Counselor Undone (2 page)

At the moment, a reason escaped her, but perhaps she needed
to accept the serendipity of the evening to truly appreciate the divine order.
What would happen if she completely surrendered to the moment? Why not enjoy
her first real New Year’s Eve kiss—not counting the kisses from her
godchildren last year—in three years? She was long overdue for a serious,
grownup New Year’s Eve kiss so surrender to the moment she did, with gusto.

The act marked a defining moment in her life. Her nature
didn’t include spontaneous or frivolous. She was the intellectual in her group
of friends, the deep thinker, the analytical one. Known as a FranklinCovey
planner junkie, she couldn’t get through her day without a prioritized daily
task list. She didn’t take uncalculated risks, and she didn’t even kiss on the
first date. Despite those deep-set character traits, she slowly raised her
hand, pushed her fingers into his long, silky hair, and kissed him back as if
he were the love of her life.

* * *

Michael yielded to her unrestrained response and fireworks
ignited inside him. Heat pulsed through his veins, and a thousand pinpricks of
light exploded behind his eyelids. The colors flashed brilliant, more magnificent
than poppy fields on the way to Oz and just as dangerous. The onslaught to his
senses stunned him. Unfamiliar feelings shook the buzz off his intoxicated
haze, warning him he needed to be more aware of the moment—more aware of
her
.

The sound of her soft moan lured him further into her magic,
but the need to breathe forced him to release her lips. “Damn,” he gasped,
leaning his forehead against hers. “Lady, you pack quite a kiss.”

She chuckled softly. “You’re not so bad yourself,
Spartacus.”

He smiled. “So, you figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Her brow creased.

He hesitated. Her puzzled expression perplexed him. The
disconnect between his encounter with her earlier and her current demeanor
deepened. In the parlor, she’d all but bluntly stated her obvious attraction to
him. Now, she acted as if she’d never met him. Was she playing hard to get? He
sensed a playful intelligence about her, but no coyness. This couldn’t be the
same woman he’d met earlier. No way would he have let this woman walk away from
him.

He glanced at her costume to determine what new diva he’d
encountered. He shook his head, annoyed with himself, when his perusal
confirmed the same Juliet dress he remembered. He really should have laid off
the cocktails an hour ago.

“Never mind.” He reached for the mask covering the top half
of her face.

“No.” She stayed his hand, knocking her wig slightly askew.

“I need to see your face.”

“
No
.” She pressed more firmly against the hand he had
at her mask. She had no intention of letting him see her face.

He watched her breasts rise and fall. Like him, she hadn’t
yet recovered from their soul-shattering kiss. He studied her eyes, which
looked soft brown in the dim light. He could have sworn he noted greenish eyes
before. Dismissing the discrepancy as a trick of the shadows, he captured her
hand and pressed his full lips against her palm in an open-mouthed kiss.
Although she didn’t make a sound, he felt a deep inhalation shudder through
her.

He rubbed his thumb along the soft skin of her upraised palm
before he turned her hand over. Her long, graceful fingers ended with
well-manicured, medium-length nails she’d painted with nothing more than a
clearcoat. His thumb and index finger rubbed one of her fingertips, and he
discovered they were her natural nails.

“You have beautiful hands,” he whispered, admiring the
golden undertone to her complexion he hadn’t noticed when her tanned hand
touched him inside earlier.

To think, he’d been about to give up his search when he’d
spotted her standing on the balcony. He’d gotten a full view of her soft, curvy
hips and round, full bottom in the sexy, modernized costume. The snug plum
velvet, with its mid-thigh split and wispy, diaphanous overlay had accentuated
her womanly figure and billowed seductively about her ankles. How had he missed
those luscious curves before?

He placed her hand back on his chest. His heartbeat raced
beneath her palm. When her fingers curled, the butterfly caress made him hum
with appreciation. He released her hand to its own temptation. “Do you have any
idea what your touch is doing to me?”

