by Cathie Linz
Liar!
No, I’m not, she assured her screaming conscience. I’m having twelfth or thirteenth thoughts. My second thoughts came and went minutes ago.
“I’m glad.” His hand touched hers for a moment, then he opened the car door and got out Too soon, he walked around the front of the car and opened her door.
Silently she accompanied him to the front door of his town house. It looked like a mirror image of her own. Get a grip, kiddo. You wanted exactly this. So why are you so nervous?
Because it’s different! She wanted to scream the words. She wanted to make a run for the sanctuary of her home. She wanted to forget she’d ever mentioned such a stupid idea. She wanted to lean against Cliff and have him tell her everything would be all right.
She wanted...
The door stood open, and he stood aside, waiting for her to enter. “Do you want to come in now?”
Was that break in his voice from nerves too?
For the first time since they’d left the restaurant, she took a good look at him. His hair, a deep glowing auburn in the sunlight, had an unusual disheveled look. A fine quiver tickled one cheek and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply. No question about it, he was as nervous as she!
The realization calmed her, and she tried to reassure him with her best smile. “Sure.”
He ushered her into the living room that bore a surreal, reversed resemblance to hers. But while her unit’s decor featured elegant eighteenth-century cherry furniture, Cliff’s had modem brass and glass mixed with two huge burgundy-leather sofas and modem art prints on the bleached-oak paneled walls.
“A glass of wine?” His voice had a slight catch that betrayed his nervousness.
She took a deep breath and walked close to him, breathing in the spicy aroma of man and aftershave. “Don’t bother, Cliff. This isn’t about seduction, you know.”
“It’s not?” He had to swallow before the words came out. She noticed, however, that his hands had come to rest on her hips.
“No.” She raised her hands to unbutton his designer knit shirt. “It’s about each of us getting what we want from the other.”
His hands moved restlessly over her tailored slacks. “And what is it you want from me?”
Any trace of nervousness had utterly vanished from his voice, leaving a dark seduction that rippled through her. It set her heart thumping and froze her hands at their task. She breathed deeply and her head swam from the rich luxury of his scent. Her hands went to work, tunneling under his shirt to the warm muscles of his back.
“I just want you,” she told him. And she did. She wanted his charm. She wanted his teasing. She wanted his humor. She wanted his companionship.
Most of all, right now she wanted his lean, hard body.
He smiled. “And I want you.” Gently he lowered his head until his lips barely touched hers. Breathing the words into her mouth, he added, “More than anything, I want you.”
His lips finally descended fully on hers in a gentle kiss that nonetheless carried the fire of passion. That first touch was both tentative and assured, the kiss of a man who knows he has the time to taste and the inclination to savor.
Mallory let herself relax against him. Her arms tightened around his back, moving restlessly against his sinewy strength. She breathed in his intense, manly scent, part spicy cologne, but mostly pure Cliff. Giddy, she savored the combination of sensations.
Their mouths touched, separated, touched again. Each contact lasted a fraction longer. Each separation was incrementally briefer. His hands roved over her back until one lodged at her nape, holding her head at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss.
Only when she gasped for air did he release her, pressing his forehead against hers. Even while concentrating on regaining her breath, she noted that his lungs strained as hard as hers. She moved one hand from his back and around his side until it hovered over his heart. The thumping beat beneath her palm confirmed his excitement.
“You pack a wallop, Mallory,” he whispered. His mouth tenderly explored her temple and the comers of her eyes. “How come you never told me about this before?”
She froze. “This?”
“Your heat. Your fire. Your passion.”
She relaxed and let her hand do its own exploring. He had the most marvelous chest! “Maybe you never asked me?”
“Can’t imagine why not. Can you?” A thread of humor laced his voice. “I mean, here I’ve been, cold and lonely right next door to you. And you, hardhearted woman that you are, never said a word about being hot enough to warm the coldest nights and the loneliest bachelor.”
He accompanied his accusation with at least a dozen more of those tender, tempting kisses. She tilted her chin to give him better access to a particularly sensitive spot. “I confess, Counselor. Guilty as charged.” His tongue generated a spear of heat blazing through her, making her voice breathy. “I throw myself on the mercy of the court.”
He paused just long enough to send her an approving smile. “Perfect response, Ms. Reissen. And definitely a fascinating idea. The prospect of you throwing yourself on top of me leaves me barely able to stand upright.”
Mallory’s wandering fingers burrowed through the silky hair on his chest and found the raised pebble of his nipple. Her lips curved in triumph when his breath caught.
“You think I’m properly contrite for my crime, Counselor?”
He sent her a mock frown. “Maybe not. I think I need to see more of your willingness to atone for your felonious ways.”
“You mean—” She didn’t have to ask him to clarify his pronouncement. He was already busy unbuttoning her silk blouse and spreading it with a jerky movement. Her bra received equally brief attention before its front clasp released and the two sides spread apart.
He stared at her uncovered breasts for a long moment, before raising his eyes to meet hers. His voice deepened to a husky note. “I mean you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Unlike their earlier banter, she couldn’t find the slightest hint of humor in his quiet words.
