Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(100)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Maybe a little,” she conceded.

“I think more than a little.” He crooked his finger at her. “Come here where I can touch you. I don’ believe you’re wearing a bra under that shirt.”

She looked down and saw her ni**les pushing at the thin material. “Well stop looking.”

“I love to look at you.”

She took a deep breath. “My hair fell out.” She put her hand defensively on the cap.

He reached out and tugged on her sweats until she was standing between his legs. His voice lowered until there was almost a seductive note in it. “Take off the cap. Let me see.”

“I’m not going to let you see my bald head. Sheesh.” His voice alone could send butterflies fluttering through her stomach. He was just so-bad. He looked at her with his dark eyes and his sinful mouth and she couldn’t help the wicked thoughts sizzling through her mind. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not taking off the cap. Ever.”

He tilted his head, his hand skimming the ribbon of bare skin between her top and sweats. “Aw, cher. There’s no need to be like that. I’ve been fantasizing for the last few weeks about you being all sexy with no hair.” His voice dropped another octave. “When you lose all your hair, do you lose all of it? All over your body?” He dragged out the last word, making it sound erotic somehow.

She blushed. She never blushed, but he was looking at her as if he might eat her like an ice cream cone. His tongue actually licked his bottom lip as if in anticipation. Heat flooded her body. “You’re freakin’ nuts, Raoul.”

His fingers caressed her skin, slid down her hip to her thigh to massage her leg. “Are you bald everywhere, sugah?”

His whisper skimmed over her skin, featherlight, like warm breath. She could feel it deep inside her where need pooled. She swallowed a protest. His hand found its way around to her bottom, kneading through her cotton sweats. He shifted in the chair, calling attention to the huge bulge at the junction of his legs.

“You cannot be turned on, Raoul. You can’t be.”

He took her hand and guided it to the front of his jeans. “I beg to differ, this here is a hell of a hard-on, cher, if I do say so myself.”

She should have snatched her hand away, it was the only safe thing to do, but he was pressing it over the long thick bulge, and despite herself she let her palm rub back and forth. He closed his eyes and drew in his breath, pleasure smoothing away the lines etched so deep-lines that hadn’t been there before he’d brought her to the compound.

She had to do something to break his spell, otherwise she was going to forget what she looked like and jump him. “Before you get too comfortable there, Cajun man. I seem to recall telling you what I was going to do to you if my hair fell out.”

He brought her hand to his mouth before leaning down to remove his boots.

Flame stepped back, one hand to her throat as he peeled off his jeans without even a blush. He was hard and hot and very erect. He grinned at her, unashamed of his obvious need. “I brought the knife, cher. It isn’t rusty. but it’ll do.” His hands went to his shirt buttons, slowly opening the shirt.

Flame shook her head. “No way. I meant it, Raoul. No freakin’ way.”

“Just let me see,” he coaxed. “I had more than one fantasy about shavin’ you all clean and soft so you feel every lick of my tongue.”

The way he said it, the way he looked, sent shivers down her spine. In spite of herself, she was getting hoc “I’ve been sick for hours. I can’t very well get crazy with you.” She backed up until she was against the small bed side table, the bed looming large in her vision.

He was closer. How did he get closer? She didn’t ever: recall him moving, but there he was, his hand slipping under her shirt to cup her breast, fingers gently rolling her nipple. “You don’ have to do a thing, I promise. Just let me see.”

He could make her weak without touching her, but the moment his hands were on her skin she was afraid she was lost. Didn’t he see her? She felt very vulnerable, almost afraid. She knew her sexuality wasn’t tied up in her hair, but how could she feel sexy and exciting when most of the time she was so sick all she could do was hug the toilet? She had a port in her chest, and not a single hair on her body. She was bald, bald, for heaven’s sake. He was looking at her, touching her and responding to her just as if she were the most beautiful, sensual woman in the world. Was it possible to fake that look in his eye? The dark sensuality, the intense hunger and raw desire? Could that be faked?

Flame’s body trembled and she looked so damned fragile Raoul bent forward to brush a kiss against her soft mouth, wanting to reassure her. Her eyes were dark and filled with shadows. He kissed her again because he had to. He’d dreamt of her mouth often, so soft, so sexy. At night when he lay alone in his bed he thought of her taste and texture. The memory wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing. He licked along her bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth, teasing with his teeth until she made that soft little whimpering sound he loved-her first real sign of surrender.

Catching the edge of her shirt he gently pulled it over her head. He could see the line Lily used to put the medicine directly in her vein. It was up near her collarbone. He ran his finger lightly along her bone and down to the swell of her br**sts.

“Does it hurt?”

Flame shook her head. She couldn’t look away, trapped in the heat of his gaze. She could only stand there trembling, watching his face closely, while he tugged on her sweatpants. She was terrified that he’d be as repulsed as she sometimes was by the sight of her na**d body. She wouldn’t be able to take that. She didn’t know if she could take it if he wasn’t. She felt so exposed, her body completely open to his inspection.

“Mon Dieu, cher, you’re so damned beautiful I’m going to embarrass myself.” His hand absently stroked the length of his erection. There was no shyness, no modesty, he hardly seemed aware of his actions.

Flame could see the glistening moisture on the smooth, broad head topping his thick shaft. He couldn’t fake that. He wanted her with that same intensity, that same need, he’d had weeks earlier when she had hair tumbling around her face and she felt confident as a sensual woman.

Gator dropped to his knees, circling her h*ps with his arms, dragging her closer so that she had to steady herself with her hands on his shoulders. “You’re so sexy, cher.” His voice was hoarse, his hands sliding down her h*ps to part her thighs. He leaned forward to press his mouth against her bare, silky-smooth skin.