Fiancee for Hire (7 page)

It also excited him.

She turned, baring her back and the flimsy clasp of the bra so enticingly close, Mac could almost touch her. Then he was touching her, dropping the dresses in a puddle at his feet as he reached for the bra clasp. He flicked it open and pushed aside the lacy straps, his palms sliding around to cup her as his thumbs slid over her nipples. She was so warm, so sweet, so unbelievably soft—

“Oh, no you don’t,” Kelli scolded, stepping away and turning to face him. She angled her arm so it covered her breasts, but just barely. “We’re choosing dresses, remember?”

“Right. Dresses.” Mac nodded and Kelli gave him a smile. There was something different about it. Something not even remotely angelic. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. She was all devil now, her eyes flashing with mischief as she held those beautiful breasts just out of reach.

“I think you should turn around,” she said.

“What?”

“We aren’t married, you know. I don’t think it’s right for you to go staring at my bare breasts.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He took a step toward her.

She took a step back and shook her head. “Turn around.”

Mac blinked, not sure if she was serious or not. She stared right back, her expression equal parts teasing and scolding. He waited a few beats for her to drop her arm, to tell him she was just teasing.

God, it was hot in this closet.

“I’m waiting,” she said. “You wanted a sweet, demure, innocent bride who wouldn’t give you any trouble, right?”

“What?”

“A modest bride is a happy bride,” Kelli chirped. “I read that in a wedding planning guide from 1958.”

“Did Anna give it to you?”

“Yes.”

“Is it too late to fire her?”

She grinned. “Turn around, Mac.”

Sensing she wasn’t going to be showing him her breasts anytime soon, he grumbled something unintelligible and turned around. He was facing the closet door now, staring out into the bedroom with its dark wood furniture and modern art and that big, sprawling, massive bed where he’d sincerely love to toss Kelli and fuck her senseless.

“What do you think?” she purred, her lips so close to his ear that he jumped. How the hell had she crept up on him?

He started to turn, but her hands cupped his shoulders, holding him in place. That’s when he noticed what was pressed warmly low against his bare back. Those naked, soft breasts pushed against him, teasing and warm against his spine. She moved with slow deliberateness, grazing the hollow of his back with her nipples. He could feel them firm on his flesh, and he groaned aloud. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration that he couldn’t touch her, or pleasure that she was touching him. Did it matter?

She brushed her breasts from one side of his back to the other, still teasing. Heat and friction made her nipples skitter slightly, flesh on flesh, softness against hardness. He ached to touch her. To see her.

But at least he could feel her. Her breasts moved against him, pressing upward, moving in slow circles. Her nipples were hard and tight against the columns of muscle running up each side of his spine.

“I like your freckles,” she breathed, planting a soft kiss on one shoulder blade. “I wouldn’t have pictured you as a man with freckles. You hide things well.”

She laughed then, and brushed one fingertip over the front of his trousers. He groaned, and she laughed again. “Well, maybe not all things.”

She went back to teasing him, hands on his shoulders, breasts moving soft and lush against his back. He felt her eyelashes tickle his flesh as she planted another kiss on his left shoulder blade, then the right.

It dawned on Mac this was as much a tease for her as it was for him. Her hands slid away from his shoulders, and he tried to turn, to seize control of the situation. She stopped him, palms pressing hard against his shoulder blades, breasts pushed firmly into the small of his back.

“Not so fast,” she whispered. “I’m just testing this out.”

“Testing what out?”

“How it would feel to be braless. See, I didn’t pack a strapless bra, so I need to make sure this is an acceptable way to spend the evening in mixed company.”

Mac closed his eyes as she stroked herself over his spine and down. He pictured her bending her knees as she dipped low, her breasts moving just above his belt.

“I don’t know about mixed company, but it works great here,” he murmured.

She slid her hands down, moving to cup his ass. Her palms moved against him, fingers massaging—a surgeon’s skilled fingers—and Mac gave another strangled moan as her nipples trailed over the heated patch of skin above his pants.

Pants that felt entirely too tight at the moment.

