Mr. Right Next Door (14 page)

He didn’t know what she was doing when she held the bottle of lotion up for him to take. He just took it, thinking to put it down on the coffee table.

But then her robe starting slipping off her shoulders.

He was afraid at first that she was going to drop it at her feet, and that he just might die right then and there. Call an ambulance. Call someone else to come watch over her.

He’d just die.

But she didn’t drop it completely, just let it fall down the sides of her arm to catch at her elbows, let it ease down her body until most of her back was bare, all the way down to that little indention at the base of her spine.

His breath came in on a hiss and his whole body went tight.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“My back. I can’t reach it all myself and I never seem to have someone here to help me when I need it. Put some lotion on my back, Nick.”

He wanted to hang his head and cry, to throw his hands up and say he surrendered. She’d won. He’d do anything she said, if she just stopped tormenting him this way.

He was a jerk. He was a rat. He shouldn’t have been looking at her the way he had and enjoying it so damned much and he was sorry. Really, really sorry. He’d go burn in hell right now to try to make up for it.

“I can’t do that,” he said.

“Sure you can. You just put some lotion on your hands and rub. You’ve watched me do it enough. You should know how by now.”

“Okay, you want me to say I suffered? That it hurt, just to look at you? Because it did. Believe me, I suffered. I feel guilty. I feel like I’m not doing my job the way I should be. I worry about that making me ineffective and you getting hurt because of it. I swear, I’ve thought of everything.”

Except maybe her, standing in front of him, doing something like this for real.

She must be really, really mad and really, really hurt and he had no idea what to do.

It was like he’d developed a split personality because of her.

Part of him was yelling to himself,
Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare touch her!
And the other part was going,
Are you crazy? This is what you wanted. Get your hands on her now!

She twisted at the waist, giving him a shot of her in profile, grabbed the lotion bottle and before he could stop her, squeezed out a quarter-sized portion of lotion onto his hand.

He swore softly. She turned back around and just stood there, waiting. All that pretty, smooth skin just waiting for him.

A better man would have walked away.

He was sure of it.

Hell, a better man would never have been caught in a situation like this in the first place. A better man wouldn’t have hurt her and watched her the way he’d been watching her, wanting to do the things she was now offering him a chance to do.

Not that he expected it to go much further than this.

She was mad, but she wasn’t crazy. Payback wouldn’t extend much further than him touching her like this, something to make him uncomfortable, but still not be too personal.

Of course, she was naked under the robe, so he had to admit things were way too personal right now, but still. There was definitely a limit as to how far she’d let him take this.

He had to remember that.

So he’d touch her, just a little, the way he’d wanted to touch her, and think about all the things he could not have. Things he’d remember and regret. Things that would make him wish he’d made different choices, that his life was different and could include someone like her.

He rubbed his palms together, warming them and the lotion before he put his hands on her.

Nothing but fingertips at first.

Honestly, he was scared to do any more than that at first.

She sucked in a breath at his first touch, started swaying a little on her feet. Toward him, in the same way he felt his whole being pulled toward her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I am.”

He flattened his palm against her back low on her rib cage, moving slowly up and down, then stroking, down, down, down, down, down, one side of her back and then the next, stopping at the indention of her waist. He found bits of tension here and there, worked at those spots with his thumbs, his mind racing ahead to what he’d like to be doing—sweet, forbidden things.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she said.

“Me, too,” he whispered.

“I don’t even trust myself anymore—”

“Me neither,” Nick said. And a damned fine place that was to be—not even trusting himself to know what to do.

“I think, what am I going to do next? Who am I going to be wrong about next and what’s going to happen then? Dammit, Nick—”

“You’re not going to be around me or Eric Weyzinski, that’s what. Because I’m either going to lock him up or kill him and then I’m going to leave town and you can go back to driving the men around here crazy. No more world-class con men or government agents for you. Just…normal guys,” he said. “Good guys. Guys who are lousy at lying, because I’ve got to say, from what I’ve heard from the women I’ve known, most men are lousy liars.”

She nodded, her back still to him. “That’s true. I always thought that was true. Until this.”

“It’s still true, Kim.”

His hands were at her shoulders, kneading there, working their way down her arms. He had to stop, very, very soon.

There were limits to what a man could do and he was very close to his.

She was too close, smelled too good, looked too great, made him just ache.

But every minute this went on was a minute he got to have his hands on her in ways he never thought he would get to touch her. And it was so sweet.

It was agony.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I have to stop.”

“Do you want to?” she asked.

“God, no.”

