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“None for me.”
“Me, either. Good.”
She had the shiniest eyes he’d ever seen. He couldn’t even figure the exact color for the gleam. Green, but some brown, too. Smart eyes. Sparkling and intense. And she wanted the same thing he did—sex. He felt a rush of freedom. He was a lucky man.
He slid his mouth over hers and she opened to him, surrendering, melting against him with a sigh. He kissed her deep, wanting in. And she met him with the same urgency.
Desire tightened in him. He shoved a hand between their bodies to flick open her jacket and get at her breast, running his thumb over its knotted tip under the blouse and her bra, moving fast, frantic.
She squirmed against him, then gripped him through his pants. He moaned into her mouth. They staggered a little. They were groping each other, moaning, gasping, knees buckling, acting as if they hadn’t had sex in a long time.
Which they hadn’t.
She broke off the kiss. “If we don’t get inside, my neighbors will call the police…or start videotaping.” She grabbed his hand and he let her tug him forward to her back door and into her kitchen. “Do you want coffee or a drink or some water?” she gasped, pulling at him.
“No. You?”
“God, no.” She hurried them onward. He got an impression of granite counters, glass-fronted cabinets and smelled cinnamon, coffee and some summer fruit, musky and sweet.
Kylie led Cole down the hall toward her bedroom, feeling carnal and wild, just rushing to bed like this. Maybe they should talk a bit. She turned to speak, but Cole kissed her desperately, as if they’d traveled too far without contact, and her doubts slid from her mind like butter from a hot knife.
Cole took charge, nursed the lust, feeding it like a fire so that it swelled and roared between them. Hot chills raced up and down her body and her knees gave way. She needed something to lie on. The bed. If she could…just… make it…there.
She broke off the kiss and tugged him the few remaining feet to her bedroom and then to the bed.
Cole shoved her jacket off her shoulders and to the floor, then grabbed for her blouse buttons. Normally, she’d want to show off the lovely peach-lace bra and panties ensemble she wore, but not now. A primitive message pounded through her… Clothes off…now. Lie on bed… now. Through him, too, it seemed by the way his fingers shook and his breath came harsh and quick. He unclipped her bra, ripped it off and flung it to the floor, then cupped both breasts in his hot hands. The man wanted her so badly he’d practically torn her clothes to get at her. That made her feel powerful.
And weak with lust. She had to get horizontal. She leaned back to fall onto the bed. Cole caught her, though, and reached below her to toss open the bedspread, making pillows fly. One knocked the silk arrangement from the bureau, another made the lamp wobble. “Sorry,” he said.
“I don’t care.” Wreck the place…whatever. The part of her that was careful and thorough and efficient and thrifty seemed to have drowned in desire. She fell to the bed and dragged Cole with her, yanking at his shirt, while he massaged her breasts and she squirmed under him.
In the end he had to unbutton his shirt for her. He tossed it into the darkness, tipping something over, but she didn’t care. She had what she wanted—his naked chest hot against her breasts. He kissed her mouth again in that slow building way, then went lower to run his tongue across a sensitive nipple, one blessed bump at a time.
Oh, oh. Wow. She wanted more of this. More sucking, more licking, more kissing, more nudity. There were still so many clothes, she realized in despair. They’d kicked off their shoes in the earlier madness, but Cole still wore pants and they had her skirt, hose and panties to contend with.
Cole lifted her torso to get at her zipper, but it jammed. This was the one that got stuck.
“Just rip it,” she gasped. “It’s broken.” Well, nearly. And it would be after this.
He looked at her, dark eyes lust hazy, making certain she meant what she’d said.
“Do it. Really.” The faulty fastener stood between them and blessed nakedness.
Holding her gaze, Cole jerked the skirt with both hands. The zipper gave with a dangerous-sounding rip.
“Good,” she said and his eyes flared.
He yanked her skirt off her body, dragging her stockings, too, deliberately using force. He was stripping her. As if nothing could keep his hands off her—not a polyester sure-lock zipper, not Hanes Her Way control top panty hose, not her satin panties, which would have to be cut off, but she did not want him away from her body for a single second. Even though she knew exactly where the scissors were.
