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His climax hovered, threatening and promising.
Somehow, he found the strength to grab her wrist. “I’m losing it here.”
She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “No kidding?”
Obviously, she was enjoying herself. Only fair, he supposed, since he was rapidly approaching ecstasy.
He stripped off his underwear, then leaned forward, pinning her to the mattress with his body. The feel of her against him from chest to hip was intoxicating, stimulating, somehow forbidden, even though—or maybe because—he was naked and she wasn’t.
He felt dominant and predatory. As if she were his to possess and ravish.
Until she wrapped both legs around his waist.
Who’s in control now? her expression seemed to scream.
In silent answer he leaned back and yanked her dress over her head in one smooth motion, leaving her wearing a lacy red bra and the matching miniscule panties. As she lay back on the bed, her wheat-colored hair spread out around her head, her gaze locked on his, he rose, standing between her legs.
Heat rolled off her. Need vibrated within him.
He laid his index finger on the top of her shoulder, then slid it down her body. Her skin glowed with sweat and gold-specked sparkles. How did women manage that? How did they find ways to glow and shine in moments of elemental need?
He paused at the front clasp of her bra and, with a flick of his fingers, popped it open. She arched her back, as if trying to press her breasts against his hand. He moved her bra aside, flicking his thumb across her nipple. She sucked in a breath and cupped her breasts, offering them to him.
Leaning forward, he dipped his head and laved her nipple with his tongue. She moaned, and he repeated the movement, teasing the tip to a hard peak. When her breathing grew labored, he straightened and slid his hand down her stomach. He liked stimulating her. He liked the needy look in her eyes. He liked…controlling her response.
A flaw maybe. But one he wasn’t willing to admit to or relinquish.
He trailed his hand across her abs, then moved down, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, just as she’d done to him.
“You’ve been there once. I thought it was your turn.”
“It is.” He bunched the panties in his fist, then jerked them down her legs. “Eventually.”
But he’d been dying to taste her all night, and he certainly wasn’t missing his chance.
He drew his tongue down the center of her rib cage. The teasing smell of strawberries and chocolate tracked his journey, and he knew she must wear some kind of scented lotion or perfume. Her soft, creamy skin seduced him. Her sighs encouraged him. Her body welcomed him.
When he reached her navel, he dipped his tongue in the indention. Her stomach contracted. In anticipation, he hoped.
As he slid his fingers through the hair between her thighs, the musky scent of her essence washed over him. She was wet, her longing evident. He slid his tongue gently down her center. She clenched her thighs and sighed, but his hunger for her had been building, so he wasn’t long on patience. He wanted his name on her lips, wanted to experience every part of her, absorb her inside him.
They might be virtual strangers, but she’d never forget him.
He teased her with gentle flicks, but she soon grew restless, her body jerking, her fists clenching the bedcovers, her head thrashing from side to side.
Sensing what she needed, he increased his pace, no longer teasing but bringing her the satisfaction she seemed to crave. When her hips pumped and she called his name, his body answered, his erection throbbing, demanding its pleasure.
He watched her. And his command over his body buckled.
As her pulse subsided, he scooped his pants off the floor, found a condom and rolled it on. He fitted himself between her thighs and drove inside, desperate to catch those last few contractions.
Her eyes flew open and fixed on his as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her inner walls squeezed him.
Lucas panted so he wouldn’t explode at the exquisite feel of her. He withdrew, then surged forward again, and she gripped the comforter as her hips rose to meet him.
He hadn’t even turned down the sheets, he realized. Sometime between the balcony and the bedroom, he’d lost those precious manners he’d bragged about. But there was no holding back now. He didn’t give a great damn about manners as sweat rolled down his back and Vanessa writhed beneath him. He increased his pace, Vanessa’s hips pumping in response. His climax roared through him, and he drove harder, wanting her with him when he went over the edge. She stiffened, then pulsed hard around him.
As he collapsed on top of her, he was already planning ways to keep her, to probe her mind as well as her body and unravel the mystery as to why she’d struck him so hard, so immediately.
Right between the eyes.
“HOW ABOUT DESSERT?”
Lucas rolled to his side, propping his hand against his head. “That wasn’t dessert?”
Eyes closed, her red bra parted but still on, Vanessa’s lips curved in a smile. “That was fantastic.” She paused. “But I’m still hungry.”
He drew his finger down her side. Food wasn’t exactly what he was hungry for, but he could be patient. “My fridge is pretty bare. I only moved in last week.”
One eye cracked open. “Last week? The place is spotless. Where are the boxes, the furniture you haven’t found a place for yet, the bubble wrap piled in the corners?”
“I had a service unpack everything while I was at work.”
“That’s…efficient.”
“I don’t believe in wasting time.”
Her eyes popped open fully, meeting his gaze with amused satisfaction. “I kind of got that.”
He liked that he could lie here with her and talk like old friends. Where was the awkwardness of strangers taking the premature leap to intimacy? Why had his desire for her increased instead of being satiated?
He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “However…there are moments when taking your time is much more satisfying.”
“Like with a soufflé?”
Completely charmed by her, he kissed her lightly. “Among others.”
Wondering if her cry of hunger was mingled with a need for distance, he rolled off the bed. After sliding on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walked into the bathroom and pulled his bathrobe off a hook, then laid it at the foot of the bed.
He had to make a conscious effort not to go any closer to her. She made him long to crawl into bed for a day. And even then he wasn’t sure his hunger would be satisfied.
