Perfect Summer (22 page)

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Summer’s huge, blue eyes watched him as she sipped.

“Absolutely.” He stepped into her personal space and tugged on the bottom of her shirt. “Shirt…off now.”

“Why?”

“I’m bathing you.” It was safe to say she’d never done this with Jack. The muscles at the back of his neck loosened. “It’s fun. I promise you’re going to like it.”

Tonight was about her. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone else’s happiness and fulfillment before his. Not that he’d ever left a lady without a grin on her face, but he’d never had to work at seducing them. His life had always been about conquest except in the bedroom—there had been no need because a willing and confident stream of ladies had made him their prey.

“But the lights are on.” He thought it wasn’t shyness but fear that made her voice small.

“The better to see you with, my dear.”

All the color drained from her face, and she shrank back.

Clint frowned. He’d wanted to pleasure her, not upset her. He flipped off the overhead light and blew out all of the candles. “Better?”

"Thanks." She exhaled long and hard. “Things work better for me in the dark.”

If that’s what she needed, he’d give it to her…for now.

Clint reached down and turned off the water. He stepped behind her, brushed her hair aside, and kissed the back of her neck.

“Mmmmm.” She melted back against him.

“I love that sound.” His hands skimmed down to the bottom of her tee shirt, worked it up and over her head.

“What sound?” Every muscle in her body tensed like she was bolstering her courage or bracing herself for something.

“That half-moan, half-sigh you make when I touch you.”

“I do not.”

His fingertips brushed the top of her jeans and then moved up her stomach to cup her full breasts. With his thumbs, he teased her small, taut nipples. Her head fell back against his chest.

“Mmmm.”

“That’s the sound.”

“I made a sound?” Her ass bumped against the front of his jeans, rekindling the fire that had been at a slow burn since she’d walked into the room.

“You’re going to do it again and again and again.” His left hand released her breast and dipped to the snap on her jeans. With a flick of his finger and a quick tug of the zipper, his fingers brushed naked skin. Holy shit. His finger skimmed down a thin line of hair. Was it the same gold as the curls on her head? “Forget something?”

“No, laundry emergency.”

“Oh God, you’re a surprise.” His fingers brushed her opening.

“Is that good?” She parted her legs, giving him access.

“Unbelievable. I love it.” One finger dipped inside. Warm, wet, silky flesh drew him in. Lazily, he slid another finger in and then withdrew it. He kept at it until her hips moved against his hand.

Her dew covered his fingers, but it wasn’t enough—he had to know how she tasted. He dropped to his knees and turned her around. Pushing her jeans down to her ankles, he helped her out of them and gently urged her to sit on the tub’s rim.

“What are you doing?” Summer would have jumped back, but he held her tight.

“Returning the favor.” He nuzzled her.

Her hand shot down, covering herself from him.

“No.” She sounded panicked. “I’ve tried that. It didn’t go well.”

Clearly, Jack had done it wrong. She’d known how to give, but receiving was another story.

He kissed each finger but didn’t try moving them. Talking her through it might calm her nerves. “I’m going to lick you until you come against my tongue.”

She tensed.

“Give me five minutes, and if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

He heard her swallow.

“You want to? Really?” Her hand moved away.

“Right now, I want to go down on you more than I want to win next year’s Super Bowl.” Clint eased her back to the edge of the tub and parted her legs. “I like the way you taste. Your job is to tell me what feels good.”

“But—”

“And moaning, sighing, and calling out my name are always appreciated. Oh, and now you can say ‘fuck’ as many times as you want.”

He lowered his head. She was warm and sweet and ready. He lapped at her center, her tangy honey filling his mouth and dripping down his chin.

“That feels good.” She tilted her hips and opened to him.

Clint slowed his pace. He wanted to take his time and savor her like the first ripe peach of summer—warm and sweet. He dipped one finger inside.

“Do that again.” Her voice was breathy and labored.

Clint followed orders well. His other hand found hers and brought it to her breast. He pressed her palm to her nipple and massaged until her hand found the rhythm.