He jerked her panties down—almost as satisfying as if he’d shredded them with his teeth—then studied her sex, slowing everything down.
She trembled under his attention, the pleasure in his gaze conquering her anxiety about the way her stomach retained fluid and tended to look bloated, no matter how many crunches she did.
He ran his fingers down her stomach and brushed her pubic hair, setting her newly on fire. She had to touch him, too, but he still wore pants. She went at his belt. He helped her and after a few fumbling seconds, she gripped the lovely length of him.
He moved into her palm, solid velvet. “That’s good,” he said, his dark eyes host to an electrical storm, lightning strikes of lust crackling in their depths.
He slid a finger gently into her cleft, along the side of her clitoris with perfect indirect pressure. Men sometimes rushed to get there and startled the poor thing. He coaxed her higher and tighter and she squirmed under him.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered, longing for that full, tight, glorious sensation.
“I want you on top so I can watch,” he said.
“Sounds like a plan.” She loved how easily they’d declared what they wanted. She rose on her knees, aware of his anticipation, the appreciation in his gaze, and guided him into her slick interior.
He went deliciously deep, filling her to her cervix and she moaned, a long, desperate sound that didn’t even embarrass her. Instead, she did a slow twist on his cock, pushed forward, then back, in an erotic rhythm that made him close his eyes with a groan.
When he opened them, they were on fire. He reached for her breasts, so she bent forward to give them to him. “You’re so beautiful…you feel so…good.” He was fighting to speak, she could tell, struggling to reassure her, which was thoughtful.
When he sucked a nipple into his mouth, she could only make noises and half words, riding his shaft with frantic jerks. The sensation was exquisite—the tight, wet pull on her nipples, the full friction of his shaft moving in and out, brushing her swollen clitoris. It was wet and wiggly and wonderful and almost more pleasure than she could stand.
He gripped her hips and guided her faster, moaning, his eyes rolling back, though he was trying to maintain eye contact with her. She loved that she’d made him crazy, so that he jammed into her with all his might, banged her cervix with sweet force, dug into her hips with his fingers.
She felt him tighten like a stallion collecting its power for a jump, so she knew he was about to come. She increased her pace, wanting to push him over the edge, wanting the power of forcing him to climax.
But he stilled and looked up at her, holding her with his gaze while he deliberately pressed his thumb to her button.
“Oh, oh, oh.” She stilled, then rose high and jammed downward, pierced by a new heat. She pivoted wildly on him and her climax tightened, ticked, ready to explode. Cole was in charge and she was surprised she didn’t mind at all. In fact, it was a relief to just let go and let him do her, stroke her, push her over the edge.
She opened her eyes to look at him, to let him know how grateful she was, how surprised.
“Kylie.” The way he said her name made something inside her give way. Like a breath she’d held too long, a muscle she’d tensed to the point of pain.
Her climax arrived, distracting her, and she cried out, rocking helplessly, lost in sensation, in release, in joy. At the same moment, he pulsed into her. Their climaxes collided like storm-brewed whitecaps that collapsed into a rolling wave that swelled, then lapsed into ebbing ripples of pure bliss.
Kylie fell onto Cole’s chest, panting for air. “That was incredible,” she said, feeling his heart pound against her ear.
“Incredible? Is that all?” His voice was husky with amazement and humor. “I think we violated the laws of physics in there somewhere.”
“I think you’re right.” She snuggled into his chest, slid a leg between his, their mingled fluids making their bodies deliciously slippery.
He wrapped his arms across her back in a soft caress. She wiggled in, eager for a few moments of rest. “I really needed that,” she said, the proof in the deep, pleasurable peace she felt. “I’ve been under a lot of strain lately.”
“I can imagine. With closing out your business.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever…” Had sex this good. Felt this comfortable with a man. Something about Cole tempted her to blurt intimate truths. She remembered how he’d said her name, the look on his face. I’ve found you, Kylie. You belong to me. We belong to each other. Worse, she’d liked it. She’d wanted to rest in his arms, let go of something. What? What was she holding on to so tightly?
