Falling Into You (12 page)

Rebecca knew it wasn’t that cut and dried,
but she realized he wasn’t going to provide any more information, no matter how
much she pried.

“I had no choice but to lie to you, Rebecca,”
Vince said. “You work for Bruno Rossi, the man I was supposed to be investigating.
I couldn’t take a chance on you blowing my cover.”
  

Rebecca said nothing.
He was only doing his job
, one side of her rationalized. Whether or
not she agreed with his reasons for going undercover, she couldn’t fault the
man for doing his job. On the other hand…

“You lied to me,” she accused. “You entered
my life under false pretenses.”

Vince shook his head. “There was nothing
false about the way I felt when I saw you for the first time.” His gaze roamed
across her body clad in a soft white blouse and a short black skirt—the
regular waitress uniform now that Halloween was over.

“You were wearing less than you are now,” Vince
said huskily, “and I wanted you. Wanted you so damn bad it was all I thought
about for days. Believe me, Rebecca, there was nothing ‘false’ about that.”

Her belly quivered traitorously. “I never
disputed the fact that you wanted me, Vince. You made that very clear from the
beginning.”

“And you wanted me, too, Rebecca.”

“We’re not talking about me!”

“Yes, we are. We’re talking about the fact
that you now question everything we’ve shared over the past four days.”

“ ‘Everything we shared’ was based on a lie,”
she said angrily. “Nothing you told me about yourself was true!”

“That’s not true,” Vince insisted, rising
from the sectional and starting toward her. “I’ll admit that there were some
details, some embellishments, that had to remain consistent with my undercover
identity. But those intimate things I shared with you, like the way my parents
died and what it did to me and my sister. Those things came from my
heart
, Rebecca.”
  

Without realizing it, she found herself
drifting toward him like a moth to a flame. “How can you talk about speaking
from your heart when you looked me in the eye every day and lied to me?”

“I had no choice! Believe me, Rebecca, if I’d
met you
anywhere
else, I would have
told you my real name, where I worked and where I lived. Hell, yesterday when
we returned from the park, I would have carried you to
my
apartment on the third floor because I wanted to make love to
you so bad it was pure torture having to wait and ride the elevator all the way
up to the damn ninth floor!”

By now they were standing toe to toe, and
both were fuming. “Is that all I am to you?” Rebecca challenged. “A warm,
readily available body to sleep with?”

Vince scowled. “No—”

“Because if that’s all you’re looking
for—”

“No, damn it!” His chest rose and fell
rapidly as he stared down at her, his nostrils slightly flared. And then,
without warning, he cupped her face between his large hands and crushed his
mouth to hers.

Rebecca resisted for only a moment before
melting against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching on tiptoe
to press herself tightly against his body.

“I love you,” they whispered at the same
time.

Drawing back, they gazed at each other in
quiet wonder for several moments.

“I know we haven’t known each other very long….”
Rebecca began.

Vince didn’t let her finish, slanting his
lips over hers for another deep, intoxicating kiss that fanned the flames of
desire licking through her.
  

“Vince,” Rebecca panted into his mouth. “I
want you.”

“I want you, too, baby. And I intend to have
you.”

“But…right here?”

“Hell, yeah,” he growled, lifting her into
his arms and striding purposefully toward the sectional. “I paid for this suite
out of my own pocket tonight. You’d better believe I’m gonna make full use of
it.”

Rebecca watched through heavy-lidded eyes as
he sat down and settled her astride his hard, muscular thighs. His thick cock
pressed against the damp crotch of her thong.

“Maybe one of these days we’ll try out the
Champagne Suite,” she breathed as he nudged aside the thin band of silk and stroked
her swollen clit. She ground herself against him in mindless need, then,
impatient for the feel of him inside her, she went for his zipper.

“The Champagne Suite?” Vince murmured
distractedly.

“Mmm hmm. There’s a vibrating massage chair
in there that’s supposed to be really stimulating.”

“Sweetheart,” Vince groaned as she reached
inside his pants and freed his throbbing shaft, then rose up and impaled
herself on him, “you’re all the stimulation I’ll ever need.”

*****

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maureen Smith
is the author of twenty-three novels and three novellas. She received a
B.A. in English with a minor in creative writing from the University of
Maryland. She is a former freelance writer whose articles were featured in
various print and online publications. Since the release of her debut novel in
2002, Maureen has won or been nominated for seven
RT BOOKreviews
Reviewers’ Choice Awards and numerous Emma Awards.

She lives in Texas with her husband, two children, and two adorable
miniature schnauzers.
She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at
[email protected]
. Please visit her
website at
www.maureen-smith.com
for news about her
upcoming releases.