“Oh God.” Her other hand fisted in his hair as her hips moved against his mouth.

He glanced up, wanting to see her face, but it was too dark.

The muscles in her legs stretched taut, and her hips bucked faster. “Don’t stop. Please. Harder. Oh, Clint."

His name shattered from her lips and burned through his system. He matched her pace. Her movements became frantic, and then the muscles in her body relaxed, and her nectar turned sweet.

He kissed her thighs and wanted to keep going, but the brick in the front of his pants was starting to throb.

“Wow. That’s what all the fuss is about.” Summer slumped against him.

“Glad you liked it.” With a shaky hand, Clint wiped his face.

“Condoms?” The word barely made it through his clenched teeth. His cock had moved from throbbing into painful.

“Living room.” Her voice was lazy, drugged, satisfied.

No running back, alive or dead, could have broken his speed record. The box lay on the floor next to the sofa, right where she’d left them before setting that naughty mouth on him. He whimpered and snatched up the box. It took two tries before his fingers closed around a packet. Using his teeth, he ripped it open and donned the only barrier he wanted between her body and his. In a flash, he was back in the bathroom.

The time for foreplay was over.

“I can’t wait.” Clint bent over, slid one arm under her knees, anchored the other right above her ass, and lifted her. He could lie and tell her that he wanted their first time to be in a soft bed because he wanted her to be comfortable, but all he wanted was a horizontal surface where the physics were simple.

"Bed." His voice was shaky. "Now."

He scooped her up Rhett Butler-style and made a break for the four-poster bed in the adjoining master bedroom.

His mouth found hers in a clumsy kiss as he laid her on the soft, purple comforter. Summer reached between his legs, stroked him once, and rubbed the tip against her opening.

“Do you like this?”

“Jesus.” He could barely breathe. His hand closed around hers, stopping the movement. “I love it, but playtime is over.”

With the ounce of restraint he had left, Clint slid slowly into her.

Christ, she was tight. He pulled out and slid in again. Tight, so fucking tight.

“Mmmm.” Summer’s eyes were closed as she sucked on her lower lip. “That feels good.”

He slid in again. This pace was just about killing him. Again, he eased in.

His discipline was rewarded with another moan.

Her hand skimmed up his chest, and then her thumbs stroked his nipples. Her eyes fluttered open, and a sexy half smile curled on her lips. “Wait. I forgot, you like this more…and so do I.”

Her hands moved to cup her breasts, her thumbs teasing her nipples. Good God, she was hot. She enjoyed watching him watch her.

Her eyes stayed on his as her hips bucked faster, urging him to pick up the pace.

“Holy shit.” Biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to prolong it, Clint matched her rhythm.

Her smile turned downright nasty as one hand slipped from her breast, down her stomach, to the top of the cleft between her legs, and drew tiny circles. “Mmmm.”

His mouth fell open. She was a very naughty girl.

She tightened around him, and her hips rocked faster, stroking him to release. With one final thrust, Clint lost the battle and poured into her.

He slumped against her and nuzzled her neck. Rolling her on her side, he fitted his body around hers. For the first time in his life, he was content. There were no expectations to live up to or competitions to strategize or speeches to memorize—there was just a quiet evening in with a woman who wanted nothing from him and knew his weakness but liked him anyway. He’d never met anyone like Summer, and when she looked at him, she only saw goodness. How long before he screwed that up?

Summer snuggled deeper under the comforter and buried her head under the pillows. In the distance, a phone rang incessantly, doing its best to yank her out of the lovely blankness between sleep and wakefulness. A hard, lean body rolled against hers, and a large hand cupped her left breast, pulling her closer.

Her eyes sprang open, but she didn’t move a muscle.

Sunshine glowed through the slats of the dark, wooden blinds covering her windows. Last night, they’d fallen asleep holding each other. Part of her wanted to believe that it meant something…that she meant something, while another part of her wanted to deck the first part for being stupid and needy.

Clint was still here. He’d spent the night. It was…awkward.

