скачать книгу бесплатно
“You know everybody here.”
“You’re the only guy I haven’t slept with. Small town, you know.”
“So you’re not The Girl. You’re The Girl With a History.”
“Okay. Maybe not everybody,” she conceded.
“Definitely not everybody.”
“How would you know?”
“You haven’t slept with me.”
She’d never been so glad to hear heavy metal. For Ari, it conjured images of old men in leather pants eating bats on stage before they destroyed their own guitars, but this guy could dance to anything. What a workout! She was suddenly glad Paulie didn’t allow anything touchy-feely on his jukebox because this guy might suddenly announce he could freaking waltz.
He was reaching for his tie now, too. A bad sign. It should have meant something red with exclamation points like Wrong Way! Or Stop! Instead, it was just turning yellow and flashing, saying Trouble Up Ahead. And who didn’t know that already? “You are formal for Paulie’s,” she yelled as those maddening, fluid hands tugged off the tie in a seamless gesture, looped it around her neck and used the ends to pull her to him.
Suddenly, she wished they’d met in work mode when she looked more respectable. Then she kicked herself for wanting to impress him. That was this guy’s appeal, right? He seemed too at ease with himself and living for the moment.
“I don’t usually party like this,” she suddenly screamed, but the words were lost. “I’m trying to be good!” There it was again, her approval seeking. It meant something deep inside her, something over which she had no control, was responding to this guy, and she wanted him to...like her.
“You aren’t going to be good in that outfit, sweetheart.”
Sweat beaded and slid down her cleavage, and when he used an end of the tie to dab at it, she wound up yelling more nonsense about the holidays, her nutso family, the new place in Raleigh and her workload, and of course, next month’s Unwelcome Incident. The Final Incident.
Frowning, he yelled, “You like your work?”
“Love it!”
He looked a little appalled, which was strange. Most men saw dollar signs when she said she liked work, but he only waved a hand as if to say, to each his own. The tie he was using to clean up her neck was pure silk, and suddenly she gasped. The fingers tracing her neck, skin on skin, felt even more silken than the tie.
Bending, he yelled, “I don’t know if I’m staying here.”
Relief flooded her. He wanted her to know he wasn’t up for LTR. Good. But why was he here? Because Ari hadn’t had time to get her hair done, she hadn’t talked to Mrs. Eli who owned the salon, and who would have filled her in on the town’s latest gossip.
“In town for the night?” She couldn’t hear the response, and by the end of the next song, he’d danced her into the darkest, most isolated corner, between the bar and jukebox. The next conversation started with a super long leg pushing between hers, guiding them apart, bringing a sweeping sensation of warmth. Glancing around, she leaned against the jukebox. No one was watching. He was whispering something, but she didn’t know what, just something every bit as dark as it was promising. And it was only a promise. The Big Lie. Already, she was imagining the morning after when she would admit he wasn’t going to be The One. Already, she was telling herself it was the twenty-first century and nobody was looking for The One.
Teeth caught her earlobe in a bite that was a little painful, yes, but oh so pleasurable. A playful tug, then a quick, hot, flicker all the way down her neck, turning into teasing kisses just inside the collar of her blouse. Suddenly, her nipples tightened, aching as her blood raced, and she was imagining kisses in places more intimate. Her breasts, yes. But mostly right where the hard ridge of thigh was creating such steady pressure. Her chest rose, her breasts swelling, as if for his touch, and she gasped as he responded, his arms tightening, wrapping around her chest, stealing her breath. Shuddering, she had no doubt he could unbutton complicated garments with his teeth, and in her mind, she was imagining him doing it. Her blouse was falling to the floor, her bra opening, those hands stroking...
Then he kissed her on the lips. The firm hard pressure felt heavenly. It was just the kind of kiss she craved. The kind that said, I’m the boss, I’m the man, and I’m going to make you come whether you want to or not. He was all tongue now. All creamy, hot, wet flutters pushing her toward the edge of a cliff, making her teeter on a precipice. She fought not to respond, but she had to, just a little, to relieve herself on that blessed ridge of thigh. It was just one stupid kiss not some vista over a canyon! Not some precipice! She was just imagining the stupid, freaking canyon! It was The Big Lie again! She didn’t even know him!
