Two Week Seduction (2 page)

“You’re just going to have to wait and find out.”

“Gail—”

“Too late. We’re here.” She pulled the car into the driveway. “And you better act surprised.”

“Or what? You’ll wake me with a wet rag and an order to go clean the bathroom?”

“Worse,” she said in dire tones. “I’ll tell Mom you’re dying for her special seven bean salad. That you couldn’t stop talking about it all the drive home.”

Damn. She had him there. “I’ll squeal like a girl.”

“If only that were true,” she said as she put the car in park.

His gut tightened as he looked out on the house he’d grown up in. He saw the peeling paint, the sagging front porch, and his mom’s rusted VW bug parked on the grass. But what he saw most of all was his father running after him the day he left for the Air Force. The man was screaming something—the words didn’t matter—but the meaning was clear. No son of mine will ever enlist. And the dumb-ass teenager he’d been had responded by proving that he was bigger and stronger. He’d had the man face down in the dirt within seconds. The last time he ever touched his father was to dislocate the man’s shoulder before calmly walking to Sam’s car and heading off for base training.

That’s what he saw when he looked at his childhood home, and the knot of emotions that curdled in his stomach left him physically ill.

“Remember, you’re happy to be home,” his sister hissed as she grabbed his bag. He reached for it, but she held it away. “Go straight to Mom and hug her tight. For the last week, she’s been talking about nothing but you.”

He nodded, knowing that he owed his mother that and so much more. But he’d be damned if he squealed no matter what he’d just promised his sister. They walked together up the walk as she continued to give him orders.

“She’s looking frail, so don’t be surprised. Dad’s death was hard on her.”

His life had been hard on her. On them all.

“She’ll be standing just to the right of the door. When you fake surprised, do it so she can see you.”

“At least let me carry my bag,” he said, reaching for it again.

“You don’t get your stuff back unless you make everyone here think you’re in hog heaven to be home.”

He glared at her. “Ever think of a career in the military? You’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“Ur-rah.”

“That’s the Marines.”

“Smile!” Her last order before she threw open the front door.

“Surprise!”

He flinched from the sheer volume of the roar. Damn, it felt like a thousand people had just screamed in unison. He blinked as a zillion phones flashed in his face, and then he looked right where his sister had told him to. His mother, grinning from ear to ear, tears already sheening her eyes. And standing right behind her, the damned sexy imp with the shock of red hair.

Shit.

Chapter Two

She found him around midnight. John knew from the jut of her jaw that she was determined to corner him, but it was late and most of the guests had left. A surprising number of people had shown up for his party. High school classmates, though it was nearly ten years since he’d last seen them. Relatives he barely remembered from Christmases past. And a bunch of new neighbors he’d never met, but who all brought casseroles and beer as they shook his hand and thanked him for his service to his country.

It took him about twenty minutes to realize that the party wasn’t really for him. It was for his mother, who had somehow managed to nurse most of the neighborhood children even while working double shifts at the hospital to pay for his father’s latest business scheme. Time after time, someone shook his hand and told him how wonderful his mother was, how she’d checked in on a broken arm or brought medicine for someone’s fever. That she was the local Florence Nightingale, and he couldn’t be more honored to have her as his mother.

If only the guest list had been restricted to just those people he would have been happy to grin and bear it. But
she
was there the whole time, bringing his mother a chair when Mom started to fatigue, handing someone else a beer before picking up an empty paper plate. She played hostess in her butter soft blouse and tight black jeans. She smiled when someone complimented the food. And twice she had laughed—that low, throaty sound that settled in his belly like a hot coal. God, he remembered that laugh. There were whole nights overseas when that laugh had kept him sane. And then there were times like this when the sound of her made him want to throw a chair through a window because she was the one thing he could never have.

And now she was coming toward him just when he’d escaped to the backyard. She carried a plate in one hand and a beer in the other. As he’d just finished his fourth bottle, the last thing he needed was another, but he knew he’d take it. He hadn’t the willpower to refuse her. It was only a question of how long he’d hold out.

