Built (8 page)

Cold comfort, even to a “bag of ice” such as herself.

She turned down her street, stomach clenching when she spotted Joe, still shirtless, his back muscles rippling as he stooped to pull weeds from around a hedge of flowering bushes. For God’s sake, it was nearly six o’clock! Didn’t the man ever stop working?

Maybe she could sneak by without his noticing. The last thing she needed was for him to rub her face in it. She pulled into her garage, wishing she could use the connecting door into the kitchen and bypass her front walk altogether. Unfortunately, she’d lost the key to that particular lock, and with her hectic work schedule, hadn’t taken the time to get it rekeyed. She sighed. Having to haul groceries in the rain had nothing on facing a smug, arrogant neighbor.

“Must have been a quickie.”

Taylor’s shoulders tightened at the sound of his voice, and it took every ounce of restraint not to turn on him and tell him to shove his giant hedge clippers straight up his perfectly sculpted ass.

Instead, she took a deep breath and turned around, doing her best to keep the rage and hurt from bubbling to the surface. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know you were right.” She strove for a smile, feeling like her skin was cracking around the bones of her face. “Steven was indeed ‘getting it somewhere else,’ as you so quaintly put it. In fact, he was ‘getting it’ from his new sales associate when I walked in. Go ahead, say ‘I told you so.’” She drew her shoulders back, bracing herself for yet another round of humiliation.

Joe’s smirk melted away, concern clouding his green eyes. “Taylor, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t want his pity, but the sincere kindness in his voice started a warm glow somewhere in her belly. She held her hands up. “Don’t be. Better I find out now before it’s too late. Besides, we obviously weren’t terribly…compatible in that regard anyway.”
As if I’ve ever been sexually compatible with anyone,
she thought morosely. She turned and started up the cracked flagstones that constituted her walkway, freezing in her tracks when he called out.

“Hey, do you want to come over for a drink or something?”

Great. Now he felt sorry for her. “You don’t have to console me, Joe. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than entertain your—how did you put it?—frigid bitch of a neighbor.”

“I think I said ‘uptight bitch,’ actually.” His grin made her toes curl in her high-heeled sandals. “I don’t have any plans, other than to maybe watch a movie and get to bed early.” Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes momentarily focus on her breasts when he said “bed”?
Oh, come on, Taylor, I think we’ve just established that you’re not the type to incite instant, wild lust in anyone, much less a young stud muffin like Joe.
Not that she would want to anyway, she reminded herself fiercely, as Joe, while gorgeous, was emphatically not the type of guy Taylor would ever go for.

But what would be the harm in one drink? Her only other option was to go home and feel sorry for herself. And right now, the only thing more pathetic than taking him up on his pity-driven hospitality would be to go home and wallow in the death of what she had thought was a perfectly nice, stable relationship.

Pasting on her brightest smile, she said, “I could really go for a strong vodka and tonic.”

J
oe mixed her vodka and tonic and excused himself to take a quick shower. Taylor took the opportunity to look around his house. Like hers, it was a small two-story, with an open floor plan on the bottom level. The recently updated kitchen opened onto a great room, which boasted a comfortable-looking ultra-suede couch and matching love seat. Across from the couch, nearly an entire wall was dominated by a huge, flat-screen television. Tiny surround-sound speakers were mounted in the corners.

Though Joe suffered from the typical male syndrome of decorating with major electronics, the house was much nicer than she would have expected from an unmarried man. Framed black and white photos decorated the putty-colored walls in interesting arrangements. And it was clean, too, although the stainless-steel kitchen sink was crowded with soaking pots and pans. Unlike her, he obviously cooked.

All in all, very nicely furnished and decorated. But obviously masculine. No little knickknacks, no little feminine touches.
No girlfriend.
Not that she cared.

She sipped her drink, savoring the bitter bite of the vodka and the cold fizz of tonic on her tongue, the relaxing warmth that spread through her veins with each sip. As she admired Joe’s beautifully landscaped backyard through the sliding-glass doors off the kitchen, the memory of Steven’s betrayal and parting insults faded behind a foggy, alcoholic haze.

She drained her glass as heavy footsteps sounded on the stairway. Joe entered through the door off the kitchen, and her mouth went a little dry. How could he look so good in a faded T-shirt and equally threadbare jeans? “I was admiring what you’ve done with the backyard,” she said.

“Thanks. I could do the same with yours.” Her what? Between the vodka and the way the cotton of his shirt pulled across his chest, she was having a hard time focusing. “In fact, it would be a favor to me if you let me fix up your yard a little bit.”

“Oh, right. My yard.” She shook her head as his words sank in. “I’ll think about it.” But she could barely think at all, what with all of the blood having left her veins. She felt flushed all over, hot even in his cool, dark living room. The garters chafed her thighs, and her stockings clung to her skin. For a split second she wondered what Joe would do if she asked him to peel them off her legs.

“Can I get you another?”