“Then you don’t have to stop. Not yet.”

So, it was going to be like a grown-up game of chicken? To see who could stand it the longest without calling a halt to this?

“You’ve got to know, I won’t stop this,” he said. “I have a conscience, and I like to think I know right from wrong, but I’m a man, too, and I’ve never been into self-denial, especially not when it’s denying myself someone I’ve been wanting for way too long. So I won’t be the one who backs off. That’s going to be you,” he told her, her neck, looking delectable as could be, beckoning to him.

“How do you know I’ll stop you?” she asked.

“Because this isn’t what you want.”

“You are so wrong about that—”

“Okay, you might want this, but you’re not going to let yourself have it, because I know women like you. You were seduced by a crook you met on your vacation, which I’m betting is very unlike you—”

“Wrong,” she insisted.

“No way. I’m not wrong about that. Which means, it’ll be a while before you let another guy near you—”

‘Wrong,” she said again.

“How am I wrong about that?”

She turned her head, so that he saw her in profile, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and very, very blue, angry but aroused, tempted, absolutely beautiful. “I didn’t sleep with him,” she said.

“That makes it even worse.” Nick groaned, dropped his forehead down to her shoulder and closed his eyes.

She didn’t even sleep with Eric?

A guy she claimed she was in love with?

“I’d just met him, Nick,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“You said you loved him—”

“On the day we left the boat, at the last minute. Yeah, it was crazy. I knew that. But…I thought he’d come here and we’d have lots of time—to really get to know each other and…well, you know the rest.”

Yeah, he knew.

She hadn’t even slept with Eric?

He was so happy about that, he could have screamed it from the rooftops. The thought of that slimeball touching her, using her in that way and worming his way into her bed with his lies, had been making him insane.

She had been, too.

He didn’t know if they were still playing a wicked little game of chicken or not, but at the moment, he had his face buried in the curve of her neck, doing nothing but breathing in the scent of her, his mouth hovering a half an inch above her skin, just kind of taking everything in. Her smell. The heat of her body. The view he had when he glanced down to the ends of her robe, pulled tight across the top of her breasts, her hands in knots holding on to the material for dear life.

He could have his hands all over her, right now. Could have her naked and writhing beneath him in seconds. He knew it.

He wanted a million different things and they all had to do with her.

O
kay, so her little idea of payback had gone way too far and she should have left it at that.

Honestly, she meant to just to torment him for a few minutes and let that be it.

She could still end it right now, no great harm done.

But there was something in his eyes, something dark and smoky and so intense when he’d looked at her. And she just couldn’t.

He’d be gone soon, and if he left tomorrow, she’d never know what this was or what it might have been. Because she’d thought there was something between the two of them, too. Something real. Something more than anything she’d thought she’d felt for Eric, the rat.

Could she make a mistake like that twice? A monumental, colossal, world-class mistake like that twice within a few weeks’ time?

Because if she could, she should lock herself away from men for a long, long time. She should just give up, resign herself to a life as a single woman, too weak in judgment to ever be trusted with any man again.

And…well…she wanted more than she and Nick had already had together.

So, she could think of this as an act of courage, one of self-discovery or maybe self-preservation, to see if she needed to be locked away from men for decades or if, maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t been that wrong about the man standing in front of her.

She could probably talk herself into thinking of this moment like that, at least for a while longer.

And so she’d handed him the bottle of lotion and told him to rub some on her back.

That hadn’t sounded so outrageous.

Naughty, but not outrageous.

Nick Cavanaugh had probably had his hands all over any number of women.

What was one more?

That was what she needed to find out.

If it took him doing things like this to her, well…so be it.

There. She’d almost made what she was doing sound noble.

He’d been still for the longest time. She could have sworn she could feel his gaze locked on her back, could feel heat radiating from his body. That it was like he was pulling her to him with everything except his hands and arms. Rocking on his feet toward her, just to get a bit closer. Battling with himself with everything he had not to do that.

She’d eased the edges of her robe apart, let them slide off her shoulders and halfway down her arms. And then it took what seemed like ages before she sensed movement behind her, heard him rubbing his hands together slowly.

Which meant, he was going to do it. He was going to put his hands on her.

She tensed, bracing herself for the feel of his hands against her back, of how it would be, how he’d do it. Whether he’d linger there, because he couldn’t help it or whether he could manage the kind of impersonal touch that would tell her she’d once again been a fool.

He took a step closer. She sensed his hand, right off the surface of her skin, long before he let himself touch her.

