Authors: Linda Francis Lee
Tags: #Romance, #Sex in the workplace, #Fiction
Sinfully Sexy (16 page)
Sterling stared at his not-so-little brother. "What's this? Are you
trying to help me win?"
Ben turned back to his beer. "I guess as much as I hate the thought of
going back to St. Louis, deep
down I really don't like seeing you twist in the wind."
Silence descended between them.
"Thanks," Sterling said quietly.
"Nothing you don't feel about me."
The moment was interrupted by another conversation that jarred into
their minds.
"You know it, man. That Chloe babe would be one hot fuck. Did you hear
what she said to that corncob-up-the-butt twerp Trey?"
Sterling wasn't sure which pissed him off more. The Chloe remark or the
Trey comment. Either way,
he stood up from his bar stool.
"Sterling," Ben demanded. "Sit the fuck down."
But it was too late for that. Sterling had never been in a fight in his
life, but that wasn't because he had backed down. Growing up, he had
always been big. The minute he stood up, his size had intimidated
anyone who got in his face. As an adult, he hadn't been in a situation
that called for physical intimidation.
The two other men saw him and stopped talking. Sterling could feel what
he was certain was intimidation. But after a second they started to
laugh. Laugh. At him.
"Hey, it's corncob butt before our very eyes. Doesn't look like you're
going to get a chance to screw that cool piece of butter. Mmmm, mmmm,
Chloe is mighty fine."
They weren't laughing for long. Sterling did something he had never
done in his entire life. He wheeled back, then followed through with a
right hook to the first man's jaw.
"Fuck," Ben muttered.
But when the second man leaped forward, Ben flew into action. The four
men started to brawl, fists flying, skin smacked. Sterling felt
something hit his body. One of the men vaulted onto Sterling's back,
only to get tossed when Sterling jackknifed, flipping the man over his
shoulders. The guy's breath came out in a grunt when he hit the floor.
In a matter of minutes the two men realized they weren't going to win
and they fled. When the door pushed open, the brothers heard the sirens.
"Great," Ben stated, wiping blood from his broken lip. "Stay here. I'll
take care of this. The last thing
we need is to have you arrested for disorderly conduct."
Ben went out into the parking lot to speak to the officers. Sterling
pulled out a stack of bills from his pocket. Ever since the pizza
debacle, when he'd had to let Chloe pay, he had made a point of
carrying cash at all times.
He set the money on the bar, grimaced at the pain the movement caused,
then went out to face his fate.
By the time he got there, Ben and the officers were laughing.
"Hey, it's Trey," a patrolman called out. "Benny here was just telling
us that some twerp was giving you
a rough time. Called you a corncob, did he?" The policemen laughed. "No
doubt it was brutal. Hard on
a man to hear how a woman is making a fool of him. I feel your pain,
man."
"I can't believe you told them that," Sterling stated.
Ben shrugged. "They already knew about the show. I just added a detail
or two. I wasn't looking
forward to having to bail your ass out of jail."
An hour later, when Sterling walked into the little house on Meadowlark
Drive, he had never been so exhausted. Plus, his whole body hurt like
hell. Stripping as he walked to the bedroom, he went to the shower and
stood under the hot water. When he was too tried to stand any longer,
he dried off, then
fell buck naked into bed at three-thirty a.m. He was asleep before he
hit the sheets.
slept in the bed beside her like they were back in junior high, having
a sleepover. But better in bed with Julia than in one of the other
rooms with the other girls. Or as Julia had started calling them, the
Roses Who Fight.
Chloe might have set out to be the Thorn in the Catch's Rose Garden,
but who knew that throwing adult women together in a competition for a
single man could become all-out warfare? It was hard to know whom to be
more leery of. The really nice ones, or the ones who said to your face
that they were going
to kick your butt.
Not wanting to disturb Julia, Chloe pulled on a robe over her thin
nightgown. She knew everything was
in order, ready to tape the next segment of The Catch. But still she
couldn't calm a bead of anxiety that welled inside her.