“The bathroom’s all yours,” he said, extending his arm toward the open French doors. “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need.”
She propped up on her elbows. “The service provide that, too?”
He smiled. “Of course. I’m a very good customer.”
He left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, hoping he had something that would satisfy a chocolate-loving caterer. He found cheese and grapes and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. As he set out glasses and plates, he reflected on the fact that Vanessa Last-Name-Not-Provided was his first guest.
At some point, he’d planned to have a few key people at the firm over for a cocktail party, but the past week had been spent immersed in learning office procedures, client lists and potential clients. This job was his first time working for someone else in nearly a decade. He needed some time to get acclimated before he hosted the partners.
When he heard the shower running, business flew from his mind. He found himself anticipating the scent of his soap on Vanessa. Her skin, soft, warm and wet from the water, he’d part the robe and kiss the side of her neck, sending her pulse racing.
She appeared at the end of the hall moments later, bundled in his robe, but a wary expression was set on her face.
Perhaps seduction should wait.
“Wine?” he asked her, holding up the bottle.
“Sure.” She sat at the bar and glanced down at the plate of food. “Empty fridge, huh? I was expecting stale chips and old Chinese food.”
“I was referring to my lack of chocolate. I’ll have to fix that if I want to keep you around, I expect.”
She selected a fat green grape. “This is great.”
Noting she didn’t respond to his invitation to stick around, he made the decision to keep things light, not to probe too obviously for details about her life. It would only take a simple phone call to find out the identity of the lovely blond country-club caterer.
As he slid onto the bar stool next to her, he handed her a wineglass. “Considering your exceptional skills in the kitchen, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She sipped the wine, nodding with approval. “How do you like Atlanta so far?”
“It’s fast. The traffic is murder.”
“A bit different from New Orleans, I bet.”
His hand clenched around the stem of his glass. “What makes you think I’m from New Orleans?”
She shrugged. “Earlier you called Mia chère. Then me, in the hall. I just figured you were from there.”
He hadn’t even been conscious of the endearment. A troubling thought. It made him realize how much Vanessa had affected him, distracted him. As he searched for the right answer, he took a drink. “I practiced in New Orleans, but I’m not originally from there.”
“Oh, well, the accent is nice. Don’t get rid of it.”
“You mean like those diction classes?”
“Yeah. Pretty ridiculous.”
He’d spent much of his life hating his accent, and he’d modified his speech a great deal. Only a trace remained, just enough to be identified as Southern. Just enough to appeal to a sympathetic jury. How would Vanessa feel knowing that?
Not complimentary, he was sure.
“How old are you?” she asked, choosing another grape.
“Thirty. You?”
“Twenty-seven. Did you always want to be a lawyer?”
I wanted to survive. “No. I sort of fell into it.” I got arrested.
She held up her hand, indicating the posh apartment. “But obviously you found a niche. You’re a big success. Are your parents proud?”
“My father died when I was young. My mother’s proud, though.” At least when she’s coherent.
She laid her hand over his. “I’m sorry about your dad. My father and I don’t always get along, but I can’t imagine being without him.”
The half-truths he was telling bothered him. He wanted to be honest with her. He wanted to share his pain, his struggles. But he suspected her background was far more upstanding than his, and he wanted her too much to risk her rejection. “Did you always want to be a caterer?”
She grinned. “Not specifically. I wanted to cause trouble.”
He raised his glass to her. A kindred spirit. Maybe that was part of her appeal. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” When she angled her head in question, he elaborated, “Let the good times roll.”
“Exactly. My family has…” She glanced down at her glass, then back up to him. “They have a traditional idea of how a proper Southern lady should live her life,” she continued, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m not traditional.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It is in my family.” She sipped her wine. “Anyway, I don’t mind being covered in flour, sweaty and wearing jeans. I was drawn to the fast pace of restaurants, then I got sucked in by the instant gratification—”
When he leered, she nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Gratification of cooking. Feed people, and for the most part, they’re happy. I turned out to be a good chef.” She angled her head. “I’m a great pastry chef, to tell you the truth.”
“I know. I got a taste, remember?”
She licked her lips. “I remember.” Her hand danced toward the plate, then she drew back. Her gaze locked with his. “I’m sometimes impulsive to my own detriment.”
“Like tonight?”
“No. Yes. I don’t normally go this…far. Something about you just got to me.”
He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “I know the feeling. I was at the party to network, not find a woman who’d knock me on my ass.” He cupped her jaw. “There are no rules here, Vanessa. I won’t put you down for being nontraditional.”
“Thanks.” She squeezed his wrist. “Really. Just thanks.”
He sampled a wedge of cheese and let her have a moment to recover. He also didn’t want her to see how much he wanted to violently shake sense into her family. “So what happened after you caused trouble?”
“I moved out. I got a job. I went to culinary school. I got the tattoo, and my mother was humiliated and furious, but she realized I was serious about—” Her eyes popped wide. “I never saw your tattoo!”
During the heat of their connection, he’d forgotten about it. “How could you have missed it?”
One hand lying on the back of his bar stool and the other gripping his thigh, she leaned close. “Where?”
“Before, you wanted to know what.”
“So where?”
He grinned. “I’m available for show and tell anytime you are.”
She jiggled his thigh. “Come on, Lucas. Tell.”
“I’ll show instead.”