The ministrations of his tongue inside her mouth were pushing her into a smoky space, where everything was like the music, thumping and pulsing. She was tumbling into nothingness, until suddenly, everything came to a halt, and she thought, Don’t stop! Not now!
He left her hanging, wanting it so bad...until she was wondering what else he could do if he could make her feel this way with only one kiss. With a next liquid dart of his tongue came the explosion of butterflies in her belly, and the jitters shook her until she was achy all over, the pang at the apex of her thighs clamoring. Feeling strangely helpless, she curled her hands around his shoulders and squeezed, then she moved her hips again, gasping at the sweet friction.
She knew he could feel the burst of liquid heat through his slacks, her tights and panties the only other barrier. Nobody was spying on this dark, back corner, but it wasn’t the right place to melt onto the warmth of some stranger’s thigh, or to be swept into his embrace.
Some jerk turned on the lights.
It was sort of a relief. But also just as she’d predicted. The Big Lie. The broken promise. The coitus interruptus. This new man, this stranger, this prince had been so promising. Ready to take her by storm and make her believe in fairy tales again. No matter what heights she attained in other areas of life, maybe she’d never stop craving the fantasy of being swept away by sensual pleasure.
“The harsh light of reality,” she whispered hoarsely. Dammit, her short-lived attractions to men were legendary, but this had been the most promising first kiss coupled with the fastest letdown. She realized she’d probably ruined her voice tonight, too. She couldn’t afford to do that, she really couldn’t.
He whispered, “Shut your eyes. It will help you reenter the fantasy.”
So, he was a mind reader, too. Possessed by her usual demons, she followed the recommendation. Picking right up where he left off, his mouth claimed hers, his tongue plunging, her mind catapulting over high bars and landing in a hazy state of brownout bliss. She opened her eyes and realized he was probably the only person left in Boondocks who looked even better in harsh light.
He said, “I don’t think you should drive.”
She wasn’t proud of it, but she wanted to stay here forever. Exhaling on a shudder, she brushed the dark hairs near the throat of the shirt. Not too silky, not too wiry, but just right. Exactly how a man’s chest hairs ought to feel.
“I’m going to give you a ride.”
Her riding him. That’s what she was thinking about it. Uh-oh. But she couldn’t drive herself home. Eli Jones had been sworn in last year as sheriff, and while he’d never jail Ari for a minor infraction like being tipsy inside Boondocks, driving under the influence was another matter. Glancing at the stranger’s open shirt, she added indecent exposure to her list of crimes. Since Eli’s Unwelcome Incident, he hadn’t so much as sniffed at her—not in a boyfriend way—but he’d happily see her safely home in his cop car if she called him. Especially since she was on such good terms with the Mrs. Eli, who did hair for all the Madden women.
She could call Urgent Care, for that matter. Doc Dickerson would send the ambulance. He always credited his attraction to medicine to Ari, saying he’d found his true calling the day they’d played doctor in the sandbox when they were five, and their mothers were trading casserole recipes.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You can get to know me on the way.”
He made it sound so reasonable.
Paulie yelled, “Pack it in, homeboys.”
Not-a-homeboy started kissing down her neck again. The wet pad of his tongue conjured everything a female was supposed to feel when her sex drive took over, and nothing existed except the hot, handsome man making her climb to an explosive release. He wasn’t saying any dirty words, and he didn’t have to. The slow pressure of his mouth said it all. Obviously, he’d clocked as many practice hours as she when it came to first base.
“Let’s go home.”
He looked so persuasive. “Are you a lawyer or something?”
“I deal with electricity.”
Despite how he’d made her body tingle all over, or maybe because of it, she giggled. “I could have told you that.”
He smiled. “I work with currents, surges, hubs, switches.”
No power failure here. He was hard enough that she could feel his shape and size and heat. He was a big man all over, every inch.