He could feel his erection straining against the fabric. The caveman inside him commanded him to just turn around and take her. It would be so easy, and he knew she’d come willingly.

The rest of him ached to see what she planned to do.

He had his answer in an instant as her hands slid away from his ass and moved to the front of his pants. His back was still to her, so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could feel her. Her fingers found the buckle of his belt and unfastened it. Then she moved to his fly, fingertips grazing his belly as she flicked the button open and moved to the zipper. She slid it down with aching slowness, her movements deliberate, certain.

Her hands moved to his hips, pushing the fabric down over them. The pants fell easily, linen pooling at his bare feet. She moved to the waistband of his boxer briefs, her fingers teasing as they slid beneath the elastic.

Christ, he should just turn around and have her. Bend her over the bench where he sat to put on his shoes. Take charge of the situation. Part of him screamed to seize control, to call the shots the way he always did. But there was something thrilling about giving it up, if only for a moment. Letting a woman have her fun with him.

“Mmm,” she whispered against his back as she pushed his boxer briefs down over his hips. They fell onto the pants, a pile of warm fabric at his feet. He started to kick them away, but Kelli pressed one high-heeled shoe onto the pile, trapping him in place with his own clothes.

“Stay still,” she whispered, nipping lightly at the top of his butt.

He groaned and tried to turn again, to see her at least. She held him firmly by the waist.

“Nice try,” she whispered, rising up again and skimming her breasts over his back. Her breath was warm on the side of his ribcage. “No touching before the wedding.”

“This isn’t touching?” he ground out.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “But this is.”

Her fingertips grazed the tip of his cock. Then she wrapped one hand around him, her palm hot and soft against him.

“Fuck,” Mac choked out, gripping the doorframe for balance.

“Definitely not,” she whispered, gripping him tighter as she began to stroke him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

She caressed him slowly, her hands skilled and applying just the right amount of pressure. She moved up, down, up again, fingertips soft and firm all at once.

“Holy God,” he gasped as she stroked her hand in a slow, rhythmic, tease. Her breasts pressed soft against his back as her fingers moved deftly over his shaft. “Whatever kind of girl you are, I hope you never change.”

She laughed and stroked more firmly, one hand gliding over him while the other moved lower to knead his balls. She teased slowly at first, her rhythm building gradually as Mac’s breath came faster.

Her grip was tighter now, but still fluid. He’d never been handled this way before, forced to stand completely still while someone else touched and teased and all he could do was grip the doorframe and hope to God he got to repay the favor.

He felt himself throbbing in her hand and gritted his teeth, certain he was on the brink of falling down or passing out or losing it completely.

“Kelli,” he growled.

“Hmm?” she breathed against his back.

“You’d better stop now.”

“Or what?”

“Or one of two things will happen.” He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure as his fingers dug hard into the doorframe. “Either we’ll have another article of clothing to dry clean, or I’m going to turn around and—”

“Sir?”

They both froze. Kelli’s hand held him tight, unmoving. Her breath was hot and fast against his back.

“Sir? Are you in there?”

Brian. Fuck,
Mac thought.
I left the goddamn door wide open.

Mac swallowed. “Yes?”

“I have the car ready, sir. The dinner reservation you asked for is at seven.”

Mac closed his eyes.
Dammit
. He’d completely forgotten.

“Dinner?” Kelli whispered, fingers still twined around his shaft.

“It was a surprise,” he whispered back. “Since I didn’t get to take you out your first night.”

“How romantic.”

“Besides, it’s good for Zapata’s people to see us out in public.”

“Of course.”

Mac took a deep breath. “Coming!”

Behind him, Kelli laughed. “Not anymore.” She laughed again, her breasts moving pleasantly. Mac lost a few more brain cells.

She squeezed him once more, softly, before letting go. Then she stepped back. Mac felt her absence in the chill of his bare skin.

“On second thought,” he whispered, “We could just skip dinner and—”

“No way, José,” she said, putting a palm against his back to keep him from turning around. He heard a rustle of clothing, and felt disappointed she was getting dressed.

