All Over You (8 page)

“Sorry, stupid earring,” she explained as she continued to struggle.

“Here, hold still for a moment,” Mac said, stepping close.

She held her breath as he loomed over her, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her toward the warm golden light spilling out from the lamp in her hallway.

Stepping closer, he reached for the tangle of earring and denim and hair that she’d created. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the brush of his fingers on the sensitive skin of her neck, even the hush of his breath on her cheek.

It was too much. She’d craved him too long.

She whimpered.

A completely, utterly revealing whimper that spoke of desire and want and need.

At the same time, she felt her earring come free as he unsnagged it.

She wanted to die. Right then. Even if it hurt, a lot. Because nothing could be worse than whimpering with need in front of a man like Mac Harrison. Four long years of self-esteem building went out the window. Why had she just exposed herself like that?

After a long moment, she dared a glance up at him, convinced she’d see pity or surprise or indifference on his face.

Instead, she saw desire.

It was the last thing she’d expected, the absolute last. A roaring sound filled her head as she realized that she had her ultimate fantasy man standing in front of her, and — miracle of miracles — he wanted her.

What happened next was totally beyond her control. It was almost like watching some other woman reach out and wrap a hand around the back of Mac’s head and pull it down toward her — except it was her mouth that was parting in anticipation, her eyes that were closing.

There was nothing gentle or tentative about their first kiss. Mouth met mouth, tongues clashed, hands grabbed at body parts as they strained toward one another. Grace flattened her length against his and gave a mew of pleasure when she felt his erection pressing against her belly. He grabbed her hips and ground himself into her softness, all the while devouring her mouth with his own.

His mouth left hers and he trailed kisses across to her ear. She met the shockingly hot, wet invasion of his tongue in her ear with a moan, running her hands down his back and, finally, after all her nights of wondering and imagining, onto his butt.

“Perfect,” she whispered, hauling him as close as she could and rubbing herself against his hardness.

He responded by sliding a hand up onto her breasts. She felt his gust of satisfaction as his palm took the full weight of her, his thumb finding her nipple unerringly.

Her knees trembled as his other hand slid down her hip and thigh, searching for the hem of her skirt.

A sudden urgency gripped her. As soon as he touched her
there,
she was going up in flames and nothing was going to stop her taking what she wanted. And they were still standing outside her apartment in the entrance porch she shared with the place next door.

Fuelled by need, she pushed on his chest, unwilling to break contact, but urging him toward her open doorway nonetheless. He wasn’t a stupid man. Together, they stumbled backward, his hands still torturing her breasts, hers sliding around his hips now and seeking out the ridge of his erection.

He felt big. And hard. And very much exactly what she needed to stop the throbbing ache between her thighs.

A crash sounded as they bumped into her hall table and a pile of books hit the floor. She murmured her lack of concern and pushed him into her living room. Fumbling with his fly, she swore as she got the teeth caught in the fabric of his boxers.

“Damn thing,” she muttered, trying to concentrate on the pleasurable pain of his hands on her breasts and his mouth on her neck while simultaneously freeing his erection from the prison of his jeans.

She felt him smile against her neck.

“Here,” he said, ducking his head so he could get a look at the scene of the crime. She lifted her head at the same time and cracked him in the jaw.

“Yow!”

His head jerked up and back, she winced.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, reaching up a soothing hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, kissing her hand away. She heard the beautiful sound of his fly hissing open, and forgot everything else as she zeroed in on his erection.

Sliding her hand into the warmth of his jeans, she first stroked his length, then wrapped her hand around him.

“Grace,” he breathed raggedly as she stroked more confidently up and down his shaft.

“I know,” she gasped.

They were wearing too much clothing. She’d never wanted to be naked more in her life. On fire, she shoved him backward into the armless chair beside her fireplace. No sooner was he seated than she had his erection free from his jeans, sitting up proudly and begging for her attention.

It didn’t have to beg — she was Mac’s for the asking. Lifting her skirt up with no finesse but plenty of alacrity, she hooked her thumbs into her panties and whipped them down her legs. He watched with an approving glint in his eyes, his hands reaching out to slide beneath her dress as she straddled him. The feel of his hands on her thighs and backside was her every wish come true and she rubbed herself against the hardness of his erection with a fierce abandon.

“This has to come off,” Mac said, starting to tackle the first of the dozens of tiny buttons down the front of her dress. Imagining his mouth on her breasts was too much, and she was too greedy to wait. Grabbing both sides of the slightly opened neckline, she tugged, hard. Buttons pinged everywhere, one hitting Mac near the eye, but within seconds she’d bared her dusky-peach lace bra to his eyes and he was pushing it out of the way and sucking a nipple into the moist heat of his mouth.

