Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal

She cried out, bit her lip as the shudders tore through her like shards of colored glass. When he groaned and thrust deeper, harder, she held him tight, felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He moaned, deep in his throat, then his body convulsed with his release.

He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Closing her eyes, she slid her arms around his neck and smiled.

It took a few moments for Sam to regain any sort of order to his brain. With his breathing still ragged, he rolled to his back, bringing Kiera with him. She lay over him like a rag doll, her head on his shoulder, her warm, soft breath fanning his chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies.

Reality slowly came back. They were in his bedroom, on his bed, their clothes tossed on the floor. He could still hear his blood pounding in his temples, though not quite as loudly as a few minutes ago.

He stilled when he saw the impressions on her arms left by his hands.

“Dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” she mumbled without moving.

“I was a little rough.” He felt like an idiot, losing control like that with her. “I should have been more careful.”

“Did I act like I wanted careful?” She slid her hand up his chest.

Gently, he traced a fingertip over the marks on her arms. “You may have a bruise or two.”

She raised her head and rested her chin on her hand, gave him a sultry smile. “You may have a few yourself, mister. Maybe I should have been more careful with you.”

He grinned at her. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

“I love a challenge.” She slid her hand down his chest, then his belly. Her smile turned wicked. “You may live to regret those words.”

He hadn’t a chance to answer, couldn’t have come up with anything witty even if she had given him a chance. But the second her hand closed over him, his brain locked up and his body took over. When she brushed her lips across his stomach, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

“I see we’re off to a good start,” she murmured, touching her tongue to his skin.

He couldn’t have agreed with her more.

When he woke, the room was dark, the bed beside him empty. His brain was thick as mud, his throat dry and coarse. He rose on one elbow and winced, realized he must have pulled a muscle in his bad shoulder.

But at least he was alive.

Barely.

Frowning, he sat, scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook the cobwebs from his brain and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He glanced at the bedside clock: 8:57. He swore, irritated that he’d lost over an hour sleeping.

And given Kiera an opportunity to escape without an argument.

Any other woman, any other time, he wouldn’t have been annoyed. Hell, it had always been easier if he’d been alone when he woke up. Usually, after he made love to a woman he didn’t have a great deal to say, and he sure didn’t want to deal with the emotional expectations some women built up in their minds.

But this wasn’t any other time, and this sure as hell wasn’t any other woman. Without question, Kiera was one of a kind. Sexy, funny, confident, and yet strangely innocent at the same time. He’d never met anyone like her in his life. He rotated his shoulder, preferring the sharp pain of a tweaked muscle to the strange, dull ache in his chest.

Tossing the bedcovers off, he sat on the edge of the mattress, spotted his slacks at the foot of the bed, had barely yanked them on when he stilled. The amazing smell of warm chocolate wafted in from the other room. His first thought was one of relief that she hadn’t left, but then he frowned, couldn’t imagine that under the circumstances she had ordered room service.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he moved to the bedroom door, felt his heart slam against his ribs when he caught sight of her.

She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt. She hummed softly, her arms elbow-deep in dish soap bubbles. He leaned against the doorjamb, took in the endless length of sleek legs, the curve of her bottom, her shiny black hair tumbling down, resting on her shoulders. How could he want her again so soon? he wondered. They’d fallen into bed nearly an hour ago, and all he could think about was dragging her back.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. At some masculine level, he felt a profound sense of satisfaction simply watching her. He glanced at the oven, couldn’t imagine what she was baking in there, especially considering how little food he kept stocked in his cupboards. But if there was a kitchen in heaven, he thought he’d just stepped into it, complete with his own gorgeous angel.

He pushed away from the doorjamb and moved toward her. “Smells good.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiled. “Wait till you taste it.”

He came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m busy here, buster.” But she leaned back against him with a sigh.

“I’m busy, too.” He nipped her neck with his teeth, felt the shiver move through her. “Don’t mind me, you just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m washing the bowls and utensils I used.” She’d tried to sound impatient, but her tone was more seductive than clipped.

“Used for what?” he asked, but he was much more interested in that little spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.

“I felt like baking.” She wasn’t even pretending to wash dishes anymore. Eyes closed, she’d tilted her head back and laid it on his shoulder.

“What do you feel like now?” He nibbled on her earlobe, then slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, traced the curve of her hips with his palms.

The steady, high-pitched beep, beep, beep of a timer rudely interrupted.

Damn.

Straightening, Kiera shook her arms free of bubbles, grabbed a towel sitting on the counter and moved to the oven. He watched her open the door and pull out a tray holding two coffee mugs.

His irritation at being interrupted shifted to amazement. A steaming dome of chocolate bubbled around the rim of the coffee mugs.

“I hope you like soufflé,” she said, setting the tray on the stove top.

Soufflé? He furrowed his brow. She’d made soufflé?

“You don’t have much in your cupboards or refrigerator.” She bit her lip. “But I found a few eggs, some sugar packets and pats of butter. I had the chocolate bar in my purse.”

He stared at the coffee cups in disbelief, still trying to absorb the fact that she’d actually made soufflé.

“It’s better hot.” She picked up a spoon from the counter and handed it to him. He scooped out a bite of the dessert and tried it, felt an explosion of chocolate pleasure on his tongue.

Good Lord. Too stunned to speak, he simply stared at her.

“I realize I should have left,” she rushed on, twisting the towel in her hands. “But it’s still a little early and I was worried someone might see me.”

“You baked this,” he finally managed. “In my kitchen.”

She shifted uneasily. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” He stepped closer to her, tugged the towel from her hands and tossed it on the counter. “Ahalf-naked, sexy woman makes me the best damn chocolate soufflé I’ve had in my entire life and you think I would mind?”