When he did, his hand was hot to the touch. Hot and strong and gentle as could be, rubbing ever so slowly and carefully, like a man who never wanted to take his hands off of her.

She closed her eyes, nearly bit her own lip trying not to make a sound. A little, throaty, needy sound.

His was a touch that could absolutely curl a woman’s toes.

He went from smoothing on lotion to a light, exquisite massage of her mid-back, and she couldn’t help it then. She groaned.

He came even closer.

She could feel his warm breath on her shoulder, him nuzzling her neck with his mouth.

Could she just have his mouth on her? Now? Please?

He asked about Eric and she told him, just told him, not even trying to protect herself or her pride anymore.

She shivered, whimpered, as he teased up and down the side of her neck, his mouth open, lips right there, kind of touching her, kind of not, a whisper of a sensation that raced through her. She felt like she’d drank two glasses of champagne and the alcohol had gone straight to her head and it was spinning or the room was or maybe her whole body.

“Are you still paying me back for earlier,” he asked. “Like you did when you put your hands all over yourself a few minutes ago, or is this something else? Something different?”

“It’s not payback,” she whispered. “And now you’re going to ask me what it is and I just don’t know, Nick. I guess, I had to know.”

“That I want you?”

“Yes.”
That.

“Because I do and I’m happy to show you. I would have begged for the chance to show you, if I thought it would have done any good,” he said. “So I’m just going to do this. Do whatever I want to you and when you’re ready for me to stop, you just say so.”

He finally opened his mouth and barely, just barely, bit into that spot where her neck melded into her shoulder.

Her knees gave out at the touch and she sank back against him.

He caught her easily with his big, powerful body, one arm coming around her waist, the other holding her chin, holding her face right where he wanted it, so he could keep his mouth buried in the side of her neck, a riot of sensations radiating out from that spot.

It was exquisite, as if her whole body had miraculously developed the power of speech and was chanting,
Touch me. Touch me. Touch me now.

His arms surrounded her completely. Her head fell to his shoulder and then one of his hands was smoothing, soothing, teasing along her collarbone, that spot at the base of her throat, along the top her breast. His mouth was still nibbling at her neck and she was close enough to him now that she could feel his body harden against the curve of her hips.

“What if…I don’t tell you to stop?” she managed. She just wanted to feel, to believe that something was real and that she wasn’t as foolish as she feared.

“You will. I wouldn’t get that lucky,” he said, even as his hand slid ever so slowly over her breast, over the pucker of her nipple, one finger slowly circling, circling, brushing so softly past it and back again. “But I’m done trying to talk you out of it and trying to talk myself out of it. I’m just going to concentrate on what I’m doing and enjoy it. Enjoy you, inch by inch, a handful, a mouthful at a time.”

Even so, it took forever for him to simply take the weight of her breast in his hand, holding it, his thumb rubbing against her nipple in a way that made it ache between her legs.

His mouth was still at work, on her shoulder now, her earlobe, teasing at the corner of her mouth.

Then, like it was a dare, he turned her around and backed her up against the wall, pressing her against it with his body, wrapping her in his arms, finally letting his mouth settle, hard and sure, over hers in long, slow, draining kisses that left not an ounce of resistance anywhere inside of her.

Her breasts swelled so much they actually ached.

He pulled back just enough to give her a smoldering look. “Not yet?”

She shook her head.

He started to take her robe off of her, then gave her a hard, heated stare and shook his head back and forth.

“No. Don’t think so. We’re going to leave it on this time.”

This time?

And then he proceeded to work his way down her body with his mouth, but through the robe.

“Nick,” she protested, hands in his hair holding his face against her.

He’d sucked hard on her breasts, teased gently everywhere else, and his face was currently buried in her belly. She could feel his tongue licking in the vicinity of her belly button.

Okay, things were getting serious here, like a fire screaming out of control.

She was going to stop him, wasn’t she?

There was payback and torture and wounded pride to be salvaged as best she could. There was her own innate sense of caution that had always served her well and a general pickiness about men and a bit of reserve, a sense of privacy, and then there was Nick. And how he made her feel and how she was afraid if she stopped him now, she might never, ever feel like this again.

That this was maybe a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, that a guy like him wouldn’t come around just any old day.

One who could make her want like this.

It couldn’t be normal to want like this, could it?

And then his hands were at the back of her knees, working their way up the back of her thighs, his hands under the fabric of her robe, finally.

They settled on her hips, palming them, holding her to him, his face sinking lower.
Oh, my.

She could feel his breath on her, either through the robe or not, she couldn’t tell.

It was all she could do not to sink to the floor.