“Wha—?” Her words disappeared inside the startled
gasped that rushed from her lungs when his hand brushed the front of her dress.
Her nipples beaded at his touch.

“Yeah, my problem exactly,” he murmured. “Everything about
you makes me hard and swollen, too.”

Her eyes darted to his. Despite the dim light, he could read
the desire burning in their depths. His fingers played along a nipple before he
palmed her and relished her heavy roundness. Her breast filled his grasp. She
had to be at least a
C
cup, an all-natural
C
cup. The thought
brought a smile to his lips. He pressed those happy lips against her neck and
massaged her budded peak with deep, deliberate pressure. His hips moved.

She groaned when he began to lower his head. “Wait.” She
placed her hands on either side of his face to still its descent.

His voice pitched low, husky. “Wait for what, sweetheart?”

“I—I . . .”

Her inability to form words amused him until he noted the
look in her eyes. Sincerity and definiteness of purpose filled her gaze, with
some confusion and uncertainty mixed in. Whatever the vibes she’d sent his way
in the parlor, she appeared to have had a change of heart. The thought
disturbed him. He couldn’t pinpoint what had happened between his gathering of
two champagne glasses to track down a one-night stand and this moment of
genuine human attraction. He needed more time with this woman to figure it out.
Something about her beckoned him to get to know her and not only in the biblical
sense.

The melodic sound of her voice replayed in his head:
You’ve
made a mistake. I think you’re looking for someone else
.

An uncomfortable uncertainty tickled his nerves, invoking
the feeling again that the woman before him differed distinctly from the woman
he’d conversed with earlier. The moment of unease caused the lingering
alcoholic fog around his brain to lift completely.

Spurred by the possibility she might pull away, he wrapped
his arms around her. “Be mine tonight, Juliet. Let me give you your first
pleasure of the New Year.”

* * *

Juliet managed only a whimper in response to the gladiator’s
entreaty. Her voice completely abandoned her. His nibbling lips returned to her
neck. His warm hand fondling her breast, coupled with his well-endowed shaft
riding above the throbbing apex of her thighs, built an erotic pressure deep
inside her center and hinted ecstasy lingered only a small pelvic alignment
away.

A battle raged inside her. The level-headed intellectual in
her kept telling her to nix this behavior before this stranger bashed her in
the head, did horrific things to her, and dumped her body in some toxic ditch,
making her a tragedy worthy of an episode of
Criminal Minds
. The
passionate woman in her, the one she’d buried beneath a deluge of
disillusionment and cured with a heavy dose of compulsive career focus, started
fighting her way free of the self-imposed fourteen-month cell of abstinence.

She pushed his hip, trying to put space between their
thighs. “Please,” she tossed the impassioned plea at him, not really sure what
she was asking.

Was she asking him to stop?
Yes.

Was she asking him not to stop?
Yes.

She’d never understood the notion of mixed signals. She’d
always thought it a simple matter of you did or you didn’t—you wanted to
or you didn’t want to. How self-righteously ignorant she’d been. Heaven help
her. Everything about this man turned her on, and she didn’t even know his
name.

His hand dropped from her breast. “Tell me, Juliet, are you
as wet for me as I am hard for you?”

His hand reached under the folds of her costume, and she
squirmed. A deep flush spread over her body. She
was
wet. She blocked
his hand with her leg, trying to shield the evidence of her arousal and stave
off the orgasm that surely would occur if he touched her.

He squeezed his hand between her legs and cupped her
intimately. He lifted triumphant eyes to hers. “Why would you want to hide this
from me?” he murmured gruffly.

“I can’t . . . ,” she started, but didn’t finish. Her train
of thought vanished with the glide of his fingers over the damp satin triangle
of her thong. A sound squeezed from her throat she didn’t recognize, having
never before vocalized this particular note of tortured bliss.