She stared stupidly until he gestured to her empty glass. “Oh, sure. But maybe you could go a little lighter this time, since I drained that one so quickly.” And the alcohol was clearly scrambling her brains, turning her into a horny, lust-crazed nympho. He smiled and came over to retrieve her glass. The aroma of soap and warm skin assaulted her, tempting her to lean in and bury her nose in the strong column of his neck. But he retreated quickly, going to the granite kitchen counter to fix them both fresh drinks. His hair was still damp, waving a little bit in the back. Taylor laced her fingers together before she did something stupid, like walk over and stroke them up his nape.

He turned, his smile a slash of white against his work-tanned skin. She took her drink and raised it up in a little toast. She took a sip and sucked in a breath. “I think this is stronger than the last one.”

He waved her to the couch. “I figure after the day you’ve had, you deserve to get a little plastered.”

Normally she didn’t overindulge in alcohol. She’d been around enough drunks growing up to know firsthand how unattractive it was. Plus, she didn’t like the idea of losing control and saying or doing the wrong thing. In her profession, image was very important, and she would never let her colleagues see her in anything but a professional light.

But she seriously doubted Joe ran in the same circles as she, so it wasn’t like he was going to run into her managing partner and tell him how she had spent Saturday night lolling drunkenly on his couch. Besides, he was right. After a day like she’d had, she should be allowed to cut loose a little.

She plopped down onto the couch with little grace, half-heartedly rearranging her skirt as it rode up her thighs. “Thanks for taking pity on me. I just can’t believe…” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about Steven, or the fact that she was almost thirty-three and a hell of a lot further from marriage than she’d thought only the day before. Or the fact that she’d been dumped for a woman nearly ten years younger, at least twenty IQ points stupider, but all the more appealing because she let Steven do her doggy style, a position Taylor had always hated.

She looked over at Joe, smiling at her from the other end of the couch. He lifted his glass to his mouth, his tongue coming out to catch a stray drop from his lush lower lip. An image popped into her head, of her bent over, naked in her bed as Joe drove into her from behind. Rather than repulsing her, the thought sent a bolt of heat pulsing between her legs. She shifted her legs restlessly, squeezing her thighs as though to contain the hot surge of moisture dampening the thin strip of her thong. “I just can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure out who my neighbor is!” she said in a desperate attempt to distract herself. “I would have never guessed it was someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He raised a thick, dark eyebrow, as though trying to decide whether or not he was being insulted.

“Well you’re so young. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“That’s pretty young to own a house in the Bay Area, especially in this area.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’m thirty-two,” she said, reminding herself of a little girl insisting she was not five, but five and a
half.

“Ancient.” He chuckled. “Let me know if you ever need help with your walker.”

“Besides,” she said, eyes rolling, “this neighborhood isn’t exactly a mecca for young, single men.”

He inched a little closer, draping his arm across the back of the couch. Another inch, and his fingers could brush against her bare shoulder, if he were so inclined. “Or for young, single women.”

“I’m not single.” She corrected herself. “At least up until today I wasn’t. And I bought this house thinking I would raise a family in it eventually.” She frowned, not wanting to dwell on Steven but unable to quell the thoughts of all the hopes and expectations she’d so foolishly placed on him. No, he wasn’t the love of her life—Taylor wasn’t sure there was such a thing—but she’d been content and thought he’d been too. They’d had similar goals, both personally and professionally, and Taylor had been confident he would be able to give her the two kids, a dog, and a picket fence sort of affluent lifestyle of which she’d dreamed. The kind of life that was a universe away from the life of her mother, a single waitress who raised Taylor in a trailer park while supporting a never-ending string of unemployed losers.

Instead, she would have to start all over, two years wasted with nothing to show for it. Sudden, hot tears burned at the back of her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose to hold them back. The last thing she wanted was to start sobbing uncontrollably in front of Joe.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, taking the drink from her hand and awkwardly pulling her into his arms. One big hand patted her back as the other pressed her face into his chest. She buried her nose against the firm muscle. God, he smelled good. Her hand rested lightly on his waist, the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt. She wanted to tug it up over his chest and run her fingers over his smooth tan torso, but it would be rude to shamelessly hit on him when he was only offering comfort.

Besides, she reminded herself, though she might be wearing the sexiest underwear she owned under her dress, if she couldn’t tempt a man like Steven, Joe would certainly find her powers of seduction sorely lacking.

Finally, she pulled away with a sniff, thankful the urge to break down and weep seemed to have passed. “I’m not usually this emotional,” she said.

“Your boyfriend’s an idiot.”

She shook her head and settled back against the cushions. “It’s not his fault he didn’t want to sleep with me.”

Joe leaned over, resting his palm on the couch next to her thigh, close enough that if she shifted her leg one millimeter to the right, she would feel his skin against hers. “There’s no man in his right mind who wouldn’t want to sleep with you, Taylor.” His tone was fierce and so was his gaze as he fixed it on her mouth. She licked her lips as his intent became clear.