“It’s only a major arms deal,” he said. “Just a few million bucks and some dead civilians, but really—”

“The moment’s gone, Mac,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Stall Brian for ten minutes while I put on some lipstick and a dress.”

“Without underwear?” he asked hopefully.

She swatted him on the shoulder, then gave him a gentle push toward the door. “You’ll just have to wonder, won’t you?”

“About a lot of things,” he muttered raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. He grabbed a shirt from its hanger and shrugged it over his shoulders as he stomped toward the door.

He got halfway down the hall before remembering to go back for his pants.

By the time he got to the car, he’d almost cooled off. Almost.

He punched his sister’s speed-dial number, grateful to have a few moments of quiet with no bodyguards or assistants or disturbingly sexy fake fiancées around to cloud his thoughts.

Sheri answered on the second ring. “Mac! I’m so glad to hear from you. How are things going?”

Mac adjusted his sunglasses and stared through the windshield at a phallic-looking cactus. “I asked for a Stepford wife and you sent me a goddamn hellcat.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Mac could picture Sheri biting down on her fist to keep from laughing. He felt his blood starting to boil, or maybe that was his libido still on a low simmer from Kelli’s teasing.

“It’s good to hear from you, too,” Sheri said primly.

“You knew damn well Kelli wasn’t sweet and demure and compliant and whatever else you tried to sell me. She’s your best friend, for crying out loud.”

“And she’s your sister’s best friend,” she retorted, her voice annoyingly smug and chipper. “You should have paid more attention.”

Mac gritted his teeth and raked his hand through his hair. “This is not what I asked for.”

“No? Well, I asked for a nanny and you sent a Marine.”

“A Marine you’re now engaged to marry, may I remind you? You’re welcome.”

“So are you, jerk.” She laughed. “You gave me the one thing I was damn sure I didn’t want but never knew I needed. I saw my chance to do the same for my control-freak big brother. You can thank me later.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “I have to run. Sam’s waiting in the car with the boys. I love you, you overbearing bastard.”

Before he could say anything else, she’d hung up on him. Mac sat there staring at the phone a moment, not sure whether to be pissed off at his sister, at Kelli, or himself.

He tore his gaze off the phallic cactus and saw Kelli floating toward the car in a shimmery yellow dress that hugged her curves. His heart lodged in his throat, and he gripped the phone in his fist, forgetting all about being pissed off.

Anger wasn’t what he was feeling. That wasn’t it at all.

And that scared the holy living shit out of him.

Chapter Six

“Are we being watched?” Kelli asked, taking a sip of wine as she tried to look inconspicuous studying the other patrons in the restaurant.

There was the middle-aged couple feeding each other bites of scampi and laughing with their heads bent close together. There was a table with five men in Bermuda shorts slapping each other on the back while repeatedly using the word
balls
, and it took Kelli a moment to realize they were discussing golf. She turned away and studied the gray-haired foursome enjoying a quiet dinner together at the table near the window.

Was one of them a spy for Zapata?

Mac cleared his throat and picked up the saltshaker. He inspected the bottom of it, then set it down and repeated the process with the pepper, the utensils, and the tiny vase of wildflowers on the table. She saw his hands moving under the table, and for a moment, thought he was reaching for her knee. Then she realized he was searching for something.

“Bugs?” she guessed, her stomach lurching a little at the thought of someone going to such lengths to eavesdrop.

“All clear,” he said, returning his hands to the top of the table and clasping them together. “But even if we’re not being recorded, we’re almost certainly being watched.”

“Well, then,” she said, sliding her hands toward his and moving her fingers over the tops of his knuckles. “We’d probably better look like we’re on intimate terms, shouldn’t we?”

Mac seemed to hesitate, then unclasped his hands and folded them around hers. “Easier to do now than two hours ago.”

Kelli felt some heat rush to her cheeks as she remembered the way she’d teased him. It had been good payback for his earlier tease in the car. She smiled and freed one hand, taking another sip of wine. “Between the emergency surgery, the carjacking, and our time spent in the closet, I haven’t had much time to study your info packet today.”

