The heat overwhelmed her. His hands ran down her back, molding her to him. Though she might have satisfied her need to touch others through massage, she’d been starved for the feel of a man’s hands on her body. Need flooded through her, had her almost whimpering for more.
Long minutes passed as they dove into one another, mouths locked, hands roving. The soft release of breath punctuated the silence. Becka ran her fingers across his cheek and into his hair, even as Mace made a sound low in his throat and pulled her closer.
Mace had kissed her out of curiosity and desire. He’d no idea that kissing her would be like a fist in his gut, robbing him of air, making his head whirl, leaving him weak. Her mouth was a ripe, red fruit, tempting him to devour. It was too much, he thought dimly as he feasted on her lips, but he was powerless to stop himself.
The lithe, taut feel of her against him sent his system into overdrive and he made a small growl of satisfaction. For nearly an hour he’d lain on the table, feeling the stroke of her hands driving him mad, using all his control to keep from rolling over and pulling her to him, knowing it was too soon to touch her. Now, he needed to stop, but he couldn’t resist tasting her just a little more deeply.
Mace’s fingers slid down to the waistband of Becka’s shorts, tugging her shirt loose so he could touch the smooth, silky skin of her back.
Becka sighed against him. The sudden surge of wanting overwhelmed her. Sensation vibrated through her, making her excruciatingly conscious of every atom of her body. She needed his hands on her everywhere, needed him to release her from the tension that was stringing her tight. It wrenched a moan from her and she moved to wrap her arms around his back. Her car keys slipped from her fingers to hit the floor with a jangle.
She jumped at the noise. Sanity came rushing back. What was she doing? Tumbling for him, just like every other woman he’d ever met? He wanted to know what she was like in bed, he’d said so, and he’d been halfway there. She pulled out of his arms and sucked in a long breath.
“Oh no, we’re not done yet.” Mace reached for her again, his eyes darkened to the shade of old amber.
“Yes we are.” Becka put a hand on his chest. True, it trembled a bit, and she had to fight the urge to stroke him, but at least she was making a stand. Even though all she wanted to do was wrench his clothes off and… “I hope you’ve satisfied your curiosity, Duvall. From now on, hands off.”
“On work time, sure.”
“All the time,” she retorted, tucking her shirttail back in. “Let me be really clear about this. I’m not interested in being part of your parade.” She looked him up and down. “You’ve been around the block a few too many times for me. Now if you’ll get your clothes on, I need to get home.”
Mace slipped his shirt on. Becka picked up her purse and keys and started to walk out the door. Swiftly, he reached out an arm and pulled her in close against him.
“Now let me be clear about something. There is no parade of women, I don’t give a damn what people say. My life is my own, not what the media makes it. As for you and I—”
“There is no you and I.” Becka pressed her hands against his chest and glared at him. “And if you think I’m going to sleep with you—”
Wicked amusement filled his eyes and he brought his mouth down to ravage hers until he felt her arms weaken and heard her soft sigh. Then he raised his head. “It’s not a matter of if, darlin’,” he said, staring into her dazed green eyes. “It’s a matter of when.”
And he walked out the door without another look.
5
THERE WAS NO DOUBT about it, moving sucked.
Becka took a deep breath and began lugging a box of pots and pans up the dark, narrow stairwell that led to her new apartment. Feeling blindly for each step, she concentrated on using her chin to stabilize the trio of stainless steel mixing bowls and plastic dish rack that she’d balanced on top of the box.
Bad enough she’d spent every spare minute in the past three days filling boxes, packing things in newspaper until her hands were black. Now she had to spend one of her rare and precious days off hauling them over to the new apartment. Only the prospect of eliminating her commute made the project even remotely tolerable.
A soft tearing sound warned her that the box she carried was failing rapidly. Obviously, it was going downhill more quickly than she’d expected when she’d packed it, she thought, trying to speed up.
The box gave another alarming rending sound as Becka emerged onto the landing. She lurched to get her fingers under it just as the mixing bowls slid from under her chin to cascade onto the battered hardwood floor of the hall. The dish rack followed as the box canted to one side, and Becka fought to get a grip on the weakening bottom. Just a few more steps, she thought, fumbling for her doorknob. Just a few more steps and she’d be able to—
The bottom of the box gave way. Pots and pans clattered out, lids rolling to the walls or circling with metallic ringing sounds. Finally Becka gave up and just dropped the box in disgust, with grim enjoyment at the crash.
There was a loud thump from behind the door opposite hers, a barking voice that ascended in volume as Becka stared at the door in alarm. “Hey, can’t a person get a little sleep around here?” The door banged open and a disheveled woman swathed in a white terry-cloth robe glared at her, face still pale with sleep.
Becka blinked. “Oh wow, I didn’t think anyone would be here on a weekday. I’m really sorry. My box broke and I…” She waved a hand at the ripped cardboard, trying not to stare at the woman’s smudged eyes and the wild waterfall of sable hair that tumbled to her waist.
The woman looked at her a moment longer. “Yeah, well, some of us work nights. Do me a favor and keep it down.” She slammed the door shut without another word.
And nice to meet you, too, neighbor, Becka thought as she leaned down to pick up the pans. Fumbling through her door, she carried the pile inside to spill them on her couch. Yup, it was shaping up to be a daisy of a day. After the humiliation of the night before, irritation—she was sure it was irritation—had kept her amped up and awake into the wee morning hours. Bad enough that he’d kissed her, but he’d made her respond.
