Sweet Liar Read online

  “You don’t just turn me down, you turn down all men.”

  “I’d rather be safe than—” She stopped talking because she was now up against the east wall of the living room.

  Standing very close in front of her and not allowing her to get around him, Mike leaned closer. “Why did you divorce your husband?”

  “I hardly think that’s any of your business.” When she tried to move away from him, he put one hand on the wall on each side of her head.

  “Why, Sam?”

  “It’s not—”

  “Maybe it’s not any of my business, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “Incompatibility,” she said quickly, but was not able to meet his eyes.

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “Unlike you. You can lie—”

  “Why, Sam?”

  “He…”

  “He what?”

  “He had another woman!” she flared at him.

  “Then he was a fool,” Mike said softly. “Why would he want another woman when he could have you?”

  She looked away from him, but there was gratitude for his words in her eyes. “I’ve told you, so please move your hands.”

  “Yes, I’ll move my hands,” he answered as he grabbed her into his arms and began kissing her. Using all her strength, she tried to get away from him, but he held her to him. “What happened to you, Sam?”

  “Leave me alone, please,” she whispered, not looking at him.

  “Did you turn to him in the night, but he wanted nothing to do with you?” As he spoke, she still struggled against him. “The bastard. He was all worn out from someone else, wasn’t he?”

  Ceasing her struggles, she glared up at him. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? He slept with her twice a day, but he never touched me. Me, the sexless one. I’m the cook, the cleaner, the little money-maker, but I’m not—” When she couldn’t continue, Mike kissed her. “No, please let me go.”

  “Why should I let you go?”

  “Because I don’t want—”

  “Don’t want to make love with me? Like hell you don’t. You’ve wanted me from the first day we met, but you’ve acted as though you hated me. I didn’t—”

  His words were silenced as his hands roamed over her body, over her breasts, down her thighs, her throat, her arms, between her legs. But Samantha stood still, rigid, unmoving, willing herself not to respond to him.

  “How long can you hold out against me, Sam? If I do this?” Bending his head, he kissed the top of her breasts, and it was no difficult matter to pull the stretchy fabric down over one breast as he gently took the peak in his mouth. “Or this?” Moving his mouth downward, he caressed her breast with his thumb.

  “Please…” she whispered, eyes closed, head back against the wall.

  “Please what? Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything you want, anything.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “Anything but that.” His lips moved down her body, down to her waist, then back up to her face while his hand moved under her top, his long fingers on the skin of her stomach. “Please, Sam. Don’t hold back.”

  “I can’t.”

  Kissing her ear, one hand on her breast, the other inching up her thigh, his hand slowly moved up under her skirt. “What do you want? Tell me. Gentle? Sweet?”

  Suddenly, he pulled away from her and looked at her face, at her closed eyes, at the expression of control she was wearing, as though she was determined to contain herself.

  “No,” he said. “You want what I want: Sam, I need you.”

  At that he grabbed the front of her panty hose and pulled at the same time that he somehow managed to unfasten his trousers and drop them to the floor.

  It was at the feel of Mike’s hands on her bare flesh that made Sam’s years of pent-up desire come to the surface. One moment she was standing still, unresponsive, self-contained, and the next her hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere on him, tasting his skin, licking, sucking, clawing.

  For just a moment, he was startled by her, startled by her sheer hunger, then his mouth was on hers, his hands grabbing at her, responding to her with the same need that she was exhibiting.

  Abruptly, Samantha stopped moving as a sense of déjà vu overtook her. Looking up at Mike, she half expected him to be Richard and to be wearing that bored look, that half-asleep look, that Richard had always worn when they were in bed together. But he wasn’t her ex-husband, this man was Michael, and the expression on his face was of desire and longing and need and…caring, caring that she receive as well as give. He looked like she felt.

  Understanding her thoughts, Mike said, “It’s me, Michael Taggert,” as he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back to apply his teeth and lips to her throat. “And I’m a different man.”

  When he picked her up to set her down on his manhood, Samantha nearly cried out, but she wrapped her legs about his waist, locked her ankles, and hung on as he pounded into her, her back against the wall. Stroke after deep, deep stroke, she held on, her nails biting into the skin of his back, her mouth sucking on whatever part of him she could reach.

  When he finished and gave her one last thrust before limply collapsing against her, his head on her shoulder, she almost screamed in frustration, but she kept her noises to herself and hugged him to her.

  Pulling away from her, Mike looked into her face as though searching for an answer. “Sorry, baby, I wanted you too much. The next one is yours.”

  Although she had absolutely no idea what he meant, she liked it when he kicked his trousers off and carried her up to the bedroom to stand her by the side of the bed. She liked it when he undressed her and kissed her breasts. When he removed his shirt and held her, skin to skin, he kept looking at her, as though he expected something from her.

  At last, frustrated because she had no idea what he wanted, she said, “Michael, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how.”

  “Baby, there is no how. There’s no right or wrong, except maybe making your partner feel bad.”

  “I don’t want to displease you. I want—”

  Very gently, he kissed her breast. “You like that?”

  “Yes. Yes, very much.”

  “Tell me if I do something you don’t like.”

  Kissing her all the while, he ran his hands over her thighs, but he still seemed to want answers that she didn’t have. “But I like all of it,” she said at last.

  Halting, hands on her hips, Mike looked at her in disbelief. “You’re afraid you’ll do something to me that I won’t like?” His incredulousness sounded in his voice. “Okay, try me. Start touching, start kissing. Whatever you want to do to me, you may. I’m yours.”

  Anyone else might have laughed at his words, but not Sam. Years of Richard saying, “Not there. Men don’t like to be touched there.” Or, “That’s not the way to touch a man, don’t you know anything? Most women your age know this stuff. Why don’t you?” had made her wary. Her ex-husband had made her shy and uncertain from years of trying to remember his rules.

  “I…I guess I would like to touch you.” When Mike just stood there staring at her, she said, “Is that all right?”

  Mike kissed her softly. “And people doubt if there’s a heaven. There is and it’s here in this room. I’m yours, baby.”

  Holding her hand while she remained standing, he stretched out on the bed, but Samantha couldn’t look at him. The front of him was too…too intimate, too private, and his eyes kept watching her. Seeming to read her mind, he turned over, face down, so she could look at him in comfort.

  Tentatively reaching out, she ran her hand over his shoulder. There was one dim lamp on in the room, and it made Mike’s honey-colored skin glow. With his face turned away from her she could look at him to her heart’s content, look at and touch the full, long, nude, muscular length of him.

  He was the most perfectly formed man she’d ever imagined. He was movie stars, men in underwear commercials, guys