“Cliff...”
“Mallory,” he mocked gently, “didn’t you expect a compliment or two along the way?”
She smiled with seductive intent, her hands busily tackling his belt buckle. “I hadn’t thought about it, I guess. But it’s very nice, Counselor. Smooth. I think I’m beginning to understand why you hotshot lawyers are so slick.”
“You do, hmm?” His words were muffled because his mouth nibbled her ear, sending quivers through her. He whispered directly into her ear, “Wanna find out how come they call me the office hotshot?”
His erotic promise turned her spine to a river of fire and conjured images that burned her breath in her lungs. He pushed her blouse and bra off her shoulders, letting the garments fall to the floor. While her hands surged through the dusting of hair on his chest, his palms covered her breasts and pebbled nipples. He bent and closed his lips over one breast.
Mallory’s breath stopped, though her heart thundered. Every sense concentrated on the liquid flame of his mouth against her flesh. Blood rang in her ears, a musical, insistent tone that echoed over and over and...
“Cliff—” She struggled to get the word out through lungs that barely remembered how to function. “Cliff...wait.”
“Hmm?” His mouth released her nipple and drifted over the fullness of her breast toward the other aching mound. “Just a minute.”
The ringing hadn’t stopped. “Cliff. Wait.” With every bit of strength she could muster, she pulled his head away from her. The frustration glittering in his eyes almost made her groan, but she persisted. “My pager. It’s beeping.”
It took a moment, but she saw the arousal fade in his face and awareness replace it. He loosened his grip on her enough to allow her to step away. It wasn’t easy when every atom in her wanted to step closer, but she managed.
And with that slight distance, sanity returned. She scooped up h
er blouse and pulled it around her, not bothering with the bra, which she stuffed into the pocket of her pants. She took one shaky breath, then another, before reaching for her purse to retrieve the persistent device. A familiar number displayed on the screen. “It’s—” she cleared her throat of the final traces of passion “—my boss. I have to call him.”
Cliff waved her toward the phone on the table. His eyes still held lingering flickers of arousal, but he said nothing while she absently buttoned her blouse.
With the closing of each button, Mallory felt more in control, more professional. By the time Stanley Rosen, the station’s news director, answered the phone, she could speak with her usual crisp tones.
Less than two minutes later, she hung up and turned to face Cliff. He, too, had repaired his appearance, stuffing his shirt back into his pants and rebuttoning it. “I take it you have to leave?” he asked before she could say anything.
“Yes.” Just looking at him heated her blood—but she had no time for that now. “There’s a major story breaking at Camp Pendleton. Stan wants me to come in and anchor the coverage.”
If she were with Mark, she knew he’d be protesting that the marine base north of the city always had some “breaking story” or another. But Cliff merely nodded. “I understand. Do you need me to do anything for you?”
She wanted to feel happy that he was letting her go to work so easily. She ought to feel happy. But disappointment lingered. “I’m sorry about...this.” She gestured vaguely to indicate the passion that had exploded between them and the interruption that had killed it too soon. “We’ll have to start our, um, association later.”
He reached her side before she realized he’d moved. “Don’t worry. We’ll pick up where we left off another time.”
Despite her own hormones singing in her veins, she smiled at him. “And will you remember where we were before the interruption?” she asked softly.
He gave her one hard, lingering kiss before escorting her to the front door. “Count on it.”
She left quickly, refusing to look back at the temptation of his farewell.
HOURS LATER, Cliff still blinked in wonder that Mallory Reissen had actually propositioned him!
With his sensual plans for the day ruined, he had decided to make use of the afternoon as he did most Sundays—by working. He’d changed into his favorite grungy sweats and parked himself on the couch in his living room, with a stack of paperwork covering the coffee table in front of him and Mozart filling the air.
As he mulled over the complex briefs needed for a client meeting the next day, he had to admit that she’d definitely come up with the best solution to both their problems. She’d looked serious, a little earnest, even...sweet while she calmly and logically explained why some hot nights in the sack together would solve both their problems.
He shook his head. He found it hard to imagine he’d ever thought of Mallory as “sweet,” but there it was. Her hopeful-but-please-don’t-notice expression reminded him of sneaking kisses from Barbara Sue Denton behind the bleachers at a pep rally.
Of course that was before Barbara Sue’s parents convinced her that dating a kid from the wrong side of town was only one step away from being with a leper.
He hadn’t thought of Barbara Sue in years. Last he heard, she’d been married and divorced twice and was on the prowl for husband number three. He spared a moment of silent thanks that said husband would never be him, then returned his attention to his paperwork.
Despite his concentration, his soon-to-be-consummated affair with Mallory sparked a glimmer of anticipation and tightened the fit of his normally loose sweats. Kissing her had been an exercise in pleasure he hadn’t anticipated. Not even the charming, halfshy uncertainty in her eyes when he’d bared her breasts compared to the luxury of her kiss.