She went down the hall checking on the girls. Seven of the remaining
Roses were divided among three bedrooms, with Chloe bunking with Julia
in the fourth. Julia hadn't been able to bring herself to put anyone in
her father's vacant bedroom.
Peeking into the first room, Chloe saw Mindy and Leticia were sound
asleep. In the second room,
Jo Beth, Marnie, and Nina were sleeping as well. But in the third room,
only one bed was occupied. Jessica was missing.
Chloe tried to decide if she needed to panic.
Kacey, Jessica's roommate, woke. Groggy, she said, "Is it already time
to get up?"
"Jessica's missing."
Kacey glanced at the other bed, then she blushed guiltily.
"Kacey, tell me where she is."
"I can't. Really," she replied apologetically.
"If you don't tell me, I'll have to call the police."
The woman glanced around, then cringed. "You can't tell that I told
you."
"Tell me what?"
"Jessica is out with her boyfriend. But she'll be back soon, I swear."
Chloe's mouth fell open. "Boyfriend?"
"Yeah, she met him just before we started taping."
"Then why is she doing this show?"
"Television exposure. She's hoping she'll get noticed by some Hollywood
type." Kacey snorted.
"Like that's going to happen. But I swear, she'll be back. She came
back last night."
"She sneaks out every night?"
Kacey wasn't interested in telling any more. "Can I go back to sleep
now?"
"Sure. And thanks."
Chloe left the room. In the kitchen, she started to pace. When the
clock read five in the morning,
Chloe decided she had no choice.
Slipping out into the dark, she crossed Julia's yard. She hurried
through the lattice arch, momentarily surprised by how long the grass
had gotten, then went inside her house, using the back door.
There wasn't a light on. Regardless, she could see enough to tell her
that the house was a mess. It had been only four days since he moved
in, but plates and glasses were scattered on the table as if their new
Catch had eaten, then simply stood up and left. As best as she could
tell, all the food was of the delivery sort. He hadn't cooked a single
meal.
Through the darkened space, lit by moonlight, she made it to the guest
bedroom, but it was empty. Retracing her steps, she found him in her
bedroom, sound asleep.
She stopped in the doorway, the descending moon casting the room with
bright silver light, highlighting the most gorgeous naked man she had
ever seen in her life.
Trey Tanner, aka Sterling Prescott, lay sprawled on his stomach,
stretched across the small bed at an angle, his large bare feet hanging
off, without a stitch of clothing covering his amazing body.
And he was amazing.
Chloe stood, unable to move. He was beautiful. Hard carved, his hips
narrow, his butt nicely shaped, the skin smooth and muscled. His
shoulders were broad, his arms extending up, disappearing underneath
the pillow. His mouth was slightly open, his dark hair falling forward
in his face. It was hard to imagine that the always powerful man could
look so vulnerable in sleep. And yet, despite that look of
vulnerability, there was something about him that was still so arrogant
and commanding. Dangerous.
Her pulse drummed inside her, pushing her on. She walked closer, her
fingers itching to touch. But she wouldn't. She would not do that. And
she would have left, she reasoned over the tingle racing through her
body, if it hadn't been for the AWOL, already-has-a-boyfriend Rose who
they needed to contend with.
Perhaps she should find a cover or an extra sheet.
"Chloe?"
His voice was groggy, sleep-filled, and surprisingly boyish in a gruff
way.
Despite better instincts, she glanced back before she had found
something to cover him with. Which
was a mistake.
He pushed up onto his elbows as if he were pushing up a ton of bricks.
With effort, he smiled. He looked exhausted and not a little worse for
wear . . . and breathtakingly handsome. Despite the fact that he was
half asleep, he was all heat and hard muscle. When his gaze met hers,
his full lips spread like he was a devilish bad boy of the worst kind.
It felt as if he touched her intimately, knowingly. Her heart tripped.