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Enjoy a sneak peek at

SEDUCING THE WOLF

by Maureen Smith

Coming Spring 2013

Chapter
1

Manning
Wolf slid from the rumpled bed and crept soundlessly across the shadowy hotel
room to reach the chair over which he’d slung his clothes the night before.
Guided by the sliver of daylight that seeped through the heavy drapes, he began
getting dressed—a task made easier by the way he’d methodically layered
his clothing on the back of the chair. Boxers on top, followed by his
undershirt, socks, pants, broadcloth shirt.

He always
waited until his lovers fell asleep before he got up, gathered his strewn
garments and arranged them on the chair so he could make a clean getaway in the
morning.

As he
quietly shrugged into his Armani suit jacket and slipped on his shoes, a shadow
of cynicism curved his mouth. Just when had he become the proverbial love ’em
and leave ’em type? When had he become a shallow playboy who could bed a
different woman nearly every week without feeling more than a pang of guilt?

Once upon
a time, he’d dreamed of having the kind of relationship that his parents had. A
deep, passionate, unshakable love that could weather any and every storm. He’d
expected—hoped—to find that same blissful perfection with the woman
of his dreams.

A woman
who could complete his sentences, and could set him on fire with just one look.

A woman
who rode his mind whenever they were apart.

A woman
he loved unconditionally and couldn’t live without.

But
somewhere along the way he’d lost his sense of optimism. Lost his will to
believe or hope.

Somewhere
along the way he’d lost his soul.

Because
he hadn’t found
her
.

The One.

Shaking
off the gloomy musings—which reeked of self pity—Manning stuffed
his silk tie into the pocket of his suit jacket and turned to regard the
shadowy outline of the woman lying beneath the white covers. She was sleeping
soundly with the sheets twisted around her nude body, exposing one shapely
thigh. Her tousled dark hair spilled over her face, concealing her features in
a way that seemed oddly symbolic given that Manning would probably forget what
she looked like by the end of the day.

Grimacing
at the thought, Manning crossed to the bathroom to splash cold water onto his
face and rinse his mouth with the hotel’s complimentary mouthwash.

When he
emerged, he was relieved to see that his lover hadn’t stirred. He’d worn her
out last night, making her come so many times she’d been delirious by the time
they were done. So it’d probably be a few more hours before she woke up.

Manning
lingered for a moment, eyeing the cherry bedside table. Leaving his business
card would give her the impression that he wanted to see her again. Leaving
money—even for a cab—would make her feel like a cheap prostitute.
Neither was the message he wanted to send.

So he
left the table empty and headed for the door, making a mental note to have his
secretary send flowers with a note from him thanking her for a good time.

At the
door he paused and glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping woman. His
conscience pricked him as he imagined her waking up and looking around for him,
her confusion quickly turning to disappointment when she realized that he’d
left without saying good-bye.
 

Sorry
, Manning mouthed to her.
It’s nothing personal.

With
that, he turned and left without a sound.

As he
sauntered down the elegantly carpeted corridor, his cell phone vibrated. He dug
it out of his jacket pocket to check the text message.

We still meeting at Mike’s tonight?
Mason
Wolf wanted to know. He was referring to their cousin’s popular soul food
restaurant, where the five Wolf brothers were supposed to meet that evening to
finalize plans for their parents’ surprise anniversary celebration.

Yeah
,
tonight,
Manning typed back.
And
don’t be late, Pipsqueak, or I’ma kick your ass.

Whatever
, Mason retorted.

Manning
chuckled softly.

It didn’t
matter that Mason was a grown man and one of the NFL’s top wide receivers,
boasting the kind of stats that had guaranteed his future enshrinement in the Hall
of Fame. It didn’t matter that everywhere he went, fans clamored for his
autograph and women slipped him their panties and phone numbers scrawled in
lipstick. As far as Manning was concerned, Mason would always be his kid
brother—aka “Pipsqueak.”

As Manning
boarded the empty elevator, he received another text message, this time from
his ninety-seven-year-old great-grandmother. Ever since she’d learned how to
text, Mama Wolf had gotten up at the crack of dawn every morning to send
personalized daily thoughts to all of her great-grandsons.

After
pressing the button for the lobby, Manning read today’s message from Mama Wolf:

A consistent soul believes in destiny, a
capricious one in chance.

Manning
read the quote again, then smiled to himself. He truly appreciated his
great-grandmother’s inspirational nuggets of wisdom, and he looked forward to
receiving them every day—even if the messages didn’t always make sense to
him.