Gasping, Grace writhed. She was about to come, but she wanted him inside her.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, she gripped tight and pulled him away from his very important work on her breasts.

“Condom,” she panted when he frowned at her.

His frown cleared. “Back pocket,” he said, tilting up on one hip so she could slide her fingers around to retrieve his wallet.

A single, beautiful condom resided in a credit-card slot and she pulled it free and ripped it open in one smooth move. Tossing his wallet to one side, she stood for the brief time it took to protect them both. Then she slid a hand between their bodies, positioned the head of his erection between her slick inner lips, and began the slow slide to ecstasy.

He groaned and dropped his head back as he penetrated her, even as his hands slid over her breasts and began to massage them rhythmically. Grace’s eyes narrowed to slits as she stretched to accommodate him, every nerve ending on fire, her orgasm just a hair’s breadth away. Slowly, savoring every hard, thick inch, she began to ride him.

She felt overwhelmed with sensation. The scratch of his stubble on her breasts. The fullness of his hardness inside her. Then, almost too much, the smooth caress as one of his hands moved around her hip to delve into the moist curls between her legs. He found the swollen nub of her clitoris with his thumb and she shuddered as he began to massage it firmly.

“Mac, oh, Mac,” she cried out, as she had a hundred times before. But this time, he was here, a real man, not a figment of her imagination.

As though he sensed her imminent climax, Mac’s head came up and she found herself matching his wide, reckless grin. Her body began to shudder and he leaned forward, pulling an already-taut nipple into his mouth as everything converged within her. She ground herself against him as she came explosively, back arching, breasts thrusting forward, hands digging into his shoulders as she shouted out her release. A few seconds later, he grabbed her hips and she felt the powerful, instinctive thrust of his hips up into her as he joined her in ecstasy.

Panting, a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts, Grace flopped forward, her face resting against the side of Mac’s neck.

Four years. Four long, lonely, horny years since she’d had sex.

And, oh boy, had it been worth the wait.

G
RACE WOKE
to the smell of Mac’s aftershave in her bed. The instant she recognized the smoky mix of cloves and sandalwood, a big smile stretched across her face. She stretched languorously, her eyes still closed as she savored the deliciousness of it all.

God, he’d been insatiable. So had she. She hadn’t known her body was capable of feeling so good. Rolling onto her side, she stretched out an arm, hoping that they would have time to replay a few selected highlights before Mac had to race off to work.

When her hand encountered nothing but cold sheets, her eyes popped open.

The bed was empty. Apart from an indentation in the spare pillow, there was nothing to indicate that last night had been any more real than the many fantasies she’d had about Mac over the past year.

She felt a lurch of disappointment, then her brain kicked into gear and she remembered Mac explaining he had to be out at the studio early today. That had been some time in between condom number two and condom number three.

Which meant no recaps. Bummer. Snorting at her own greed, she rolled to the edge of the bed. Small muscles that she hadn’t used in a
loooooong
time protested as she stood. She caught sight of her naked body in her dressing table mirror and stopped to stare. She had the suggestion of whisker burn on her breasts and a definite hickey low on her neck. Her hair was tousled, her eyes heavy and slumberous. She oozed smug, languorous, satisfied woman.

Another big smile curled her lips. If she were a cat, she’d be purring.

The caress of her silk robe over her skin brought a host of sensual memories cascading into her mind. Mac had been so intense, so utterly absorbed in the here and now of their sexual play. The way he’d smoothed his hands over her body, the low sound of satisfaction he’d made when he touched her breasts, the knowing movement of his fingers inside her…. Her nipples tightened and a distinct warmth began to throb between her legs.

She shook her head at her own voraciousness. Four bouts of soul-searing sex and still she wanted more. She’d thought Mr. Buzzy had been ample compensation for missing out on having a love life, but last night had taught her that there was nothing that could even come close to real contact with another human being. Skin on skin, the smells, the tastes, the sounds — the whole experience had been one big sensory feast.

She realized now that for four years she’d been depriving herself. She needed to take a leaf out of Claudia’s book and find herself a reliable lover or two. Nothing permanent or emotional, just someone to take the edge off every now and then. For a second she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to have Mac as her real-life convenient lover. It was a dangerously attractive prospect, but she pushed the fantasy away. She wasn’t stupid — last night had been a one-off. She’d had one amazing experience with him and it had opened her eyes to what she’d been missing out on. That would have to be enough.

Yawning, she padded into her living room, then stopped with a frown when she felt something small and hard beneath her bare foot. She looked down to see she was walking in a sea of tiny pearl buttons.

A flash of memory: her tearing her dress open so Mac could tongue her breasts last night. She laughed out loud.

God, she’d forgotten how good sex could be. How much fun. How liquid and sensuous and powerful it made her feel.