His eyes held hers, mesmerizing in the moonlight, distracting,
seductive in their darkness. When his
gaze lowered to her lips, she drew a ragged breath, a deep, pounding
ache shuddering through her,
pulsing between her thighs.
But when she ventured a step closer, the moonlight highlighting his
strong face and body, she could see that his already rugged features
were discolored by bruises on his arms, shoulders, and ribs. Scrapes
raked across his torso, and his knuckles looked like they'd been
through a meat grinder.
"What happened to you?" she gasped.
He rolled over and fell back on the mattress. Completely unfazed by his
nakedness, he groaned.
Chloe wasn't as lucky. Her breath caught in her throat and her head
swamâcompletely fazed. He was even more beautiful, if possible. His
enormous strength rippled through his body. Powerful masculinity
emanated from him like energy sizzling through a live wire.
"You look awful," she stammered.
"Thanks," he stated wryly. "You should see the other guy, though. He
looks worse."
Worse?
"How did you get hurt? What happened? Were you in an accident? Were you
hit by a car?" She hesitated, blinked, then added in disbelief, "Were
you in a fight?"
He had the audacity to smile, though just a half smile, before he
groaned with pain. "A little altercation. Nothing serious. Sometimes a
man has to do what a man has to do."
"There is no excuse for fighting!"
He raised his head just barely, quirking a brow, and she wondered from
his expression what had caused the altercation.
"Why were you fighting?"
Staring at her, he seemed to debate. Then he shrugged, even that
causing a grimace of pain, before he
fell back with a sigh of relief, one hand extended at his side, the
other lying on his stomach.
"Nothing that you need to worry about."
"Tell me."
"Chloe," he all but groaned, his eyes closed, "leave it alone."
She thought. "Was it about the show?"
He grunted.
"It was! What did they say? They hate it. They said it's a flop."
"They did not."
"Then it was about the women. Oh, my gosh! It was about me! They said I
was a hideous dog, didn't they?"
He raised his head with effort. "No one thinks you're a dog. So much
not a dog that they wanted to get
in your pants. Had to show them they weren't getting anywhere near you."
A start of surprise sizzled through her. "You got beat up defending
me?" she squeaked.
"Forget it," he groaned, lying back, his hand running down his torso to
rest just above his ...
She could feel blood creep into her face. He truly was magnificent,
big, and well proportioned, and she could see everything, including the
light dusting of hair on his chest that narrowed into a slim path that
trailed down his abdomen. He wore no shorts, or pants, or even the
sheet.
He lay on the bed, his ... private parts not so private. And
impressively largeâand suddenly getting
larger.
Embarrassment rushed to the roots of her hair, and when she jerked her
gaze up to his face, she
realized belatedly that he was watching her.
"Oh ... I... wasn'tâ"
"See, I told you no one thought you were a dog," he groused, though a
maddening smile undermined
his tone.
She snatched up the sheet that was falling onto the floor, and tossed
it over him. But he wasn't interested in the linen. With predatory eyes
gleaming, he pushed up from the bed until he stood, only a hint of
grimace marking his face from the pain.
"What are you doing?" she asked nervously, taking a step back.
"Seems like it's only polite to show you just how desirable you are."
"No need, really."
He caught her easily, though she could hardly believe it when instead
of kissing her as she thought he
was about to doâas she had hopedâhe swept her up over his shoulder like
a sack of potatoes. He sucked in his breath at the contact, but that
didn't stop him.
"Ahhh!" she cried as he twirled her around.
Yes, Chloe confirmed to herself, he was twirling her around. This man,
this naked man, whose every movement was a study in discipline and
control, was whirling her around like they were flirting in high
schoolâthat is, if you could forget the naked part.
"I'm not sure how this counts as proof of desirability." Not that that
was the point. "Besides, you're
hurt! Put me down!"
He did, but it all happened so fast that when he set her on her feet,
she was light-headed and dizzy.
To keep from falling, she had to grab his arm.
"If you insist," he stated boldly as he pulled her close.