“You don’t know that you’ve ever…?” Cole repeated. She realized his fingers, which had been tickling her skin, had stilled.
“…been so ready,” she finished lamely. She’d been thinking crazy thoughts.
He released a breath. Was he disappointed? Then he chuckled. “Then let me say how lucky I feel to have been handy.” He shifted so he lay on his side looking at her. She did the same. “That was impressive for a first time.”
“It was, wasn’t it? We were in perfect synch.” It was so startling she almost felt like she’d dreamed it.
Feelings crossed his face like wind-blown clouds. You amaze me. I want you again. What’s going on here?
She felt the same. And it scared her.
Cole’s lips moved, about to say something too personal, she’d bet.
Please don’t ruin this. We had a deal, she thought.
“I should let you get some sleep,” he said matter-of-factly, relieving her of that worry. He shifted as if to get up.
She had to grin. She’d used that line herself to escape to her own bed. “Don’t rush off on my account, Cole. We could go again in a bit.”
She watched the idea register. That would be great. Followed quickly by, Better not. “I promised you just a couple of hours,” he said and kissed her before leaning across her to squint at her clock. “One-thirty. You can be asleep by two, and get five hours of sleep before seven.”
“Lie here at least until your heart stops pounding. I don’t want you to pass out in my driveway.”
“Sounds nice.” He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling with pleasure, his breath soft on her face. In the late-night blackness, his face seemed familiar, like someone she’d looked up at in the dark for years.
He rolled onto his back and pulled her onto his chest, wiggling into the mattress. “This feels good.” He made it sound like a guilty pleasure. Which was exactly what it was.
She cozied onto his chest, feeling more relaxed than she’d felt in months. A man like Cole could be a joy to have around. They were as compatible in bed as they’d been in conversation. She could get used to this.
Again, that odd pain speared her. Sadness. Loss. Where did that come from? Then she remembered. She’d been five and they were moving away from her best friend Patti. It hadn’t been the first move, just the first that hurt. And the last.
That final day she and Patti had played all day. All their favorite games, breakfast through dinner at Kylie’s, joined at the hip, giggling hysterically at everything, squeezing out all the fun they could to the very last minute. Then Patti’s mother came to pick her up. They’d looked at each other and burst into tears. Please don’t go, Patti had cried desperately, her face scrunched with pain. I can’t stand you to go.
Kylie had felt so lost and helpless in the face of her friend’s agony, which mirrored her own, that she felt a sharp pop inside her, like the sound of the garden beans she snapped for her mother. Don’t let it in, don’t let it hurt. That had been the lesson. Kylie had learned it well.
She must be stressed if she was drumming up childhood hurts while lying in a delicious postcoital doze with a lovely man who’d loaned her his body for these few glorious hours.
She kissed his cheek and nestled in, but her tension was back. What if he fell asleep and stayed all night? She had work to do. They’d made a deal.
In the morning when she woke, though, Cole was gone. Relief rushed through her. The knocked-over silk flowers were back on her bureau, her bedspread folded at the foot of the bed, the scattered pillows placed neatly on the bedside chair, and she smelled French roast in the air. He’d made coffee, bless his heart.
And written her a note, she saw when she padded to the kitchen. Thanks for a lovely encounter. Good luck in L.A., Cole.
What a thoughtful guy. She liked his handwriting, with its heavy, even strokes. They reminded her of—her gaze snagged on the grocery list she’d clipped to her refrigerator—her own handwriting. They wrote the same.
She felt a sharp jab in her side. She missed him, for heaven’s sake. So silly. Probably due to the fact that she was moving away, which had unsettled her in secret ways, she’d bet.
She would miss Janie, for sure, though she’d been too busy with K. Falls PR to spend much time with her sister. Janie had been consumed by Personal Touch, too, for that matter. Kylie would miss her business, too. Candee, her assistant, a part-time student, planned to go to school full-time, so she would be fine when Kylie closed her doors. But Kylie would miss her and her clients, her office, the work itself.