“Thank you for filling out the questionnaire last night,” he said. “We’ll both have time for review tomorrow before the dinner. That should be enough to make sure we’re covered.”

“Hopefully,” she said, returning her hands to his and savoring the feel of being engulfed in his large palms. “Do you really think those questionnaires are enough?”

He frowned, forming what looked like a permanent crease between his brows. Kelli was struck by a sudden urge to kiss that spot.

“Enough for what?” he asked.

“To seem like two people who know each other well enough to get married.”

He shrugged and glanced toward the kitchen where their waiter had disappeared five minutes ago with their dinner order. Kelli followed his gaze, wondering if he was assessing the possibility the waiter was a spy. What would it be like to constantly look over your shoulder like that? His urge to protect her was comforting, but also a little unnerving. Almost an obsession, though for the life of her she wasn’t sure what drove it.

“Let’s play a game,” she said.

Mac raised one eyebrow. “You’ll have to excuse me, I forgot my chessboard.”

“A get-to-know-you game,” she continued, ignoring the sarcasm. “I’m still of the opinion it’s the quirky little personality details that will make or break our story.”

“What sort of game did you have in mind?”

“How about this or that?”

“What or what?”

“It’s a game,” she said. “I’ll name two things, and you have to choose this or that. Ready?”

“I’m not sure I understand the intent of the exercise—”

“Mac or PC?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“For a computer. Does Mac use a Mac, or is Mac a stuffy PC guy?”

That got a small smile out of him, and his hands curved tighter around hers. “Mac is most definitely a stuffy PC guy.”

“Excellent. See? I’ve learned something about you already.”

“I take it you’re a Mac guy?”

“God, no. I don’t even own a computer. Okay, next question. Bacon or cupcakes?”

“Cupcakes,” he said automatically.

“Bacon for me,” she said, nodding. “You have a sweet tooth then?”

“Definitely.” He’d skipped the sunglasses for once, and the molten quality in those dark brown eyes made her shiver.

“But no peanut butter and chocolate—I remember that from our meeting with Anna.”

“Right.”

“Are you allergic?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the dark shadow that flashed in his eyes told her not to press it. Weird, but okay. She cleared her throat. “Automatic or manual transmission?”

“Manual. I prefer the control.”

“Of course.”

“And you?” he asked.

“Same.”

“After your performance in the closet, it doesn’t surprise me you’re adept with a stick shift.”

She grinned, ignoring the rush of heat to her cheeks. “Cats or dogs?”

“Cats. They’re calm. Serene. Detached.”

“Hmm, that one doesn’t surprise me.” Kelli crossed her legs under the table. “I like cats and dogs and hedgehogs and lizards and pretty much every animal under the sun. Except centipedes.”

“I’ll have Hank cancel that shipment of one hundred centipedes I’d planned to give you for a wedding gift. So do I get to ask one?”

“Be my guest,” she said.

“Panties or no panties?”

She laughed and glanced toward the closest table, where the scampi-eating couple had moved on to feeding each other bites of something that looked like roasted yam. She turned back to Mac and gave him her sweetest, most angelic smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He stared at her for two breaths, unblinking. Then he reached out, grabbed the edge of her chair, and jerked her toward him. She squeaked in surprise, nearly toppling from the chair, but he caught her with one hand on her bare thigh. Her flesh tingled and her brain spun dizzily. Mac’s face was inches from hers now, and she felt her heart lodge in her throat.

“Yes,” he murmured, his breath ruffling her hair. “I would.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. He slid one massive palm between her thighs, parting them just enough to move his fingers up. Kelli gasped as he grazed her most sensitive flesh. He was gentler than she expected, but still rough, still in control as the pads of his fingers made one slow, gentle circle, then another.

She started to resist—to wrestle control back from him and keep the conversation moving in the direction she’d chosen. But his touch felt too damn good.

She moaned and moved her thighs apart. Breeze from the ceiling fan brushed her bare skin as the ocean crashed in the distance and the scent of pineapple daiquiris wafted over from the bar. Mac circled her with his fingertip, barely moving, but shockwaves of pleasure rocketed though her core.

He smiled. “And now I know.”