Maybe a man wouldn’t have to be stuffed and turned into an umbrella stand to find a place in her home. Maybe she could consider bending her no-fraternizing-with-the-enemy rule, after all, if it meant occasional access to a real, live penis.

She was still musing on the subject when the phone rang. It took her three rings to find it, since the receiver was hidden beneath her discarded dress.

“Hello?”

“Grace. You’re up.” It was Mac. She felt breathless suddenly and she sank onto the arm of her couch.

“Yes,” she said.

“Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve found my wallet anywhere?”

She frowned. There was something wrong with his voice. He sounded stilted, distant.

“Um, no. Let me check. Any idea where it might be?” she asked, her mind ticking away furiously. Why did he sound so awkward?

“You took it out of my pocket. For the condom,” he reminded her.

“Right. Give me a moment.”

She put the phone down and stared at it for a moment. She felt agitated, uncertain all of a sudden. What had seemed sensuous and decadent and delicious just seconds before suddenly felt faintly sordid. Why was that?

Forcing herself to the matter at hand, she scanned the room. Nothing. Dropping to her knees, she checked under the couches and the armchair. A black leather square lay beneath the closest couch, cheek by jowl with two enormous dust bunnies. She collected it and pushed herself to her feet.

“Found it,” she said when she’d picked up the phone again.

“Great. Great. That’s a load off,” he said. He sounded as though he was talking to his dentist.

A slow anger was building inside her. What did this jerk think she was going to do, turn up at his place and boil his rabbit or something? She could practically hear him trying to work out how to get his hands on the wallet without having to commit to a second date with her. Just as well she hadn’t been under the delusion that last night had been the beginning of something instead of the sum total of her personal relationship with Mac Harrison.

“Listen, my schedule is hell for the next few days, so maybe you could give my wallet to one of the production runners. When things clear up, I’ll give you a call and we can catch up some time…?” he said when the silence had stretched too long between them. He sounded about as thrilled as if he was booking in to have a prostate exam.

It was almost funny.

“You can stop having conniptions, Mac,” she said dryly. “I know what last night was. I’m not over here picking out china patterns.”

“Sure. I know that.” He sounded embarrassed and relieved in equal measure. “I mean, we’re both adults, right?”

“I’ll give the wallet to the first runner I see when I get to the office, okay?” she said, keen to end the conversation. The gloss was fast wearing off her fantasy evening.

“Thanks. Oh, and Grace?”

“Yeah?” she asked, one hand on her hip. She had a feeling something really good was coming.

“I had a great time last night,” he said. It sounded like he was reading it off a cue card. If she hadn’t been there to share his four orgasms, she’d have thought she’d imagined the whole glorious, mad thing.

“Did you?” she said. And then she hung up.

What a jerk off. She paced her apartment for a few minutes, swearing and stomping her bare feet against the boards. Was it too much to ask for honesty and mutual respect? She wasn’t angry because he didn’t want to see her again, she assured herself. She was angry because for a full fifteen minutes there she’d been basking in the afterglow of their night together — then he’d come along and lobbed a pile of steaming doggy do all over it with his standoff tactics and rote compliments.

Men. Suddenly she remembered why Mr. Buzzy had looked so good for four years.

M
AC STUDIED
the blank display of his cell phone for a few beats.

Wow, wasn’t he the old silver-tongued devil, really smoothing over the awkwardness there with Grace? He could just imagine the names she was calling him about now.

He shook his head at his own lack of finesse. This was the danger of acting on sensual impulse, of course. With Jen or Lisa, his regular bed-buddies, there was no question that they knew the score. Sex was sex was sex — no strings, no commitment. Perfect for a guy who had too many relationship carcasses rotting in his emotional backyard. But he’d been so utterly absorbed by Grace last night that he hadn’t thought through the consequences of tumbling her into bed. He’d wanted her, he’d had her. Several times. And it had been great. But in the cold light of day, it had occurred to him that Grace had just broken a four-year run of no sex to do the horizontal mambo with him last night.

He was no Dr. Phil, but he figured that there was a fair chance that she might be looking for something more than a one-night-only performance out of the man she’d chosen to break the drought with. And as great as the sex had been, Mac was not the guy to deliver on that kind of expectation. Been there, done that. Had the scars to prove it.

Some people — most of them women with strong feminist leanings — might think that his inability to commit might be grounds enough for stepping away from temptation last night when Grace had looked up at him with raw hunger in her eyes.

Those people hadn’t spent a day staring at Grace’s stupendous breasts and bodacious ass and that teeny tiny waist that made both her other assets look so damn fine.

So, he’d been a hound dog. Not the first time. Probably not the last. But he definitely could have handled the phone call better. Thing was, he’d never really mastered the art of letting women down. Hence, again, the appeal of women who already knew the score.