“Thought you’d like some hors d’oeuvres,” she said as she held out the plate. Ritz crackers piled high with Cheez Whiz. “Weren’t these your favorites?”

They were. And of course she remembered. “Actually,” he drawled, “they were always
your
favorite.”

She set the plate down on the TV tray at his elbow, then collapsed onto the seat beside him. He was leaning forward to take the beer from her hand when she tilted it up to her mouth and took a swig. She grinned at him as he fell back.

“You drink beer?” he asked.

“I started about the same time you did.”

“Fourteen?”

She shook her head. “
You
were fourteen. I was eleven. Sam paid me in beer to keep quiet.”

He frowned, trying to remember. Every six-pack had come to them as a five-pack. Now he knew why. “I always thought he drank it himself.”

She grinned and took another healthy swig. Pink lips surrounding a dark bottle neck. His gut tightened. How many times had he imagined her lips around him like that?

“So you going to eat these or what?”

He responded as he always did when his dick tried to talk for him. He clenched his jaw and looked somewhere else. In this case, it was across the lawn to the neighbor’s swing set. Weeds choked the fence separating the two houses and his mother’s lavender shrubs were all but lost amid the crap. He’d have to mow first thing tomorrow, and then he’d think about tackling the weeds.

“I’ll take that as a ‘or what,’” she said. In his peripheral vision, he watched her grab a cracker and pop it into her mouth. She murmured something low and throaty—a sound that was going to haunt him for the next decade—and then swallowed it all down with another swig of beer. “Ambrosia,” she murmured. “Cheez Whiz and beer. Definitely food for the gods.”

“I know what ambrosia is,” he said, the words escaping through his clenched jaw.

She glanced at him, her brows tightened into a frown. “I never said you didn’t. Wow, your sister is right. The military has made you crankier.”

If he were talking to Gail, he’d have a smart-ass comeback. But Alea wasn’t his sister, and the things he wanted to say to her were forbidden. So he ground his back teeth and thought about house repairs. There was painting, a rickety step out the back door…

“You know,” she said. “I’ve been working really hard today to make sure your party goes well. I did it for your mom, but the least you can do is say something nice to me. And hey, I brought you snacks.”

He looked back at her, guilt making him flush. She had been especially nice to him and his mother. It wasn’t her fault that she embodied everything he’d run from as a teen. All those things he wanted but could never have.

“Thank you for your help,” he said. His voice was rusty, but clear enough.

She gasped in mock shock. “He speaks! Five words and it wasn’t rude!”

Against his will, his lips twitched. She always could make him smile when he least wanted to.

She leaned forward, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Let’s try something else. I know it’s dangerous—I mean, your head might explode or something—but I say we risk it. Give me a compliment.”

“Fishing?” he drawled.

She tsked. “That wasn’t a compliment. You’re supposed to say something nice. About me.”

He didn’t answer. Mostly because he was thinking of all the things he wanted to say. That her skin looked soft and her eyes were a changeable hazel that always kept him guessing. That her tits were round and full, just begging to be nipped. That she was small compared to his six foot three frame, but she had legs long enough to wrap around his waist as he buried himself inside her. And that red hair, a bright red flash of color on her perfect body, was a scream of danger he lusted after.

While those thoughts spun through his mind, her expression soured. With a sigh, she grabbed his empty beer bottle and held it before his eyes. “Say something nice to me and I’ll get you another beer.”

She shook the bottle a little to grab his attention. It didn’t work. He was too busy watching how the breeze pressed her blouse flat against her chest. Her bra had lace, which meant texture, and he wondered what sound she’d make if he tugged it back and forth against her nipples.

“John—”

“That’s a nice b-blouse.” Damn it, he’d almost said bra.

Her mouth flattened with a sigh. “I thought you’d like it.”

Alea leaned forward as she pushed to her feet. A curl of brown hair tumbled forward, pushing past the tiny gold hoop in her ear to dangle right before him. Without thinking, he grabbed the lock, winding it around his fingers. It wasn’t even long enough to pull into his fist. But it was close enough to hold her still. Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth—those plump, pink lips—formed a perfect O.