She licked her lips. “Now you know,” she whispered, thankful he didn’t know the half of it. What was really going on in her head.

“Tell me something,” he said, taking a sip of his wine as he looked away from her and surveyed the room with a look of perfect nonchalance. “Do you find eschewing panties keeps you in a constant state of arousal?”

“What?” Kelli breathed, her brain too addled to grasp the question.

Mac set his wineglass on the table and leaned back in his chair, fingers still working their magic under the table. “It’s either that, or you got wet the second I touched your thigh. Which is it, darling?”

She pressed against his hand, ignoring his words and savoring his actions instead. His fingers moved between her legs with a certainty that surprised her. She gasped as he plunged into her, curling his finger in a come-hither motion.

“My, my,” he said. He picked up his napkin, spreading it over his lap in a gesture the other patrons would probably mistake for politeness.

But there was nothing polite about what he was doing under the table. She stifled a moan as his fingers glided expertly over her sensitive folds, teasing, stroking, caressing.

Her breath was coming fast now, her hands clammy as she gripped the edge of the table. She could still take charge again. Get a grip on herself and the situation and keep things safe and flirty.

Then Mac drove deeper into her while his thumb made languid strokes across her clit, and all of herself-control melted away like the ice in her water glass.

Mac picked up his glass and took another sip of wine, his expression stoic as he surveyed the other patrons in the restaurant. A waiter whisked fajitas onto a plate at the next table, the bright red peppers sizzling and hissing. A woman at the bar took a bite of chocolate flan and moaned with pleasure. Kelli dug her nails into her palms and stifled a groan.

Mac slid another finger into her.

This time, she moaned aloud as his thumb caressed her again. She was growing dizzy, the heat building inside her as her brain throbbed and her thighs clenched and her toes curled in her shoes and—

“Oh, God!”

She brought her napkin to her lips, smothering her cries as he plunged into her. Small explosions seized her from the inside, pulsing out with the rhythm of his fingers. She knocked over her water glass and prayed the waiter didn’t rush over to mop it up. Another wave of pleasure hit her with more force than the last, throwing her back in her chair as his thumb stroked her.

When the swells of sensation ebbed away, Kelli felt herself drifting back to earth. Mac drained the last of his wine, the faintest hint of a smile quirking his lips. She slammed her thighs together and pushed his hand away. His smugness should have brought her crashing back to earth, but it didn’t. Not entirely.

She felt too damn good.

She took a breath and righted her water glass, crossing her legs beneath the table. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, and she had to grip the napkin in her lap to keep her hands from shaking.

“You’re all wet,” Mac said.

“No kidding.”

He smiled. “I mean your water glass. Let me get the waiter over here to clean it up.”

“Just give me a minute,” she said, her voice high and shaky as she struggled to regain control of it. “The game. This or that?”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “We’re still playing?”

“Of course.” She grabbed his water glass and took a big gulp, then another. When she set it down, she noticed her hands had stopped shaking. She turned back to Mac, feeling duly fortified.

“End world hunger, or create world peace?” She turned her face up toward the fan, wondering if her cheeks were as flushed as they felt.

Mac studied her, his expression infuriatingly self-satisfied. “Dish it out, or take it?” He smiled. “Wait, I can answer that one for you. Certainly not the latter, hmm?”

“What?”

“The teasing. This wrestling for control. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

“Right. Um, well, I believe I asked my question first. World peace or—uh—something like that.”

He smiled. “Very well. I’m inclined to suggest world peace and ending world hunger aren’t an either/or proposition. I know enough about politics and social economics to believe if you solved one, it would likely solve the other. Morning person or night owl?”

“Night owl,” Kelli replied, using her napkin to blot at the water spill as her heart rate returned to normal. “You?”

“Depends on what duty requires of me.”

“But which comes more naturally to you?”

“That is what comes naturally to me.”

“Duty?”

“Yes.”

“Not pleasure?”

“Sometimes, the two overlap.”

Kelli nodded, understanding him better than she had all week. Maybe ever.

She took another sip of water and recrossed her still-shaky legs.