Putting Out Old Flames (16 page)

She bent over to blow the area dry. Raising his foot, he placed it on her upper thigh. A lazy smile curled his lips. “So you don't have to bend down so far.”

He brushed his other leg against the inside of her thigh, and Jane bit back a moan. Running through the list of names she'd called him over the years—dipshit, heartbreaker, asswipe—she wanted to remember just why this man was off-limits. It was like that saying: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice . . .

Chance shifted, his heel digging into the crease where her leg met her torso. His eyes were glued to her tank top. Jane had a sinking feeling she knew why. She risked a glance down. Yep. Her arousal was on full display. It really was shame on her.

But she didn't feel shame. Judging by the heat in his stare, Chance was just as affected as she was. She held just as much power over him as he did over her. Was it so wrong to let herself want him?

She was older now, didn't equate sex with love like her teenage self. He was older now, a father. It wasn't possible he could still be so immature.

Curling his toes into her abdomen, Chance brought his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were heavy, dark. The air between them thickened, each breath she took a struggle to suck into her lungs.

“Chance,” she whispered. It came out a question. A wish. Above anything else, it was a plea that he not hurt her again.

Not breaking her gaze, he dropped his foot to the floor.

“I didn't put a Band-Aid on it yet.” Jane leaned forward.

“Don't care.”

A slow smile stretched across her face. “Don't you want me to kiss it and make it better?”

A growl erupted from deep in his chest. He sat forward on the couch, leaned in until his face was a hairsbreadth away from hers. “Baby, other areas need your attention first.”

H
er stomach clenched. She was in so much trouble. Chance closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. He nibbled at her bottom lip, and her eyes closed in pleasure.

Trouble made life a lot more fun. He'd shown her that in high school. She was more than happy to let him reteach her that lesson.

Opening her mouth, she let him in. His tongue tangled with hers, then scraped over the roof of her mouth, sending a shiver straight down her back. Threading his fingers into her hair, he tilted her head to the angle he wanted. His fingers dug into her scalp, like he was scared she'd disappear if he didn't hang on tight.

Tentatively, Jane placed her palms on his chest. God, he felt good. She ran her hands to his shoulders, feeling the definition of his muscles, reveled when they shuddered in response to her caress. His shirt was soft, thin. She hated it. Even that small barrier was too much, standing between her and what she wanted. She dragged her hands down, and fumbled for the hem. She'd just inched her fingers underneath, felt his searing flesh, when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the table to settle in a straddle over his lap.

Her hands were pinned between their bodies, unable to explore, and she moaned in protest. When he moved his hips, she stopped complaining. This was a much better position.

Holding her firmly in place, Chance deserted her mouth, using that talented tongue to trace the rim of her ear instead. Bliss arced through her body. She tugged her hands free and tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him full access. His teeth tugged, his tongue lashed, and his hot breath blew soothingly over the abused flesh.

She was ready to come, and he hadn't even gotten to the good bits yet.

Digging her fingers into his hair, she scraped her nails up and down the back of his neck. His moan told her he still liked that. It was strange, being in his arms again. She had come to know Chance's body better than her own, he was that familiar. But the years had wrought changes on his frame, and she had a lot of territory to relearn.

She paused. The years had made a difference on her body, too. She was softer in areas, sagged a bit more in others. Would the adult Chance like what he saw?

“Wherever you just went,” he murmured against her neck, “come back.”

“Huh?”

“I can practically hear those gears turning in your head.” He bit into the tendon above her collarbone. “If you're thinking about the fundraiser, your job, or how big an asshole I was a decade ago, I want you to stop.” He sucked at the hollow of her throat, then lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “All I want you thinking about is how good I'm going to make you feel.”

She melted into him. He might have guessed wrong about where her thoughts had wandered, but his remedy was spot-on. She wasn't going to miss a second of the joy he could bring her by worrying about how she looked. She was going all in, and she was going to love every minute.