God, he’d been gone so long. And she was so much of a woman now.

“John?”

He wanted to say something, but he hadn’t the words. Just a thick
want
. He took a breath, trying to clear his head, but all he tasted on the air was her. A citrus scent, so appropriate to Florida and so missed when he was in Afghanistan. But there was another scent on top. The taste of woman, hot and spicy despite her demure yellow shirt.

He should let her go, but his fingers just wouldn’t cooperate. He tightened his hold. And when her hair started to slip through his grip, he pushed forward in his chair. He deserved one taste. He sacrificed so his country would be safe. One kiss was nothing when stacked up against that.

But if he was going to take her mouth—and he damn sure was—then he was going to take his time. If he could have her just this once, then he would savor every second.

He waited, hovering near her lips. She didn’t move, startled frozen or wound as tight as he was, her breath, moist and hot on his skin. She inhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Please,” she whispered.

Yes
. He touched his mouth to hers. Slow. Not even a press. Just a touch. As her lips opened to him, he took advantage. He brushed back and forth, learning the contour of her soft flesh. The dip in the center, the curve, the full bottom. Her breath stuttered against his. She trembled, and he was so aroused that he nipped her in response.

She moaned against him, and he went deeper. He used his teeth to tug her lower lip forward, and her whole body came with it. He felt the empty beer bottle knock against his leg as she braced herself on the arm of his lawn chair. Alea angled her head and pressed her mouth against his, touching her tongue to his lips.

Need roared through him, hot and searing. His hands clenched—one on the armrest, the other against her neck. His fist shifted to caress her cheek even as he tried to hold back. He had to savor her. His hand opened to slide to her nape and he dragged her hard toward him. His tongue thrust into her and he took what he’d wanted for so long. A taste. A thrust. Oh God, she was so sweet. He was drunk on the taste of Cheez Whiz, beer, and her. But it was nothing compared to the sounds she made.

A soft mew, just like he’d imagined a million times. Then a whimper and a groan. He tried to pull her closer against him, but the angle was wrong. She was crouched above him, he was thrusting upward with too much space separating their bodies.

“There you are, sis. Mrs. O’Donnell is heading for bed. She’s…”

They both jerked apart. Hard to tell who leaped farther—him into his chair or her back far enough to bang into a tree.

“W-what?” she stammered.

John turned enough to see his onetime best friend glaring. Sam the fighter pilot, looking at him like he was going to ram a patriot missile up John’s ass. Fair enough. He deserved it, after all.

But he cleared his throat, leaned back, and filled his hands with the nearest thing that wasn’t Alea. He grabbed a fistful of Cheez Whizzed crackers and tossed two into his mouth. “Thanks for the snack,” he said between bites. At least he didn’t spew pieces of cracker.

“N-no problem,” Alea answered, her gaze hopping nervously between him and her brother. “I’ll, um… I’ll get you that beer.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m good. Feel plenty drunk as it is.” Which was true. Thank God he wasn’t standing. Just the one taste of her had left him reeling.

“I’ll bet.” That wasn’t her, but Sam’s cynical tone. “It’s getting late. We should be going. You have to work tomorrow.”

Alea looked up sharply. “When did you become my mother?”

John didn’t need to hear the words to know the answer—
the minute you started kissing the wrong guy
. Before Sam could draw breath, he bounded to his feet.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day. I’m bushed.” A lie. He was more alert now than he’d ever been in his life. And every buzzing cell was aimed at her. “You should go on home. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“But—” Alea began, but her brother was pretty damn quick, too.

“Yeah. Good idea.” He glared at Sam. “’Bout time you did some work somewhere.”

It was an old joke between pilots. They seemed to think they were the only ones who mattered. Instead, he grabbed the plate of crackers and held it at the right level to hide his erection. “Go home,” he said to Alea, mostly because he couldn’t make his eyes go anywhere else. Then he brushed past her and into the house. Two minutes later he heard the Mercedes—a goddamned Mercedes—roar down the street.