“Don’t deny me, Juliet. You’re the best part of this whole
miserable New Year’s Eve for me.”

Despite herself, the urge to rock her pelvis against his
fingers grew strong. She bordered on emotional overload. She couldn’t reconcile
the pleasure she felt from his touch with the horror rising inside her for her
uncharacteristically loose behavior. That this man’s kiss, his words, his
illicitly placed fingers, could give her the most stimulating sexual encounter
of her life both puzzled and overwhelmed her.

Her feminine walls started to pulse and tremble, but she couldn’t
allow him to continue. She slid her hand between them, inadvertently brushing
the back of her hand against his erection. His sharp intake of breath rattled
her already shredded composure.

She wrapped her hand firmly around his broad wrist and closed
her eyes to steady herself. When she thought she’d conquered her emotions, she
opened her eyes and peered into his watchful gaze. “We have to stop.” She
squeezed his wrist. “
I
have to stop. Please, let go.”

A few seconds passed before he moved, letting his hand drop.
A question built behind his eyes before he finally whispered, “Who are you?”

She hesitated a moment, contemplating her response. She
could tell by his expression he’d finally realized she wasn’t the woman he’d
come looking for. Did it bother him? He seemed simply curious not angry.
Nevertheless, innate self-preservation made her glance around for an escape
route.

The gladiator placed a hand firmly on her waist to hold her
in place. “Tell me your name. Your
real
name. I have to see you again.”

Her mind raced. Nothing good could come of a midnight tryst
with an intoxicated stranger whom you almost let get inside your panties
without even trading your real names. She needed to get away.

“No.” She moved aside abruptly. “Let me go.”

“Wait!”

Their voices overlapped. Her movement caught him off guard,
and he dropped the forgotten champagne flute he’d been holding. The bubbly
liquid spilled down her back before the sound of shattering glass rent the air.
She jerked and the corded shoulder gathers of her dress snagged on the curlicue
design of his epaulettes. The cords unraveled and the bodice of her dress
drooped, completely exposing her to the waist. Her mouth dropped open.
Mortification overtook her when the gladiator’s eyes widened at the display of
her naked breasts.

Footsteps sounded near the sliding glass door of the balcony
and a giggling voice carried across the night. “Are you sure no one else is out
here?”

“Don’t worry, baby,” came a masculine reply. “You’re safe
with me.”

The gladiator recovered quickly and clasped her to his
chest, shielding her from view with his larger body.

The giggling increased when the amorous couple passed them.
“See, I told you someone else would have thought of this,” the female voice
admonished.

The deep male voice replied humorously, “Baby, they’re so
into each other they won’t even know we’re here. C’mon. Let’s find our own
private corner.”

The footsteps faded, and Juliet became aware of her bare
nipples squished against the gladiator’s chest. Instead of alarming her, the
warmth of him felt oddly comforting. Instinctively, she understood he’d grabbed
her to cover her wardrobe malfunction, which impressed her as oddly gallant
under the circumstances.

“Thanks,” she murmured, disengaging to attend her bodice.

When she couldn’t get the shoulder piece back together, he
intercepted her frustrated fumbles. “Here. Allow me.”

The chore stumped him as well until he discovered a small
clasp hidden beneath the gold cording. The clasp was bent, having snagged on
his shoulder piece. He pressed it back into shape with a firm squeeze between
his thumb and forefinger then latched it closed over her shoulder.

She adjusted her dress and stepped towards the door, careful
to avoid the broken glass at her feet. “I have to go.” She spoke without
looking at him.

“I really want to see you again.”

“No, you don’t.” She shook her head and almost laughed at
his shocked expression. “What you want is an easy lay. And I’m not that woman.”

“That’s not—”

She placed three fingers against his lips to silence him.
“Look, this isn’t who I am. I don’t know what came over me tonight. I’ve never
done anything like this before in my life. Ever. So, you can forget about your
all-nighter. You won’t be getting lucky with me.”