Just as soon as she rid herself of her last concern. “Chance? I want . . . oh God that feels good . . . I want to make sure we're on the same page.”

Sucking at the tender skin of her throat, he curved his hands around her butt. “I'm positive we are,” he murmured.

Letting her head fall back, Jane stared at the ceiling, her gaze unfocused. “You're still not divorced and I'm not looking for serious.” Serious with Chance had the potential of leaving her seriously hurt. “So we're just having some fun here, right?”

Chance lifted his head. “If that's what you want.”

What she wanted was for Chance to get on with it. He was going to kill her with foreplay. His hands hadn't stopped moving, his fingers gliding lower and lower around her butt until—

Okay, no more talking. She whipped off her tank top, smiling at the slackening of his jaw, the heat in his eyes as they took their fill. Wrapping her arms around him, Jane reclaimed his mouth with her own. She supped on his lips, fed him kiss after kiss, until even being plastered chest to chest, hip to hip, was no longer enough.

Gripping the hem of his shirt, she tugged it up, scratching his stomach in her haste. She leaned back, needing to catch her breath, wanting to examine the skin she'd exposed. She ran her fingertips over his chest, the muscles hard beneath her touch, the light matting of hair soft as baby's down.

“You're beautiful,” she said.

His cheeks flushed. “You don't say that to a guy. Call me sexy or hot or something. You're the one who's beautiful.”

Flicking her thumbs over the flat discs of his nipples, she trailed a row of kisses down his chest. “You are hot and sexy. But that's not what I want to call you.”

His chest heaved beneath her mouth. “Baby, you keep doing that, you can call me anything you want.”

Lips curving, she trailed lower.

“Changed my mind.” He threaded his hands in her hair and tugged her head back. “Go any lower and I'm going to blow. Need you now.”

He rolled, taking her with him until her back pressed into the couch cushions. Kneeling above her, Chance attacked her pants. His fingers fumbled. “Why are there so many buttons?”

“They're sailor pants,” she explained. “Two rows of... hey!”

“Well, that's one less,” he muttered, tugging at the fabric again.

She put her hands over his. “I'll get mine, you get yours. Deal?” She liked those pants. She didn't want to spend her evening sewing buttons back on.

Chance grinned and climbed to his feet. “Deal.” His hands flew to his fly. “But leave your underwear on. Those are mine to take off. I've been fantasizing about peeling your panties down your long legs for a couple of weeks.”

“Have you now?” Jane shimmied out of her pants. Resting her head against the arm of the couch, she bit back a moan at the view in front of her. Six foot two inches of packed muscle. After nine years, he seemed bigger. Everywhere.

Settling on top of her, Chance nuzzled the crook of her neck. He scraped his teeth where her neck met her shoulder. “You taste good. You always did. Like my grandma's Christmas spice cookies.”

Jane hadn't heard that before. “Like her pfeffernuss?”

“I don't remember the name.” He traced the swell of her breasts with his tongue. “I just remember the taste. Just like you.”

Arching, she tried to increase the contact. She was burning up from the inside out, as if she had a pool of molten iron at her core. Her lace bra chafed against the tips of her breasts.

It also chafed Chance's chest. He groaned, the sound low, guttural. “I hope you're ready, baby. It's been too damn many years, and I can't wait a minute more.”

Not bothering with the hooks, Chance slid his thumbs under her bra and pulled it off over her head. Her panties joined the bra on the floor. Prowling over her, he took her mouth in a deep kiss.

“Tell me that Band-Aid box has condoms in it.”

“No, it doesn't have condoms,” she said. “It's a first aid kit, not a booty-call pack.”

He swore. “If we don't take care of this soon, I'm going to need some first aid.”

“Bathroom.” She pushed at his shoulders. “In the cabinet behind the mirror.”

His lips bruised hers, took her breath away. “Too far.” He stilled. “Wait. My sister.”

Jane's hands stopped roaming across his back. “What? Be careful what you say next. It could be a mood killer.”