The great thing — the really, really great thing — was that now he and Grace had to work with each other. He could just imagine how warm and welcoming she would be after his ineptitude. Another minor detail he hadn’t factored in when he was busy burying himself inside her last night.

God, it had been good. All he had to do was think about Grace’s lush, curvy body — how tight and wet and hot she’d been — and he was gone.

Glancing around to make sure he was unobserved, he reached down to adjust his suddenly crowded crotch.

For a second he regretted the phone call. If he hadn’t given her the cold shoulder, he could go there again. Then he gave himself a mental kick. He’d made the smart move. There was no point starting something that was only going to end in disaster, after all. When you didn’t believe in happily ever after, there weren’t many places a relationship could go.

G
RACE SLAMMED THE PHONE
down for the fifth time that morning and swore pithily at her computer monitor.

“Grace Elizabeth Wellington. If I wasn’t so impressed I’d be shocked,” Sadie said as she lounged against Grace’s office door frame. “You’ve been hanging out with those sailors again, haven’t you?”

Grace dragged a small smile from her politeness reserves, but Sadie wasn’t buying.

“What’s up?” Sadie asked, dropping into the guest chair opposite Grace’s desk and arranging her long, lean legs before her.

“Nothing. It’s just I’ve been trying to get one of the production runners up here from the studio all morning, but they keep saying they won’t be making a Santa Monica run until later today,” Grace said, referring to the two gophers who looked after anything and everything on the show. “Have you ever heard of that? I can’t remember the last time we didn’t have runners in and out of here all day.”

Sadie shrugged. “It varies. It’s one of those things — when you need one, they’re never around, but when you don’t give a hoot, they’ve used the last of the milk and stolen your sandwich from the fridge on their way out the door.”

Again, Grace mustered a smile for her friend, but her thoughts were all for the wallet burning a hole in her desk drawer. She wanted it gone. She definitely didn’t want to have to have another conversation with Mac. Not that he’d tried to contact her. She bet he’d prefer to stick hot forks in his eyeballs before he gave a woman the impression she might be more to him that a casual lay.

“What’s the big deal, anyway? I thought we got the script alterations out to the studio yesterday?” Sadie asked.

“We did. I just had something I needed to send over,” Grace said vaguely.

Too late, she realized that any hint of mystery would arouse Sadie’s writer’s antennae. Before Sadie could open her mouth to ask the next question, Grace beat her to it.

“Mac left his wallet at my place last night.” She shrugged, keeping her voice carefully casual.

“
Mac.
As in Mac Harrison?” Sadie clarified. “Actor on our show, certified hottie, voted Most Beddable Soap Star by the women of America. That Mac?”

“We had a working dinner.”
Then we went home and really got to work
. Grace just managed to bite her tongue on the confession. She did not need her friend speculating about her one-night stand with Mac. Her own thoughts were already doing her head in — and Sadie’s would inevitably be tainted with the rose-colored zeal of a woman newly in love.

“Oh. You had me excited for a moment there, Gracie. If anyone could break down that fortress of solitude of yours, Mac is the man.”

“Why do you say that?” Grace asked before she could stop herself.

“He’s hot, he’s funny, he’s got that body,” Sadie said, ticking the items off on her fingers. “Plus, he’s a nice guy. I’ve had coffee with him a few times out at the studio and he’s got some great ideas for the show. He’s really into the whole directing thing, you know. Which is amazing, given how good an actor he is. He’s got it all, basically.”

Grace realized she was leaning forward, sucking up every morsel of information that Sadie was dispensing. She sat back and forced a bored wave of her hand.

“Yeah, but does he come with an off switch?” she asked.

Sadie snickered. “You’re so bad. You could at least consider him.”

“Celibate, in case you forgot,” Grace said firmly. She wondered briefly if one night of sex in four years disqualified her from her self-appointed title.

“Chicken,” Sadie countered.

Grace opened her mouth in surprise, stung by Sadie’s words.

“Are you joking or do you really think I’m a chicken?” she asked.

Sadie hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “No. I remember Owen.”

“So does my sister,” Grace said. “Anyway, me being single has nothing to do with Owen.”

She felt as though she’d been saying that a lot lately. Sadie and Claudia had never understood how she’d picked up and walked away from her five years with Owen without shedding a tear. They thought that because she hadn’t slobbed around and worn the same pair of pajamas for a whole week that she hadn’t moved on. She dealt with things differently, was all. The moment she’d seen that things were not going to work out with Owen, she’d made the decision that he wasn’t going to have a second more of her time. And she’d stuck to that decision. He’d wasted enough of her years as it was, he wasn’t getting any more.