Pleasures of the Night(16)
Author: Sylvia Day

To wake up on the sofa meant… It had all been a dream.

Aidan.

She heaved out a breath that was both relieved and sad. She finally remembered a dream in vivid detail, which was great, but so was Aidan. At least he seemed as if he was. And he wasn’t real.

JB continued his impatient kneading of her thigh. She took the hint and opened her eyes. The ceiling was lit with mid-morning sunlight. She sighed again, and her nostrils filled with the smell of fresh coffee. Turning her head, Lyssa looked for her mother, then froze in place, her breath seizing in her lungs.

Just a few feet away was a sight that filled her with awe. In the center of her living room, Aidan stood with legs spread wide, his powerful back glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he arched his body sinuously through a series of movements that looked like Tai Chi. With one major difference—Aidan was holding a massive sword that looked something like Excalibur. Her coffee table had been pushed aside to make room for his lunges and his wielding of the glinting blade.

She watched him with mouth agape, amazed at the beauty of his rippling muscles and the easy strength with which he held that impossibly heavy-looking sword. He tossed it easily to his other hand, working that side, displaying the same proficiency with that arm as he had shown with his dominant one. He moved silently, making no sound. Not even the rapid swing of the blade disturbed the peaceful morning silence.

As she admired him with ever heightening arousal, Lyssa wondered why the sight of a stranger with a wicked sword didn’t scare the shit out of her. Instead she was getting turned on. Seriously turned on.

Aidan turned at that moment, his blue eyes meeting hers, the intense concentration on his features melting into a devastatingly wicked smile. He winked, burning out every brain cell she had, and continued his routine.

"Morning, Hot Stuff," he murmured, his voice not even breathless.

"Hi," she whispered back, enthralled by the beauty of his honed warrior’s body and the feeling of contentment she felt at his endearment. He was pure, sexually charged male, and his blatant sensuality reminded her that she was female, with needs that had long been suppressed by exhaustion. Her n**ples peaked hard and tight, aching. Her skin flushed, making her hot, reminding her of his fever. "How are you feeling this morning?"

He arched a brow. "Great. And if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll show you just how great."

A tremor shifted through her. "Promises, promises," she teased, her voice husky.

"Don’t tempt me more than you already are. After spending the night with you wrapped around me, I’m more than willing to make you late for work."

Wrapped around him. Damn, that’s why she hated taking drugs. She wished she could remember that.

"How did I end up on the couch?"

"I carried you. I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you woke up. We have to talk."

Pushing up from the sofa, she ran a hand over her mussed hair and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t look tempting in the morning. She looked like shit. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was nine in the morning. "I have to take a shower. I have work in an hour."

"Go get ready," he said, his words tossed over his shoulder as he turned away from her again. "I’ll have coffee waiting for you when you come down."

She stood and stretched. "Thanks. There’s vanilla creamer in the fridge."

"Got it. And you like two sweetener packets, too."

"Uh, yeah…" She frowned at how much he remembered about her, then took the stairs.

It felt a little strange, the settled domesticity they were sharing, especially when the man she was being domestic with was half nak*d and waving a sword in her living room. But it was only slightly strange. Mostly it fit, soothed her, gave her a spring to her step and a higher lift to her chin.

She took her time in the shower, even though she knew she was going to be late. Stacey wouldn’t admit it, but she had been scheduling the first appointment a bit later than she let on, giving Lyssa time to get it together in the morning. Today Lyssa made the most of it, shaving her legs with extra care and then rubbing her favorite country-apple-scented body oil into her wet skin. As the pelting spray washed away the last of her grogginess, Lyssa started thinking about Aidan.

Aidan, the mystery man, who acted as if they had been dating forever and said next to nothing about himself.

He was right. They needed to talk, because she needed answers.

Dried and dressed, her mouth watering at the thought of hot fresh coffee, Lyssa found her living room restored to its former furniture arrangement and Aidan leaning like a sex god against the counter, laughing into the phone.