She should move, she should get off this couch and run for the door. Because he was too young, too wrong…too good of a kisser, she realized as his mouth settled on hers.

His taste flooded her as his lips parted, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, hot, sleek, and smooth as it tangled with hers. Wet, open-mouth kisses melted together until Taylor’s breath came in little pants. Long, rough fingers slid the strap of her dress down her shoulder, his tongue sending sparks down her spine as it followed. She’d never thought of her shoulders, her collarbones, her jaw as erogenous zones until Joe nipped and sucked his way across them. She heard the buzz of her zipper at the same time cool air hit the skin of her back, and then she was bare to the waist except for her ice-blue-satin strapless bra.

She didn’t recognize the wild woman who arched and moaned against Joe’s hands and lips, who practically tore his shirt from his body so she could feel him, skin to skin. All Taylor knew was she was starving for the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him. She was so turned on, the skin of her inner thighs was slippery with her own moisture, and he still hadn’t touched her below the neck.

Her hands eagerly explored his back as he tugged at the satin cups of her bra. “Beautiful,” he murmured as her breasts sprang free, her nipples dark pink and so hard they nearly hurt. She moaned in anticipation as his tongue sneaked out, barely grazing the tip of first one, then the other. A low, throaty groan emanated from her throat when his lips closed over the sensitive flesh. Heat flooded her belly as he pushed her back against the cushions and settled himself between her spread thighs.

The thick column of his erection pressed against her stomach, his size evident even contained as it was by the fly of his jeans. Then again, everything about him was big, from the broad, work-toughened palm closing over her breast to the immense shoulders blocking everything from her view as he leaned over her. The mere thought of his long, thick cock sliding in, of her slick flesh stretching to accommodate him, sent a shudder coursing through her.

He kissed her again, harder this time, his breath fast and shaky as his hand slid over the curve of her hip, down her thigh, and back up again, taking her skirt with it.

His fingers froze on the strap of her garter. As though he couldn’t quite believe what he felt, he leaned back, a slow, delighted smile suffusing his face as he pushed her dress up for an unimpeded view. “Well, well, Miss Taylor Flynn, aren’t you just full of surprises?” His hand was dark against her thigh as he traced the strap of the garter, skirted the edge of her nude stocking, and slid up the smooth skin of her inner thigh, coming to rest along the baby-blue lace edging her thong.

His thumb, resting along the crease of her thigh, drifted lightly over her mound, stroked the flesh swelling against the silky fabric. A hot flush crawled all the way up her body, until the pale skin of her breasts was splotched with pink. Another gentle circle, a bare whisper of his thumb brushing over her clit had her arching her hips and digging her fingers into his arms.

She’d never experienced anything like this, the desperate need to feel his hands on her, the desire so fierce it was almost painful. She could chalk it up to skill, but she’d been turned on even before Joe had laid a hand on her. No, there was something about him, the rich scent of his skin, the way his green eyes narrowed and his mouth quirked when he looked at her. But really, none of that explained her ridiculously intense reaction.

His fingers tugged aside the now-drenched satin of her panties, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the first brush of his bare fingers against the swollen folds of her sex. She was so wet she could hear the moist sounds his fingers made as they spread her wide so he could pluck and tease at her clit. Taylor bucked against his hand, needing more pressure, a firmer touch. But he seemed intent on getting to know every crease and furrow, sliding down to tease at her opening but stopping short of pushing inside.

She yanked his head down, sucking and biting at his lips, sliding her tongue inside at the same moment he slid two long, thick fingers inside her. She moaned into his mouth as his thumb traced rough circles around her clit, finally, finally, giving her the kind of touch she craved.

Her hips ground against his hand, fucking his fingers as his mouth made a scorching path down her chest, lapping at the sweat beaded on the skin between her breasts.

Suddenly, his hand was gone. “No,” she cried out as she found herself shifted, repositioned until she sat upright on the couch. Joe ignored her protest as he knelt in front of her, pausing only to jerk the crotch of her panties all the way to the side before hooking her knees over his shoulders. Light exploded behind her eyelids as his mouth closed over her, sucking and lapping at her like he was a starving man and she was ambrosia. His fingers delved back inside, thrusting deep, stretching her wide, pressing up against a bundle of nerves as his tongue stroked against her clit.

Every muscle and every nerve pulled taut as she arched against his mouth. She looked down, saw his dark head buried between her legs, his mouth wet with her juice. He looked up and met her gaze, his so dark and
wanting,
it was enough to send her hurtling over the edge. The tight knot of her orgasm exploded, starting low in her belly and radiating out in pulsing waves. Relentlessly, he pushed her on, his fingers pressing high and hard inside her, his lips never ceasing their soft sucking until one orgasm turned into two, then three, until she was nothing but a boneless, panting heap.

Taylor could feel her heartbeat pounding between her legs, in the tips of her fingers, making the skin of her belly quiver. Joe slowly withdrew his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to her thighs as he sat back on his heels.