What was she supposed to do with that? Spending the night hadn't been in Jack's game plan, so Summer wasn't sure of the rules. Did they spend the day together? Would there be more awkwardness as they played fifty-two-card pickup with the clothes they’d discarded? Did they get to do it again before he left?

The phone rang and rang and rang.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” His husky, sleepy voice was about an inch from her ear.

Since the cordless phone was on its charger on the dresser, she would have to roll out of bed, exposing her less-than-perfect body to the chilly morning and Clint’s eyes. Not going to happen. “No. It’ll go to voice mail.”

As if on cue, the ringing stopped.

“See?”

His hand moved from her breast, down her stomach, and between her thighs. He was doing some interesting things with his fingers.

The ringing started up again.

His hand disappeared, and so did the heat from his body. “Someone wants to talk to you pretty badly.” The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his feet. Without an ounce of shyness, he strutted naked across the room and picked up the phone. From where did that kind of confidence come?

“Hello?” he said.

Summer shot upright. He’d answered her phone. It was probably Chuck or Stan, and they’d be over here in a flash and want details. Or worse, what if it was—

“Your mother’s on the phone.” Clint, phone to his ear, walked back to the bed. “It’s Clint Grayson.”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

“Yes, my initials are CAG.”

Oh God. Maybe if she called upon the Almighty enough times, he’d wake up and help.

“Brunch?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I don’t think she can make it. We’re going to be busy for the next couple of hours.”

He winked at Summer.

It was a quick trip from
oh God
to
oh shit.

Now her mother would think they were an item. Summer chewed on her bottom lip and massaged the tense muscles at the back of her neck.

How could she have forgotten about her mother’s monthly brunch? For three hours on the second Saturday of the month, she and her mother smiled, played nice, and pretended to care about what the other was doing.

“Dinner?” Clint slipped under the covers next to her. “Your mom wants to know if we can make it to dinner tonight.”

Summer shook her head violently. They weren’t a couple and her mother would
not
understand that. Summer threw the comforter over her head and flopped back against the pillows. She was never too old to hide.

“We would love to. Summer is very excited. She’s nodding so emphatically she might strain something. What time?” Clint was in charming mode. “Oh, wait. I have a charity thing this evening.”

Clint pulled the comforter off Summer’s face. “I’ve been working up the nerve to ask if she’ll come with me.”

His green eyes glowed with sincerity as he stared down at her. “Would you do me the honor of being my guest for The Bandana Ball?

Was he asking her out? They’d be seen in a public place together? Hope and fear fluttered in her chest. In the darkest part of her mind lurked the idea that it wasn’t a date but a cruel joke.

“All the proceeds go to the Ronald McDonald House,” he added as if she needed some convincing.

He was asking her out on a date…for real.

Or he needed a wingman because he had a problem talking to people he didn’t know. “Sure. Why not?”

“Whew, that was easier than I thought.” Clint sounded honestly relieved.

Her heart flip-flopped…damn it.

“You have tickets too?” Clint smiled into the phone. “Why don’t you come with us? A woman on each arm—every man’s dream.”

Summer choked on the spit in her mouth as her dream date turned into a nightmare.

Clint pounded her helpfully on the back. By the time she’d recovered the power of speech, it was too late, and he’d hung up.

“Why are you doing this to me?” If she weren’t naked, she’d throw back the covers and stomp out of the room, but righteous indignation wasn’t worth the embarrassment. Instead, she crossed her arms, slammed her eyes shut, and decided that pouting was an excellent way to spend her free time. She’d agreed to help him, and he’d signed her up to spend the evening with Hitler in Hermes.

“I’m sensing you’re angry.” He kissed her neck. “If I start apologizing, will you tell me why I need to?”

Summer pressed her lips together. She’d be congratulating Jesus on the second coming before she opened her mouth.

“Fair warning.” His hand wandered over to her thigh. “I’ve been known to play dirty.”

He let his fingers do the walking down the inside of her thigh and between her legs. She slammed them shut.

“Don’t make me go to plan B.” He worked his hand free from between her legs. “That involves lots of tickling and some very strategic hickeys.”