Unmasked by Kate Douglas Page B

groaned, thrust his hips forward, and she took him deep. His hands dropped to his sides as she worked more of his cock into her sweet mouth.
    “Fuck.” The curse slipped out on a whisper. He slapped his palms flat against the wet tile to stop the walls from spinning when the muscles of her throat tightened around his sensitive glans.
    “Shit. Holy, holy shit.” Mac squeezed his eyes shut. His knees went weak, his head spun. Cursing steadily, he leaned his head against the tile as his hips rocked forward into the hot, wet clasp of her mouth. Her teeth scraped the sides of his shaft and the muscles in his buttocks clenched. He struggled for control, but she hummed deep in her throat and the vibration was a shock of pure fire running the full length of his shaft.
    “Fuck. Oh . . . fuck.” His hips jerked and his climax boiled up and out. He tried to open his eyes, to watch her, to prove she truly existed, but it was impossible to fight the pulsing throb of orgasm. Just as the woman was impossible. There was no one kneeling at his feet. That wasn’t the flick of her tongue licking away the last drops of his seed. No, it was merely the most vivid sexual fantasy he’d ever had in his life.
    What else could it be?
    Legs trembling, breath heaving in and out of his lungs, Mac opened his eyes. He was alone. His cock lay soft and flaccid over his throbbing balls. He’d come without touching himself. Shot his load into an imaginary mouth and felt every lick of her tongue, every deep, sucking draw of her lips and cheeks.
    Still too damned drunk, definitely spaced, Mac stared at the empty shower in front of him. At the spot where the woman had knelt. Slowly shaking his head and seriously doubting his sanity, he scrubbed the stink of the long day off his body. Then he turned off the water and toweled dry with trembling hands.
    The scent of vanilla and honey teased his nostrils, but he refused to consider the connection. Half asleep, physically drained, he crawled into bed and turned out the light. He’d barely pulled the covers over his bare shoulders before sleep claimed him.

Chapter 2
     
    There it was again, that sweet scent that made him think of warm vanilla wafers. Crawling out of a sublimely sexual dream featuring his latest fantasy female—a dream that faded away as consciousness returned—Mac sniffed the air. Had the smell of cookies awakened him?
    He really wanted to get back to that dream.
    The room was still dark, but the same tantalizing sweetness he’d noticed earlier filled his nostrils. Stronger now. Closer.
    He reached for the lamp on the bedside table. A soft hand stroked his chest. Mac sucked in a gasp of air.
    Scrabbling for the switch, he flicked on the light and shoved himself back against the headboard.
    Blinking beneath the bright light, he stared into the face of a woman too perfect to be real—eyes so purple they sparkled like amethysts beneath thick, sooty lashes, and hair as black as night. Her skin was fair, her lips full and lush. If he’d dreamed her into existence, she couldn’t have been more perfect, and that was the only way she could have gotten here, because he sure as hell hadn’t invited anyone in tonight.
    “Who the hell are you?”
    She frowned. Her dark brows knotted, and two tiny lines appeared between them. “I’m Zianne,” she said, as if he should know. “Don’t you remember? And you are Mac.”
    She spoke with a soft accent he didn’t recognize, in a voice that was low and sort of raspy. Hinting of sex and secrets, it raised shivers along his spine.
    He shook his head. He’d been so damned drunk when he left Dinkemann’s place—had he met her somewhere tonight? He’d never had an alcoholic blackout in his life, but if this was the result, he’d definitely been wasting his time.
    He flashed on the fantasy he’d had in the shower. The same woman beside him in bed? No. That wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. He’d imagined that. Hadn’t he? Was he imagining her here,