“I get it,” she whispered, her voice raspy. He’d found the switch labeled common sense and flipped it off ages ago.
His voice was as husky as hers. “The lights in here are too bright.”
“Too bright for what?”
“You know. And don’t start analyzing. Those shrinks left an hour ago.”
“Okay, Mr. Electricity,” she said. “But the last thing I need right now is another boyfriend, so you’d better man-up and take me straight home.”
Chapter Two
“My house looks...different.”
Her warm, almond-brown eyes were squinting against the harsh overhead light of Bruno’s kitchen, making her look like Bambi in the headlights. She wasn’t really mad, she was just trying to sound that way.
“That’s because it’s mine.”
She was propped against a French door that led to the back porch, next to a column of stacked boxes. He hadn’t been able to find her jacket, so she was wearing his coat, which had been a gift. Bruno had thought Burberry only made trench coats, but this Burberry was of camel’s hair, the exact color of some of the blonder streaks in her strawberry hair. He decided the hint of dark roots was kind of sexy. Actually, everything about her was. Usually black nails went in the too-trashy column, but something sweet in her personality undercut the aggregate effect, probably because Bruno had seen The Other Her. The boring Alter Ego.
He eyed where his shoulder seams hit her upper arms.
“Sh...” she whispered, then giggled.
It was awfully quiet. He had an iPod and dock somewhere, but he wasn’t wasting time rummaging for noise when they could make their own. The do-me voice was all the noise Bruno needed. Her voice turned questions like “Is this your car?” or “Can I turn on the radio?” into hardcore. Now she waggled a finger at him so he leaned against her, put the finger in his mouth and suckled. She tasted creamy and salty and just plain good.
“I think you missed some road signs, Mr. Electricity.”
While it was true the Road Rover’s GPS had not led Bruno to the exact coordinates she’d offered, he hadn’t missed any important signs. His two PhDs might not be in breathing, but he was still an expert in sighs, pants and whisperings. Leaning to look into her face—she was a short little wisp of a woman—he eyed her solemnly. “In my infinite wisdom, I realized your evening would get a whole lot better if we took this detour.”
“The detour is for my benefit?” she whispered throatily, her head back, neck exposed in invitation, the voice curling fire in his belly. “When did your infinite wisdom decide I need this benefit?”
“When we got in the Road Rover and you said, ‘Isn’t it about time you got off the grid?’” She’d sounded sort of like the woman in the commercial, but a whole lot sexier.
“Your Infinite Wisdom swore you’d take me home.”
He smiled at being called that. “And I will...TMA.”
She giggled nervously as he slid both hands under the shoulders of the coat and removed it, not taking his eyes off hers as he tossed it onto the boxes. She said, “Promise?”
“All kinds of things.”
The sweat-drenched blouse had dried in the car, and now the fabric was limp as he ran a finger downward, unbuttoning. Exhaling raggedly, he let his eyes rove. She was average height, but stacked, spilling out of her underwear. It just didn’t get better than this. He cupped a breast through a lacy light green bra, and a second later, a throaty groan tore from his throat. Too much fabric was between them, his slacks, her tights, and presumably her panties, but his thigh had found her crotch again and he was loving the feel of the dampness and the heat.
“God, you’re wet,” he whispered.
She nuzzled her face against him, using her cold, ski-jump nose to further open his shirt, her hair unbelievably soft on his skin, her cheeks chilly but warming as they swam in chest hair. His senses heightened, and a sudden gentle scrape of knotted metal from her earring felt like a leather whip.
“Feel free to keep talking,” he urged, not finding a hard edge anywhere on her as he explored. D.C. women could be gym-obsessive, their bodies as hard as rocks and possessing all the pliability of store mannequins, but this woman had soft cushions every place. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say, because your voice is so fucking sexy...so say anything...”
“Anything.”
If he hadn’t been so horny he would have laughed. “Now try something.”
“Something.” As he bent to look into her Bambis again, she whispered, “Quit looking at me.”