He regretted the untimely interruption from her beeper—a lot. He wished she’d been able to stay, though he understood the demands of her career had left her no choice. If she had stayed, he knew he’d have had her upstairs and naked in his oversized bed within minutes. The details of what he planned to do to her, with her, for her, simmered in his mind.
It was going to take him hours and hours to go through every step of that envisioned scene. Then he would start all over again.
Yes, he thought as he shifted once more to accommodate the hardness that showed little sign of abating, sex with Mallory was going to be spectacular.
Their affair could well incinerate them both with passion, but he had no compunction about diving headlong into the flames. He wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting another woman.
And he intended to have her—very soon.
3
ON FRIDAY NIGHT, Mallory dabbed a final puff of powder on her nose, grabbed her purse, and started for the door of her office. She had talked to Cliff this afternoon when he called to arrange a late dinner—late because she couldn’t leave work until after she’d anchored the six-thirty evening news, which usually meant leaving the station somewhere around seven-thirty. They planned to grab a quick meal, then go home and finally get their fledgling affair off the ground.
She could hardly wait. After the untimely interruption on Sunday afternoon, the prospect of starting an affair with Cliff offered an even more enticing reward for surviving a long workweek.
A quick glance at her watch showed the minute hand creeping ever closer to the twelve. She was late, of course. Why was she never able to get out of the station at a reasonable time?
Firmly putting her work out of her mind, she was flicking off the office lights when the electronic chirp of her telephone halted her in the doorway. She stopped, debating whether to go back and answer it or just let whoever was at the other end assume that she’d already left for the day.
A second chirp, then a third convinced her. With a disgruntled sigh, she flipped the lights back on and returned to her desk. Without sitting down, she picked up the phone.
“Mallory Reissen here.” At this time of night she didn’t care if her voice was a little curt.
“Mallory, glad I caught you.” The voice of her agent boomed through the receiver, so she pulled it away from her ear. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be at the station. Should’ve known you were too dedicated to have left already.”
She grimaced, glancing again at her watch. Cliff would be looking for her at the restaurant very soon. “What is it, Lenny? I was just on the way out the door.”
Another hearty chuckle blasted her ear. “Well, you know that tape I sent to the network guys last month?”
“What about it?” Suddenly she was very interested in what her agent had to say. Thoughts of the date with Cliff faded.
Lenny summed it up in two words. “They’re interested.”
Her breath caught, and she collapsed into her chair. “Tell me this isn’t a joke.”
“No joke, kid. They haven’t made a final decision, of course. But you’ve definitely made it onto their short list. They told me that much already.”
Visions of success danced before her eyes. She had to take three deep breaths before she could get any words out. Dozens of inarticulate questions buzzed around her head, but the only one she could think to ask was, “Did they tell you anything more about the project?”
“Not really. But they did dangle one carrot.”
Lenny always had a sense of the dramatic. He was going to make her ask.
“What carrot?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “What carrot?”
“It’s for prime time.”
Long moments passed. For once in her life Mallory could think of absolutely nothing to say. “I don’t believe it,” she finally whispered. “Prime time. Are you sure?”
“Scout’s honor, kid.” Again Lenny chuckled. “Looks like we’re headed for the big time.”
“But they haven’t made up their minds yet, right?”
“That’s right. They’ll be talking to you and two or
three other candidates over the next few weeks. It’s up to you to convince them that you’re not just someone on their short list—you’re the only person on their final list.”
“I can do that,” she vowed.
Twenty minutes later, having rehashed the entire situation with Lenny several times before hanging up, she finally arrived at the small Thai restaurant where she had arranged to meet Cliff. Despite being a solid half hour late, she practically floated to the table on winged feet. The words “network prime time” filled her head almost to the exclusion of anything else.
As she sat down at the table where he waited, she apologized for her tardiness.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, handing her a menu. “I was a little late myself. I take it things got a little crazy at work?”
She nodded. “I’ll tell you about it later. Have you ordered?”
“Nope. I was waiting for you.”
To her relief he didn’t show the slightest sign of disgruntlement. This arrangement really was going to work out, she thought while she scanned the menu. He understood when business interfered with their plans and made her a little late for social stuff. The thought cheered her even more.
They ordered a simple meal of pad Thai rice noodles with shrimp and settled back to talk. Mallory explained about the last-minute delay leaving the station and he congratulated her on her opportunity.
“Of course, it’s way too early to celebrate. It could be months before they actually make up their minds. And these new projects can be cancelled before they even get on the air.” She tried to inject a note of realism to keep herself from getting too excited too early.
“Yes, but things do look good.”
“That they do.” Putting down her chopsticks, she lifted her glass of wine in a silent toast.
This was one of the best parts of their infant relationship, she realized as they enjoyed their dinner. She could talk to him about her work without worrying that he would think her overly ambitious or unfeminine. His congratulations on her successes tasted sweeter than any dessert. She tried to remember when any man had displayed such a reaction to a professional coup. She couldn’t think of a single occasion since she’d begun to make her mark at the station.