Then he caught her off guard again and kissed her, his lips on hers in
a way she could only call teasing and fun. He nipped and played,
whispered things to her that made her laugh despite herself.
"Your lips are like strawberries."
She snorted and mmmed at the same time.
"Your eyes are like big blue sapphires and your skin is like a bowl of
fresh cream."
All sweet and romantic, but he was being playful, teasing and overly
dramatic, making her laugh.
"Who knew you were a poet? Or did you read those in an old book?"
"Let's see," he said as if truly considering her question even as he
nipped at her ear. "The last book
I read was
CEOs, Corporate Culture,
and American Commerce
."
"A real page-turner."
"It had me turning the pages," he said, grazing his lips along her
temple.
The sensation was wonderful and exquisite, his naked body enfolding
her. His off-limits and very
naked body, she reminded herself. She pushed away.
"Not so fast," he said, circling her waist, pulling her toward her tiny
bed. Which seemed really wrong
and really exciting all at the same time.
Never once in high school had she ever had the opportunity to sneak a
boy into her roomânot that she would have tried. But the possibility
would have been nice. However, the fact remained that growing up, she'd
never been kissed. Never had a boyfriend.
Kissing this man in this room filled her with both delicious yearning
and poignant regret.
And still, though she was twenty-seven years old and her grandmother
was no longer living, she had
the fleeting thought that they'd get caught and there would be hell to
pay.
"No!" she called out, jerking against him.
But she only managed to tangle their bodies together, causing them to
lose their balance. She could feel his strength as he held on to her
and tried to steady them at the same time. But there was nothing to
grab on to. In a slow, inevitable motion, they tumbled down onto her
tiny bed.
She landed next to him, each on their sides, lips almost touching. She
was hardly aware that the wooden frame groaned in protest.
"Hell," he muttered, just before the whole bed crashed down to the
floor like a cake going flat, the top
of the mattress level with the frame.
Surprise froze them in place.
Then suddenly she started to laugh. The sound welled up and pushed
through her like a tidal wave bursting to get out. She laughed and
laughed until finally he started to laugh, too. But soon he was
kissing her again, amusement trailing off into a sensual purr when he
pulled her up and dragged her
over his body.
They lay together, face-to-face, her chest pressed to his, the hard
contours of his body barely
separated from her by her thin nightgown and robe.
He grimaced at the pain but his grip was firm and unyielding.
"You're hurt," she accused.
"Not true. Just a little bruised." He nuzzled her cheek. "You smell
nice."
She squirmed, perhaps not the best tactical plan given their proximity.
His deep, rumbling voice put any question to rest. "Careful,
sweetheart," he whispered, threading his hands into her hair.
"Careful? You're telling me to be careful?"
"Are you always this prickly?"
He didn't let her answer. He rolled until she was on her back, her robe
fluttering open, revealing her
short nightgown. He wrapped her close in his arms, chest to chest,
thigh laced with hard, steely thigh. Then he kissed her.
She wanted to be immune. She didn't like this stubborn attraction to a
man who was playing some kind
of dishonest if not outright dangerous game. But heat was
instantaneous, burning and intense. She didn't know how to feel about
herself or this purely sexual attraction to a man.
His fingers trailed down her throat, the tips pressing gently to the
pulse in her neck. He arched back, his weight supported on his elbows.
He looked at her, really looked, as if he had never seen another woman
in his life. She felt as if she were the center of his world, the core.
The sensation was heady, nearly as heady as his touch trailing lower to
her collarbone, his fingers drifting along one side. Shivers of longing
shot through her when he touched the spaghetti strap of her gown. But
he didn't push it away. He tugged at the open robe before his fingers
trailed lower. When he reached her breast, she inhaled deeply.
He rolled to the side, his weight supported by his elbow. His intense
gaze ran over her body, taking her
in. She knew he wanted her. She could feel his naked desire against her
hip. His expression, growing more intimate by the second, left her
alternately unnerved and filled with a matching desire.
trying to help me win?"