Reaching for his jeans, he tugged out his wallet. “Katie gave me a celebration condom when my legal separation came through. She's a little twisted that way. I put it in my wallet and forgot about it.”

Jane helped him sheath himself. “Thank God for twisted sisters.”

He laughed, and it was like a bottle of fizzy champagne burst in her chest. She remembered this. How much fun she could have in bed. She'd never laughed with another partner the way she had with Chance.

And then the time for laughing was over. His gaze turned scorching, every inch of her skin that it touched coming alive. His lips tugged at her own as he settled between her thighs. Pressing in, he swallowed her gasp.

The stretch felt so good. He filled her like no other man. Opening her thighs wider, she lifted her hips, drew him all the way in. It was a perfect moment. Chance buried deep, his warm body a comforting weight. “Heaven,” he whispered in her ear.

Her heart soared, and she needed some way to keep herself grounded.
This is Chance, the man who broke your heart. Don't make more out of this than it is.
The reminder didn't work. That stupid organ still leapt around like a deranged rabbit in her chest.

His body moved over hers, lighting up all her nerve endings. She had no problem living in the moment, accepting just the physical pleasure he gave her. But a little part of her whispered,
This is Chance. The man you thought you'd be with forever.

It was easier than she'd thought it would be telling that part of herself to shut up. The man above her had learned a lot between the sheets, and she melted around him. Chance 2.0 was a new and improved lover. He made it easy to separate the moment from her memories.

But when he grabbed her hips and moaned, “I missed you,” she believed him.

* * *

Chance knew he had a lot to make up to Jane for, and he intended to start repaying his debt one orgasm at a time. But it was hard to keep his head in the game. His hips had a mind of their own, and sweat rolled down his back at the restraint it took to keep from pounding away to a quick finish.

So much had changed. He'd changed, and so had Jane. This wasn't the awkward fumblings of two teenagers.

She'd been his first. Chance had thought he'd understood the mysteries of the universe after that first time he'd been with a woman. Cocky-ass punk that he'd been. But so much time had passed that this should have felt like a first time with a new woman.

But it felt like coming home.

Shifting his hips, he slowed down and took her lips. He couldn't get enough of them. They parted so sweetly for him, accepted what he gave her. He tangled his tongue with hers, swallowed up her breathy moans. When she lifted her hips, tried to speed things up, he resisted and slowed down even further.

It was killing him. She was killing him. But it was the sweetest death he could imagine.

“Please.” She tugged his head away from her mouth. “Please.”

A drop of his sweat fell to her collarbone, and he licked it away. “Please what, baby?”

“Faster. Now.” Her eyes were closed and a flush swept every part of her body that he could see. He reared back onto his knees. And he could see a lot.

“Not yet.” Jesus, how many times had he thought of Jane, what he'd left behind, the warm slide of her body against his? Now that he was actually here, like hell he'd rush it.

She scraped her nails down his spine, his body instinctively arching away from each delicious inch she clawed. His eyelids drooped. Patience. He didn't know whether the advice was for himself or for Jane. Curling his hands into fists beside her head, he grasped for control. He was on the razor's edge, but this was Jane, and he was going to make it great.

She moved, did something with her body that had his eyes rolling back in his head. Any idea of control evaporated like water from a garden hose on a five-alarm fire.

His body bucked, pistoned. Mindless, he threaded his fingers in her hair and held tight, his body seeking its release. The throaty little mewling noises Jane made in his ear told Chance that she was right there with him. His muscles coiled tighter and tighter, his breathing became labored. His body screamed with need.

Wait, wait, wait
, he chanted to himself. Wait for his Janey-girl. She threw her head back and moaned. For a split-second of time, Chance's world stopped. He wanted to frame this moment, capture her bliss as she came apart in his arms. Mouth open, eyes closed, she was a picture of beauty. Her abandon was stunning, and it humbled him.

But his body wouldn't wait. The pressure grew too great. With a roar, he tipped over the edge and joined her in surrender.