Pointless nostalgia. She had a plan and a purpose and she would stick with it. The great sex had just caught her off guard, softened her defenses. She poured coffee and sipped the musky brew—Cole liked his coffee strong, too—and grabbed a pint of low-fat yogurt for energy. She had to get busy.
Her mind wandered to the night before.
That was impressive for a first time. Oh, yeah. She remembered his fingers on her body and an electric chill raced through her. If only he were still here.
Eh, eh, eh. Be sensible, girl. She prided herself on that. Going to L.A. was sensible, too. Cole had agreed with her. He’d put it perfectly: You have to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gains. Just a few words from him had boosted her confidence in her decision. Cole understood ambition and hard work, making plans and implementing them.
The flickering doubts that licked at her had to be the uncertainty of starting over somewhere new, along with the fear of screwing up at S-Mickey-B. The stakes there were high. Janie, with her psych degree, would be proud of Kylie’s insight.
Now about Kylie sleeping with Cole…Janie would not be pleased. It was pretty outrageous and Kylie would not leak a word of it. She’d been a stand-in date several times. But none of the other guys had been like Cole.
Her mind wandered to a memory of him looking up into her eyes while he touched her sex, and she shivered. That had been delicious. She’d have to send Janie some fresh roses as a secret thank-you for the gift she’d accidentally given her—great sex with a fabulous man and no complications.
Well, except for this tickling wish to see him again. Would he call? Did he remember her firm’s name? He could always call Janie and ask for her number. But that would tip her sister off—a bad idea. Maybe she should call him first. What was the name of his firm?
Stop it. She’d had a rejuvenating one-night stand, and that was enough.
Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman. She remembered. Damn.
4
JANIE GALLOPED around her office, spritzing air freshener like a mad woman skywriting in scent. Her last client, Tony of Tony’s Import Auto Repair, had trailed the aroma of gasoline, and she needed the perfect atmosphere for the magazine writer due any minute. His story would rescue her company, she hoped, so the place had to smell like success. Or at least not like a garage.
She took a deep sniff. Still a tang of metal. Candles! Candles would fix it! In seconds, she’d arranged a rose-cinnamon pillar and three lilac-rosemary votives in an attractive clump on the far corner of her desk.
The first two wooden matches snapped in half and the next two burned out, but the fifth worked and soon four golden flames glowed in red and lilac pools of wax. She brushed the match stubs into the wastepaper basket, then waved the Arizona Weekly over the candles to spread the aroma before dropping the newspaper into the trash, too—it was a competing publication, after all.
The candles’ scent radiated outward, but too slowly, so she grabbed the stepladder out of her supply closet and climbed it to mist the AC vent with freshener.
A tap at the door to her left made her jump down, but before she reached the knob, the door flew open, revealing her visitor—a man holding a notepad, a camera over his shoulder. Definitely the reporter from Inside Phoenix.
“Sorry to bust in,” he said. “There was no one out front.”
Gail chose the worst times to disappear. At least when she returned she generally brought in a new client or two.
“No problem. I’m Janie Falls.” She switched the spray to her other hand and reached to shake his.
“Seth Taylor.” He had a nice grip and startling blue eyes that gave her an up-and-down just this side of decent, which sent a charge straight through her.
He was handsome, with a cocky smile, longish hair and the beginnings of golden stubble emerging from a strong jaw. Why did he have to be hot? She needed full focus to give him the best possible impression of Personal Touch.
“Have a seat,” she said, managing to sound gracious. She motioned toward the guest chair beside her desk.
He headed there with a lazy grace, his washed-out jeans cupping his behind like friendly hands. He sat and rested a foot in worn athletic shoes across his other thigh. Confident, carelessly groomed and sexy as hell. In short, he was just her type. He reminded her of Jason, the firefighter who’d headed for Alaska when things got comfortable between them.
She’d declared a moratorium on dead-end relationships for as long as it took to get Personal Touch in good shape and until she was emotionally mature enough for the real thing. She had no idea how long that might take.
Her reaction to the reporter was just a vestige of the old urge. An automatic physical response. Nothing she could do about that. She headed for her desk, determined to show no crack in her armor.
Just as she passed him, the reporter said, “Uh, Jane?”