“Why? Are you nervous?” Oh, yes, he really wanted to keep this woman talking. Her sudden shyness was another surprise, too. She was more comfortable if he just ravished her, and it brought out the worst in him, making him want to prolong the agony of seduction. Leaning, he slowly licked the very tops of her breasts, where the mounds of flesh began to crest. If he hadn’t known about her stupid day job, he’d think she hadn’t seen the light of day in eons. Pushing the blouse off her shoulders, he looked at the bra a long moment.
“You’ve got great taste in underwear.”
The voice was scarcely audible, the best it had sounded yet. “You have to lean a lot.”
He came closer, letting her feel the feathery heat of his breath on her neck long enough to build anticipation, then he whispered, “You’re short.”
She giggled wildly as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No...” She poked his chest. “You’re tall.”
He hoped she wasn’t about to get argumentative. Drunks did sometimes, and she’d had a few too many. Not that he was taking advantage; she knew what she was doing. He said, “And now for your hair ornaments.”
That prompted another gale of giggles, since the ornaments were pencils. Having overheated while dancing, she’d taken them from the bar and used them to bind up the wild strawberry strands. As disheveled hair cascaded over her shoulders, he simply dropped the pencils, letting them clatter on the kitchen floor.
“I’m too short,” she announced, a hank of hair falling across her cheek. Since she looked so concerned, he kissed away the stray hair, then kissed her eyes shut. Unclasping the front hook of the bra, he closed a thumb and finger on a nipple, caressing, rolling, pinching until he stifled her sigh by covering her lips with his. Plunging his tongue, he let the kiss get good and wet.
When he pulled away, she murmured against his mouth. “Your back probably hurts from all the bending you have to do because I’m so short.”
“It’s very painful,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she returned contritely. That turned into oh, oh, oh, when he rustled a hand under her skirt and inside the tights. Twining long fingers in her curls then cupping her, he groaned. She was really wet. Slicking a finger, he glided it over her clit and said, “If we were lying down, I wouldn’t have to keep bending over just to kiss you.”
“Because I’m so short...”
He could barely talk. “Right.”
Another shudder. “I see...”
He pushed a thick finger inside her, watched her eyes glaze, then he settled his mouth over an aroused nipple. Her little moan sent something as hot as molten lead to his groin. Dammit, every time he thought he had a handle on this woman from the backwater, he lost his grip again. She’d gone from boring hygienist to hardened party girl, to cutie-pie-empath, and now the only thing he felt was raw desire. Her every incarnation was killing him. He could not predict TMA at all. He wasn’t even sure he was going to get her into bed tonight, in which case there would be no morning after, and that had to be a first.
“It’s just a promise,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s never as good as the kisses.”
Yeah, right. To prove otherwise, he thrust another finger inside. In and out until she whimpered. “It’s always better than the kisses.”
“You’re wrong about that, Mr. Electricity.”
“Want to bet?” Abruptly, he retrieved his hand from where it was sandwiched between her creamy skin and the body-hugging tights. He started dragging her behind him, into the hallway. “I’m feeling a strong need to show you something.”
“What?”
“My bedroom.”
She giggled again. At least he’d put sheets on the bed. Not that it would have mattered at this point. Her giggle cut off abruptly when he simply pointed at the mattress. Her eyes widened, but she plopped obediently on the edge, her blouse pushed off her shoulders, the bra open in front, her breasts swaying as she scooted backward, the short skirt hiking as she moved. He considered a moment, deciding what he wanted to do first. Then he followed her, lying on top, covering her body with his. He went for slow, wet languid kisses on her breasts. He tongued the tips, lightly biting the nipples, while he kicked off her high heels and dealt with her skirt and tights. Before he got to her panties, she was undressing him, too.
“Say something with your porno voice,” he requested.
“Kisses are just promises,” she whispered back, slurring a little. “The rest is never as good. Never.”
That bothered him more than it should have. But soon, she’d be teetering on the brink of orgasm, of course, and he’d keep her in agony until she retracted that statement. Yes, there were numerous things he felt compelled to do with her before getting out the condoms. Those he had unpacked. He couldn’t wait to be inside her, when everything would be reduced to wild heat and soft sensation.