She paused, arrested by the sound, one that was both deep and light, and endlessly seductive. It was the kind of rumbling laughter that made a woman think of passionate play in bed, rolling and laughing amid warm tumbled sheets, lost in the moment.

His mouth curved on one side as he stared at her, his gaze dipping to cruise the length of her body, heating her blood. "Here she is, Cathy," he murmured, straightening. "All in one piece, and looking amazing."

Lyssa’s eyes widened. She’d thought he was talking to a friend. Maybe letting someone know he had arrived without trouble. She never would have guessed her mother.

She stepped closer, and he covered the receiver with his hand. "Sorry," he whispered. "I was going to ignore it. Then she threatened to call the police if you didn’t pick up."

Shaking her head, Lyssa collected the phone, trying to ignore the thrill she felt when their fingers touched. She turned away from him to hide her reaction. "Hi, Mom."

"What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing." She jumped as strong hands clasped her waist. Then firm, warm lips pressed against the side of her neck. She leaned backward, soaking up his attention.

"I’m sweaty," he whispered, stepping back. But his touch didn’t leave her. "We really need to talk, Lyssa."

She nodded her understanding.

"Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’" her mother chastised with unmistakable eagerness. "Who is Aidan?"

Lyssa thought about that a moment, and then, feeling impish, she thrust her h*ps back and brushed against Aidan’s cock. His breath hissed out between his teeth, and he released her.

"Cold shower for me," he muttered, heading for the stairs. "You’re paying for that later."

Laughing, Lyssa said into the phone, "He’s an old friend."

"From where? He sounds Irish."

"Delicious, isn’t it? I’ve always loved men with accents."

"Why haven’t I met him before?" Cathy asked in an accusatory tone.

"Long-distance. Besides, I’m old enough to have friends you don’t vet first."

"I want to meet him."

"I’m sure you do." Lyssa glanced at the clock. "Oh crap! It’s ten. I’m due at the clinic. I gotta go."

"Lyssa Ann Bates! ^Kfou can’t—"

Dropping the receiver in the cradle, Lyssa turned too quickly and knocked her purse to floor. She retrieved it and was about to toss it onto the counter when a twinkle of colored light drew her eye. It was then she noted the slim, jewel-encrusted volume on the counter below the bar. For a moment, Lyssa could only stare at it in awe. Then she gripped her purse tighter with one hand, while reach-ing out tentatively for the book with the other. Lifting it, she revealed another beneath that one, though the second volume lacked ornamentation and had only a worn, leatherlike cover.

She wasn’t a jeweler, didn’t even own that many pieces of jewelry, but she knew, just knew, that she was staring at something priceless. Guessing the age of the odd, almost-material-feeling paper and seeing the foreign text, Lyssa couldn’t help but wonder what these books were doing outside a museum. She examined every page of the jeweled volume, ran her fingertips over every illustration, and understood nothing. But the worth of both books was firmly established in her mind, which left a troubling question—what was Aidan doing with them?

Suddenly the oddness of his unannounced appearance at her door, feverish and without luggage, wearing clothes far too big and telling her far too little, struck home with enough force to make her gasp and lean against the breakfast bar.

Who the hell was the sword-wielding man in her shower, and what the f**k did he want with her?

* * *

Chapter 9

Determined to tackle her gorgeous problem head on, Lyssa took the stairs two at a time. She sprinted into her room just in time to catch a still wet Aidan stepping nak*d from the bathroom, his arms lifted to towel-dry his hair, his pectorals and abs flexing in a way that made her mouth water. She skidded to a halt. "I… you… you’re… Oh man… yum…"

She sputtered into silence as he grew hard right before her eyes.

He heaved out a sigh, and his arms fell to his sides. "I just got rid of that."

She swallowed hard, images flooding her mind of how he might have done that. Water beating down, soap-slick hands stroking the throbbing length of him, pumping with a primitive rhythm until he spurted his lust down the drain. She knew how that beautiful c*ck felt in her hands, how thick and hard it was when erect. Shit, it looked great pre-hard-on. How many men could say that?

He has a freckle on his right hip.

