor of a night in with Mark. What else could she do? At least she’d kept him so busy that he hadn’t mentioned anything about throwing her out of the house today.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ll never have a better tour guide to the singles scene,” she promised him cheerfully as she dressed. “These are my people. I can even give you the inside scoop on the ones you want to avoid.”

  That would be anyone with breasts, but she wasn’t going to give her plan away. So, instead of spending an evening in with a man she couldn’t seem to get enough of, she dressed in a man-hunting red mini dress, heels that damn near crippled her, and the ridiculous earrings Mark had bought her. She’d probably be mistaken for one of the hookers who worked King’s Cross, but at least Mark was going to notice her. He wanted a hot Aussie chick? He’d never find a hotter one than the girl right under his nose.

  And just to remind him that two could play the pick-up game, she shouted down the stairs to him, “Can you bring up my gold thong when you come upstairs?”

  He muttered something that sounded very grumpy and she tossed her head. A little of his own medicine would do him good. “Oh, never mind, I’ll get it myself,” she shouted back and headed downstairs.

  He stood at the bottom and waited for her, the thong a glittery wisp of gold in his hand. He did not look pleased. She took her time coming down those stairs in her killer dress and do-me-baby heels. If he didn’t know she was pantiless under the ridiculous dress, it wasn’t from lack of giving him a peep show. His mouth did open and close a few times as he watched her descend in her best imitation of a runway model, doing that pushed-forward thing with her hips. His desire for her was pulsing from him, but he never got any words out. His fingers clamped on her thong. Standing on the lowest stair put her eye to eye with him.

  “Am I going to have to break your fingers to get my underwear?” she asked softly, tossing her hair back and then teasing him further by licking her glossy red lips.

  “You’re going out like that?” he asked, sounding like a cross between a strict fifties dad and a man choking on his own lust.

  “Unless you have a better idea,” she said, giving him another chance to prove to them both that she was the woman he really wanted.

  “I just think you’re being a little obvious.”

  “I don’t waste my time on subtle. I take what I want, Mark.”

  She reached out and pried the glittery thong from his fingers, and, while he watched, she stepped into the thong and pulled it slowly up her legs. As she wiggled it in place she thought he was either going to start shouting at her or throw her down on the stairs and take her there. She really hoped for the latter, but after a struggle that had him turning an interesting shade of red and gripping his hands into tight fists, he turned away. Not only was she disappointed, but she’d forgotten that she’d sworn never to wear the gold thong again. It was horribly uncomfortable—the thong version of a hair shirt.

  “Now, before we go . . .” Mark gestured to the second bedroom where her belongings were strewn about.

  “Oh, no worries. I’ve got that sorted.”

  “You have? But we’ve been together all day.”

  She smiled. Since he thought she was so disposable, she’d let him see she had plenty of options, too. “Like I said. I live the singles life. I’ve got friends I can stay with.”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed fractionally and she watched a flash of possessiveness cross his face. Yes! She hadn’t missed her guess. He wasn’t into hook-ups. He was essentially a one-woman man. Bron intended, at least in the short term, to be that woman. He might think he was in control, but he’d soon find he was wrong. She did the ditching in relationships. She set the boundaries and decided when it was over. She and Mark were just beginning. She hadn’t nearly finished with him yet.

  Mark seemed to struggle for another minute.

  “You’re not jealous are you?” she asked him.

  “Of course I am.” He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in the pockets of perfectly creased khakis. This time he’d gone all the way to the sartorial wild side with a striped shirt. Yep, there really were two tones of blue in his shirt. The man needed her desperately, how could he not see that?

  “Look, Bronwyn. I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m having a hard time with this. I want you, and it’s killing me to think of you with other men.” He shrugged, and looked a bit lost. “It’s been a long time since I was on my own. I’m relearning how to be a single wild man, I guess.”

  If he’d ever been a wild man, she’d been raised by dingoes.

  “We slept together.” He glanced at her and she saw the banked passion glow like blue flame. Everything inside her quivered.

  “And it was fantastic,” she reminded him. Did he really think there was better sex out there?

  “Yes.” He stepped closer. “It was.”

  “We don’t have to go out,” she said, soft and sultry, feeling her body start to tingle with arousal.

  He stopped mid-stride, like he’d been bashed in the middle by a cricket bat. “No. I want to go out. I feel jealous. I admit it. But I’ve got to get over my middle-class American morals. You sleep with other men. I sleep with other women. That’s the way it is when you’re single, right?”

  “That depends on the man. And on the woman,” she said tightly.

  She wouldn’t feel hurt. She wouldn’t allow herself that weakness. He was struggling, trying to be something that wasn’t in his nature. She understood that just as she understood it was up to her to keep him true to the man he was. One day he’d thank her. For herself, she took lovers when they appealed to her, and the relationships lasted until they were over. But she’d never been a one night girl, or indiscriminat
e in her choices. She might have made a mistake with Mark, but she didn’t think so.

  They caught a cab to the Cross and walked around a bit. She got sly enjoyment out of Mark’s reaction.

  “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” she said after one of the bouncers at a strip club had done his best to entice them inside for a “fantastic show, mate.”

  He nodded, glancing everywhere at once.

  “This is Sydney’s version of a red light district, I suppose. But so long as you watch yourself, it can be a lot of fun. Lots of great clubs.”

  The neon lights made the whole area feel like a stage. A prostitute gave them a friendly greeting, two drunks leaned on each other as they staggered down the street, and a crowd of boisterous young guys ambled past—not at the staggering stage yet, but the night was young.

  “Probably a buck’s night,” she said.

  “Buck’s night?”

  “A party for a bloke getting married.” As they strolled past the bars and the peep shows, she tried to see it through his eyes. The area was cheesy and dilapidated, but in a cheerful sort of way. “Here we are,” she said as they reached the club where they were meeting some of her friends.

  “What do you want to drink?” Mark asked as they entered the crowded club.

  “A cosmopolitan, please.”

  He grinned at her. “Now that makes me feel right at home,” he said and headed for the bar.

  “Hey Ronnie, who’s the hunk?” Keili asked.

  Keili wasn’t usually one to run right up to her the minute she arrived. The woman was an acquaintance rather than friend, more enemy than ally. She had a nose for weakness sharper than a shark scenting blood, and an unfailing appetite for men. Especially men that Bron liked. Her handling of Keili would be critical in her campaign to keep Mark to herself. Not only for her own satisfaction, but for Mark’s protection. He could so easily be fooled.

  Keili was like a bluebottle, an attractive jellyfish floating by, seeming decorative and benign. But let her get skin to skin, and a man would endure brief but almost unendurable agony that could leave him marked for life. Keili was adjusting her push-up bra and tossing her hair around—the bluebottle getting ready to sting. Bron reached for the only weapon she could think of that would instantly annihilate Keili’s interest.