Ben turned back to his beer. "I guess as much as I hate the thought of
going back to St. Louis, deep
down I really don't like seeing you twist in the wind."
Silence descended between them.
"Thanks," Sterling said quietly.
"Nothing you don't feel about me."
The moment was interrupted by another conversation that jarred into
their minds.
"You know it, man. That Chloe babe would be one hot fuck. Did you hear
what she said to that corncob-up-the-butt twerp Trey?"
Sterling wasn't sure which pissed him off more. The Chloe remark or the
Trey comment. Either way,
he stood up from his bar stool.
"Sterling," Ben demanded. "Sit the fuck down."
But it was too late for that. Sterling had never been in a fight in his
life, but that wasn't because he had backed down. Growing up, he had
always been big. The minute he stood up, his size had intimidated
anyone who got in his face. As an adult, he hadn't been in a situation
that called for physical intimidation.
The two other men saw him and stopped talking. Sterling could feel what
he was certain was intimidation. But after a second they started to
laugh. Laugh. At him.
"Hey, it's corncob butt before our very eyes. Doesn't look like you're
going to get a chance to screw that cool piece of butter. Mmmm, mmmm,
Chloe is mighty fine."
They weren't laughing for long. Sterling did something he had never
done in his entire life. He wheeled back, then followed through with a
right hook to the first man's jaw.
"Fuck," Ben muttered.
But when the second man leaped forward, Ben flew into action. The four
men started to brawl, fists flying, skin smacked. Sterling felt
something hit his body. One of the men vaulted onto Sterling's back,
only to get tossed when Sterling jackknifed, flipping the man over his
shoulders. The guy's breath came out in a grunt when he hit the floor.
In a matter of minutes the two men realized they weren't going to win
and they fled. When the door pushed open, the brothers heard the sirens.
"Great," Ben stated, wiping blood from his broken lip. "Stay here. I'll
take care of this. The last thing
we need is to have you arrested for disorderly conduct."
Ben went out into the parking lot to speak to the officers. Sterling
pulled out a stack of bills from his pocket. Ever since the pizza
debacle, when he'd had to let Chloe pay, he had made a point of
carrying cash at all times.
He set the money on the bar, grimaced at the pain the movement caused,
then went out to face his fate.
By the time he got there, Ben and the officers were laughing.
"Hey, it's Trey," a patrolman called out. "Benny here was just telling
us that some twerp was giving you
a rough time. Called you a corncob, did he?" The policemen laughed. "No
doubt it was brutal. Hard on
a man to hear how a woman is making a fool of him. I feel your pain,
man."
"I can't believe you told them that," Sterling stated.
Ben shrugged. "They already knew about the show. I just added a detail
or two. I wasn't looking
forward to having to bail your ass out of jail."
An hour later, when Sterling walked into the little house on Meadowlark
Drive, he had never been so exhausted. Plus, his whole body hurt like
hell. Stripping as he walked to the bedroom, he went to the shower and
stood under the hot water. When he was too tried to stand any longer,
he dried off, then
fell buck naked into bed at three-thirty a.m. He was asleep before he
hit the sheets.
*Â
*Â *
Chloe woke at four-thirty in the morning. She couldn't sleep. Julia*Â *
slept in the bed beside her like they were back in junior high, having
a sleepover. But better in bed with Julia than in one of the other
rooms with the other girls. Or as Julia had started calling them, the
Roses Who Fight.
Chloe might have set out to be the Thorn in the Catch's Rose Garden,
but who knew that throwing adult women together in a competition for a
single man could become all-out warfare? It was hard to know whom to be
more leery of. The really nice ones, or the ones who said to your face
that they were going
to kick your butt.
Not wanting to disturb Julia, Chloe pulled on a robe over her thin
nightgown. She knew everything was
in order, ready to tape the next segment of The Catch. But still she
couldn't calm a bead of anxiety that welled inside her.