Her gaze flew to the spot, and her mouth fell open at the sight of the tiny little brown circle. Then she pulled herself together. She could have taken note of it in the shower. Remembering it didn’t mean anything.

"Don’t worry" His voice, low and husky, slipped into her musings. "There’s more than enough left for you."

God, she loved the way he talked, how open he was about his sexuality and his desire for her. Had he approached her this way before? In a club, perhaps, when she’d been younger? She had been wild in college, skating through her school day and partying hard at night. She imagined the scene—dressed in shorts and backless tank, leaning against the bar, shouting her drink order at the bartender so she could be heard over the pulsing music. Then Aidan’s hands at her hips, his erection at her lower back, his mouth to her throat as he had done downstairs. Before he led her away…

Was that how it had happened? She tried so hard to recall. Regardless, her body remembered his, even if her mind didn’t.

He moved toward her with silent grace, one arm circling her waist, his other hand thrusting through her wet hair, angling her head to better fit her lips to his. He took her mouth with lush, deep licks of his tongue, making her shudder and clutch at his wet back.

"What are you thinking about when you look at me like that?" he asked in a voice dripping sin.

"Huh… ?" She wasn’t thinking about anything; he’d fried her brain with that kiss.

"How dirty was the sex?" He tugged her h*ps into his, making certain she felt every hot, throbbing inch of him. His large hand cupped the back of her head; his mouth brushed against her ear. "Was I f**king you yet? Or just about to?"

"Aidan…" she moaned, tormented by her lustful body and his raw, heated seduction. "It’s so good between us, I can’t stop thinking about it."

Her eyes squeezed shut, her fingertips kneading restlessly into the hard muscles of his back.

"The best," he said hoarsely.

She nodded. "Is that why you came? To see if it’s as good as you remembered? Is this just a booty call sort of thing?"

Will there be more? Or just this? Already the thought of his leaving made her chest tight.

He tucked her flushed face in the crook of his neck. "No, no, and no. Do you have time to talk?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "I have to go to work. I’m late."

"Can I come with you?"

For a moment she paused. What was she supposed to do with him? She needed some distance so she could think. Maybe do some investigating. Call some old friends. See if anyone else remembered Aidan. "It would be better if I went alone. I’ll be busy, and I’m sure there are things you have to do while you’re in town."

"There are things you need to know."

You don’t date seriously, you’re not looking for a girlfriend, no attachments. It’s just sex.

"Please, Lyssa."

The strength of her deja vu was overwhelming. And painful. A one-night stand. That’s what they’d had. That’s all Aidan wanted.

He leaned back. "Don’t shut me out. Listen to what I have to tell you."

She looked up at him, saw the brief flare of longing that he quickly hid with a crooked smile, and knew she had no choice. "Yeah, get dressed and… Crap. You don’t have anything to wear." Lyssa wrinkled her nose. "Any idea when the airline is going to deliver your stuff?"

Then she thought about their situation, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know where I lived?"

"You told me," he said simply, his hands stroking down her back.

"You should have called before you showed up."

He nuzzled his nose against hers, rubbing his body all over her. "I know."

"How long are you planning to stay?"

"I haven’t thought that far ahead," he murmured, his mouth brushing back and forth across hers.

She sighed, too tired to fight the feeling that she belonged in his arms. "We have to go. I’m going to be so late."

Aidan nodded, pulling back to retrieve the sweats from where he’d tossed them across the unmade bed. He tugged them on first, then a wicked-looking pair of combat boots that self-sealed with a simple tap of his fingertips.

When he stood, she crossed her arms and shook her head. "Neat boots, but you can’t go out like that."

"Oh?" He arched a brow. "Why not?"

"It’s cold outside."

"I’ll be fine."

He was already damn fine with his luscious torso bared for all the world to see. A thick lock of dark hair hung over his brow, drawing attention to those beautiful eyes and sexy-as-hell lips. If they went outside with him looking like that, they would be mobbed by a pack of infatuated women.

Her lips pursed. "I’m not taking you around like that."