Her hands caught hard in his hair, holding him to her.

Not that he was trying to get away.

And the robe was still there. She could tell.

But then, it wasn’t.

“Ahhhh.”

That was just his mouth, nothing between it and her.

She looked down and saw his head working its way in between the gap he was making between the ends of her robe and then his mouth settled on her there. Just his mouth, between her legs.

“I’m going to fall down,” she said, sure that she was.

He laughed. “No, you’re not. I’m not going to let you.”

And after that, he held her hard, hands on her hips, pressing her against the wall so she didn’t fall down.

His mouth, in contrast, was impossibly soft, impossibly hot, shockingly intimate.

He finally let her sink down to the floor, then laid her out on her back and buried his face between her legs once again until she cried out his name, gasping for breath, her shoulders heaving, not a shred of self-control or self-consciousness left in her.

It felt that good; she was powerless to stop anything in her reaction to him.

She curled up on her side, trying to hold on to herself, like she might just break into a million pieces if she didn’t hold on to herself. Like he’d shattered her. Every bit of her resistance and fears, her doubts and her shyness. Every bit of her reserve.

He stood on his knees, kneeling beside her, pulling off his shirt with an impatience that thrilled her, even as drained and satisfied as she already was, then pulled out his wallet, looking for a condom.

“I’m not fooling around anymore,” he said, unzipping his pants, pulling them down, ripping open a condom and putting it on. “Just in case there’s any mistake about this. I shouldn’t do it, but I don’t care. It’s what I want and, sometimes, I should get what I want, not just do the things I have to do.”

She nodded. He’d brought a condom, even thinking she hated him.

She was very, very happy about that, and she was going to let him do anything he wanted to her. She’d regret it in the morning, if she had to. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have anything to regret, but none of them had felt anything like this.

He settled himself between her legs, the robe still on her, but pushed aside. He put his weight on his hands on either side of her, looming over her, looking as disheveled and powerful and handsome as she’d ever seen him.

Arrogant, she decided.

The man had a definite arrogant streak and it turned her on.

“Please don’t tell me that you’ve never been with a man,” he said.

“No.” She took great satisfaction in telling him.

“No, you haven’t, or no, you’re not going to tell me that?”

“No, I’m not going to tell you that.”

His look said he didn’t believe her, but it was true.

He was going to find out for himself in just a moment anyway.

“Kim?”

“I have,” she insisted, reaching for him.

He settled himself against her with a groan, like it hurt just to touch her this way, and he held the weight of his upper body on his arms as he settled his lower body against hers. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t, because she wanted to see his face, too, see how it felt to him. See if she could make him as crazy and out of control as he’d made her.

If she couldn’t, she’d just have to keep trying until she could, she decided.

She felt him, big and hard, at the entrance to her body, pushing slowly inside.

It was tight, despite how ready she was for him. She told herself to relax, to just let it be. She wanted him there. Truly, she did. She wanted everything he had to give her.

He made a face and eased a bit farther in, looking down at her like he didn’t quite understand.

“Okay, but it’s been a while for you, right?”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He groaned. “Kim, let me in.”

She let her legs fall open even farther, wriggling and pushing up against him. He was heavy. His body was so hot, surrounding her, as he went deeper and deeper.

It was like what he wanted was impossible for a long moment and then, it wasn’t.

He was there, slid into the hilt.

He closed his eyes and gasped, like a man in pain. Serious pain. She wrapped her legs around him, wrapped her arms around him and just held on, on and on. His body rocked against hers, a tiny, tiny movement. How did it feel like so much when he was barely moving?

She felt like she could happily climb inside his body and it still might not be close enough, as if she couldn’t hold on to him tightly enough or give enough or do enough. She wanted more, had to have more, had to get him to give her more.

“Nick,” she said, trying to tell him.

“Not yet,” he insisted.

“Nick—”

“Not yet.”

“I want—”

“I know,” he said, still barely moving.

“But I—”

“I know—”

“It’s too much. I can’t stand it—”

“Sure you can.”

His mouth was back at that spot on her neck. She loved that spot. And she was moaning, groaning, her hands on his hips, pulling him closer, this little rocking move he was making about to make her insane. And he knew. The man just knew it.

He’d turned her body to liquid, she decided. Like she’d just melted for him. There was a bit of substance and strength left in her arms, to hold on to him, but that was it. The rest felt like a puddle. A puddle of sensations.

She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to satisfy her, couldn’t say anything anymore, couldn’t think of anything but him and how it felt to have him buried inside of her.