She went down the hall checking on the girls. Seven of the remaining
Roses were divided among three bedrooms, with Chloe bunking with Julia
in the fourth. Julia hadn't been able to bring herself to put anyone in
her father's vacant bedroom.
Peeking into the first room, Chloe saw Mindy and Leticia were sound
asleep. In the second room,
Jo Beth, Marnie, and Nina were sleeping as well. But in the third room,
only one bed was occupied. Jessica was missing.
Chloe tried to decide if she needed to panic.
Kacey, Jessica's roommate, woke. Groggy, she said, "Is it already time
to get up?"
"Jessica's missing."
Kacey glanced at the other bed, then she blushed guiltily.
"Kacey, tell me where she is."
"I can't. Really," she replied apologetically.
"If you don't tell me, I'll have to call the police."
The woman glanced around, then cringed. "You can't tell that I told
you."
"Tell me what?"
"Jessica is out with her boyfriend. But she'll be back soon, I swear."
Chloe's mouth fell open. "Boyfriend?"
"Yeah, she met him just before we started taping."
"Then why is she doing this show?"
"Television exposure. She's hoping she'll get noticed by some Hollywood
type." Kacey snorted.
"Like that's going to happen. But I swear, she'll be back. She came
back last night."
"She sneaks out every night?"
Kacey wasn't interested in telling any more. "Can I go back to sleep
now?"
"Sure. And thanks."
Chloe left the room. In the kitchen, she started to pace. When the
clock read five in the morning,
Chloe decided she had no choice.
Slipping out into the dark, she crossed Julia's yard. She hurried
through the lattice arch, momentarily surprised by how long the grass
had gotten, then went inside her house, using the back door.
There wasn't a light on. Regardless, she could see enough to tell her
that the house was a mess. It had been only four days since he moved
in, but plates and glasses were scattered on the table as if their new
Catch had eaten, then simply stood up and left. As best as she could
tell, all the food was of the delivery sort. He hadn't cooked a single
meal.
Through the darkened space, lit by moonlight, she made it to the guest
bedroom, but it was empty. Retracing her steps, she found him in her
bedroom, sound asleep.
She stopped in the doorway, the descending moon casting the room with
bright silver light, highlighting the most gorgeous naked man she had
ever seen in her life.
Trey Tanner, aka Sterling Prescott, lay sprawled on his stomach,
stretched across the small bed at an angle, his large bare feet hanging
off, without a stitch of clothing covering his amazing body.
And he was amazing.
Chloe stood, unable to move. He was beautiful. Hard carved, his hips
narrow, his butt nicely shaped, the skin smooth and muscled. His
shoulders were broad, his arms extending up, disappearing underneath
the pillow. His mouth was slightly open, his dark hair falling forward
in his face. It was hard to imagine that the always powerful man could
look so vulnerable in sleep. And yet, despite that look of
vulnerability, there was something about him that was still so arrogant
and commanding. Dangerous.
Her pulse drummed inside her, pushing her on. She walked closer, her
fingers itching to touch. But she wouldn't. She would not do that. And
she would have left, she reasoned over the tingle racing through her
body, if it hadn't been for the AWOL, already-has-a-boyfriend Rose who
they needed to contend with.
Perhaps she should find a cover or an extra sheet.
"Chloe?"
His voice was groggy, sleep-filled, and surprisingly boyish in a gruff
way.
Despite better instincts, she glanced back before she had found
something to cover him with. Which
was a mistake.
He pushed up onto his elbows as if he were pushing up a ton of bricks.
With effort, he smiled. He looked exhausted and not a little worse for
wear . . . and breathtakingly handsome. Despite the fact that he was
half asleep, he was all heat and hard muscle. When his gaze met hers,
his full lips spread like he was a devilish bad boy of the worst kind.
It felt as if he touched her intimately, knowingly. Her heart tripped.
His eyes held hers, mesmerizing in the moonlight, distracting,
seductive in their darkness. When his
gaze lowered to her lips, she drew a ragged breath, a deep, pounding
ache shuddering through her,
pulsing between her thighs.
But when she ventured a step closer, the moonlight highlighting his
strong face and body, she could see that his already rugged features
were discolored by bruises on his arms, shoulders, and ribs. Scrapes
raked across his torso, and his knuckles looked like they'd been
through a meat grinder.
"What happened to you?" she gasped.
He rolled over and fell back on the mattress. Completely unfazed by his
nakedness, he groaned.
Chloe wasn't as lucky. Her breath caught in her throat and her head
swamâcompletely fazed. He was even more beautiful, if possible. His
enormous strength rippled through his body. Powerful masculinity
emanated from him like energy sizzling through a live wire.
"You look awful," she stammered.
"Thanks," he stated wryly. "You should see the other guy, though. He
looks worse."
Worse?
"How did you get hurt? What happened? Were you in an accident? Were you
hit by a car?" She hesitated, blinked, then added in disbelief, "Were
you in a fight?"
He had the audacity to smile, though just a half smile, before he
groaned with pain. "A little altercation. Nothing serious. Sometimes a
man has to do what a man has to do."
"There is no excuse for fighting!"
He raised his head just barely, quirking a brow, and she wondered from
his expression what had caused the altercation.
"Why were you fighting?"
Staring at her, he seemed to debate. Then he shrugged, even that
causing a grimace of pain, before he
fell back with a sigh of relief, one hand extended at his side, the
other lying on his stomach.
"Nothing that you need to worry about."
"Tell me."
"Chloe," he all but groaned, his eyes closed, "leave it alone."
She thought. "Was it about the show?"
He grunted.
"It was! What did they say? They hate it. They said it's a flop."
"They did not."
"Then it was about the women. Oh, my gosh! It was about me! They said I
was a hideous dog, didn't they?"
He raised his head with effort. "No one thinks you're a dog. So much
not a dog that they wanted to get
in your pants. Had to show them they weren't getting anywhere near you."
A start of surprise sizzled through her. "You got beat up defending
me?" she squeaked.
"Forget it," he groaned, lying back, his hand running down his torso to
rest just above his ...
She could feel blood creep into her face. He truly was magnificent,
big, and well proportioned, and she could see everything, including the
light dusting of hair on his chest that narrowed into a slim path that
trailed down his abdomen. He wore no shorts, or pants, or even the
sheet.
He lay on the bed, his ... private parts not so private. And
impressively largeâand suddenly getting
larger.
Embarrassment rushed to the roots of her hair, and when she jerked her
gaze up to his face, she
realized belatedly that he was watching her.
"Oh ... I... wasn'tâ"
"See, I told you no one thought you were a dog," he groused, though a
maddening smile undermined
his tone.
She snatched up the sheet that was falling onto the floor, and tossed
it over him. But he wasn't interested in the linen. With predatory eyes
gleaming, he pushed up from the bed until he stood, only a hint of
grimace marking his face from the pain.
"What are you doing?" she asked nervously, taking a step back.
"Seems like it's only polite to show you just how desirable you are."
"No need, really."
He caught her easily, though she could hardly believe it when instead
of kissing her as she thought he
was about to doâas she had hopedâhe swept her up over his shoulder like
a sack of potatoes. He sucked in his breath at the contact, but that
didn't stop him.
"Ahhh!" she cried as he twirled her around.
Yes, Chloe confirmed to herself, he was twirling her around. This man,
this naked man, whose every movement was a study in discipline and
control, was whirling her around like they were flirting in high
schoolâthat is, if you could forget the naked part.
"I'm not sure how this counts as proof of desirability." Not that that
was the point. "Besides, you're
hurt! Put me down!"
He did, but it all happened so fast that when he set her on her feet,
she was light-headed and dizzy.
To keep from falling, she had to grab his arm.
"If you insist," he stated boldly as he pulled her close.
Then he caught her off guard again and kissed her, his lips on hers in
a way she could only call teasing and fun. He nipped and played,
whispered things to her that made her laugh despite herself.
"Your lips are like strawberries."
She snorted and mmmed at the same time.
"Your eyes are like big blue sapphires and your skin is like a bowl of
fresh cream."
All sweet and romantic, but he was being playful, teasing and overly
dramatic, making her laugh.
"Who knew you were a poet? Or did you read those in an old book?"
"Let's see," he said as if truly considering her question even as he
nipped at her ear. "The last book
I read was
CEOs, Corporate Culture,
and American Commerce
."
"A real page-turner."
"It had me turning the pages," he said, grazing his lips along her
temple.
The sensation was wonderful and exquisite, his naked body enfolding
her. His off-limits and very
naked body, she reminded herself. She pushed away.
"Not so fast," he said, circling her waist, pulling her toward her tiny
bed. Which seemed really wrong
and really exciting all at the same time.
Never once in high school had she ever had the opportunity to sneak a
boy into her roomânot that she would have tried. But the possibility
would have been nice. However, the fact remained that growing up, she'd
never been kissed. Never had a boyfriend.
Kissing this man in this room filled her with both delicious yearning
and poignant regret.
And still, though she was twenty-seven years old and her grandmother
was no longer living, she had
the fleeting thought that they'd get caught and there would be hell to
pay.
"No!" she called out, jerking against him.
But she only managed to tangle their bodies together, causing them to
lose their balance. She could feel his strength as he held on to her
and tried to steady them at the same time. But there was nothing to
grab on to. In a slow, inevitable motion, they tumbled down onto her
tiny bed.
She landed next to him, each on their sides, lips almost touching. She
was hardly aware that the wooden frame groaned in protest.
"Hell," he muttered, just before the whole bed crashed down to the
floor like a cake going flat, the top
of the mattress level with the frame.
Surprise froze them in place.
Then suddenly she started to laugh. The sound welled up and pushed
through her like a tidal wave bursting to get out. She laughed and
laughed until finally he started to laugh, too. But soon he was
kissing her again, amusement trailing off into a sensual purr when he
pulled her up and dragged her
over his body.
They lay together, face-to-face, her chest pressed to his, the hard
contours of his body barely
separated from her by her thin nightgown and robe.
He grimaced at the pain but his grip was firm and unyielding.
"You're hurt," she accused.
"Not true. Just a little bruised." He nuzzled her cheek. "You smell
nice."
She squirmed, perhaps not the best tactical plan given their proximity.
His deep, rumbling voice put any question to rest. "Careful,
sweetheart," he whispered, threading his hands into her hair.
"Careful? You're telling me to be careful?"
"Are you always this prickly?"
He didn't let her answer. He rolled until she was on her back, her robe
fluttering open, revealing her
short nightgown. He wrapped her close in his arms, chest to chest,
thigh laced with hard, steely thigh. Then he kissed her.
She wanted to be immune. She didn't like this stubborn attraction to a
man who was playing some kind
of dishonest if not outright dangerous game. But heat was
instantaneous, burning and intense. She didn't know how to feel about
herself or this purely sexual attraction to a man.
His fingers trailed down her throat, the tips pressing gently to the
pulse in her neck. He arched back, his weight supported on his elbows.
He looked at her, really looked, as if he had never seen another woman
in his life. She felt as if she were the center of his world, the core.
The sensation was heady, nearly as heady as his touch trailing lower to
her collarbone, his fingers drifting along one side. Shivers of longing
shot through her when he touched the spaghetti strap of her gown. But
he didn't push it away. He tugged at the open robe before his fingers
trailed lower. When he reached her breast, she inhaled deeply.
He rolled to the side, his weight supported by his elbow. His intense
gaze ran over her body, taking her
in. She knew he wanted her. She could feel his naked desire against her
hip. His expression, growing more intimate by the second, left her
alternately unnerved and filled with a matching desire.
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