And then his smug parting shot. Becka huffed back into the hall and stomped down the stairs. A matter of when indeed. It would be a cold day in hell before she slept with Mace Duvall, no matter how magic his mouth might be. She’d only responded because it had been a while, that was all. Which was the absolute worst reason in the world to get involved with someone, she reminded herself crossly.
And just where was Chico, she wondered, smothering her annoyance as she checked her watch again and crossed the parking lot. He was over two hours late. Even stuffed to the gills, her valiant little Toyota could only carry about seven or eight boxes, which had been why she’d reserved the cargo van, since cancelled. There were very few immutable laws in life, but one of them was certainly that she who gave up a U-Haul reservation on the last Friday of the month was not about to get it back. Thanks to Chico’s unreliability, she was going to spend her whole day ferrying boxes from Cambridge to Lowell.
“Need some help?”
Becka turned to see the woman from upstairs standing behind her, an ironic smile on her face. “I’m with the welcoming committee,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Mallory Carson, your neighbor.” She’d swapped the robe for a T-shirt and shorts, and tamed her hair into a ponytail. The smudged makeup was gone, leaving her with the clean-scrubbed look of a high-schooler on a face that any high fashion model would envy.
Becka shook her hand bemusedly. “Becka Landon. Hey, I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t usually jump on complete strangers, I swear.” Mallory gave a brilliant smile. “It’s just that I was at work really late last night. I’m a bartender,” she explained, yawning into her hand.
“Well no wonder you were ready to strangle me.”
She shrugged. “No big deal. I’m up now, so let me help. It
’ll keep me from having to do something really disgusting like vacuuming.”
Becka popped the trunk and pulled out a box for Mallory and one for herself. As they crossed the parking lot to the broad side porch that led into the house, Mallory studied Becka with frank curiosity. “So are you from somewhere else or are you just moving across town?”
Becka balanced the box on her knee while she opened the front door. “Cambridge, but I work here.”
“Why do you want to leave Cambridge for a backwater like Lowell?” Mallory asked, following her in.
Becka shrugged. “Cambridge isn’t any fun if you’re never there to enjoy it. Dealing with the drive and the traffic was making me crazy.”
“Yeah, I guess I can sort of see that.” Mallory started up the stairs. “So I guess I should fill you in on the rest of our little happy home here. Two apartments on the ground floor, Ed and Lorraine. Ed’s in construction, so he’s usually out of here at the crack of dawn. Helpful if you have something really heavy to lift, but kind of a dim bulb. He was having an affair with Lorraine, but he just broke up with her to see someone else, so we’ve got lots of slamming doors around here right now.” Puffing, Mallory followed Becka onto the upstairs hallway and through her front door.
“Third floor only has one apartment. Anne, a grad student over at UMass Lowell. Psychology, I think. Terrifyingly earnest. Watch out about making any jokes when you talk with her. She’ll get this really concerned look on her face and say things like ‘That’s a very interesting question, Mallory, but the more important thing to ask is why you’re so concerned with how many male chauvinist pigs it takes to change a light bulb. We should talk about this latent hostility you have toward men.’”
Becka laughed. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Probably,” Mallory said cheerfully, setting the box on the floor and walking to the kitchen window to look at the vacant lot next door. “Now Mr. Metzger is the one you want to watch out for. That lot next door is his property and you’d better remember it. He’s got a lot of vegetables growing and he’s totally paranoid about people coming along and stealing them. I’m not saying he’ll take after you with a shotgun, but he’s been known to be unpleasant.”
Becka looked over her shoulder and out the window at the white-haired old man moving among the lush green beds of vegetables. “Does he sell any of them?”
Mallory shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. I’ve never managed to have a conversation with the man beyond him barking at me. I guess I look like a zucchini-napper.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Becka asked as they started back downstairs.
“Catholic guilt,” Mallory said good-naturedly. “Helping you move is my penance for being rude. So what’s the story with you? The neighbors will be wondering.”
“I’m the trainer for the Lowell baseball team.”
Mallory goggled at her. “You teach them how to play baseball?”
Becka laughed. “No, I do everything else. Supervise workouts, keep them healthy. It’s a fancy version of a physical therapist.”
“Small world. I run the sports bar just across from the park.”
“Double Play?”
“Yeah. Some of your players come in after the games, especially the dark-haired one with the long eyelashes. He’s real popular.”
Becka’s eyebrows rose. “You’d better take a good look at their IDs. Most of those kids are barely old enough to vote. Not to mention the fact that they’re violating curfew.”
They went down the front hall and out onto the porch.
“So it’s kind of unusual for a woman to be a trainer on a guy’s sports team, isn’t it?” asked Mallory.
“A little,” Becka admitted over her shoulder as she stepped out the door. “They were hard up and I was the best option they had. I’m trying to convince them I’m indispensable.” She turned to walk forward and stopped. Across the parking lot, leaning on her car, was Mace Duvall.
“Do they give you a bad time?”
“Only some of them,” Becka said darkly, forcing her feet to start moving again. His eyes never left her, making her conscious of every step she took, of the strands of hair trailing down her cheeks, of the thin, dust-smudged tank top she wore. She crunched across the gravelly pavement of the parking lot and stopped in front of him. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping you move. Hi.” He nodded to Mallory then took his gaze back to Becka. “Chico’s wife surprised him this morning, so he asked me to pinch hit for him.”
Ignoring the awareness that buzzed through her system, Becka walked past him to pull a crate of sheets and towels from the back seat of her car. He was not going to get to her. She knew what she wanted, and it did not include getting involved with another guy who played the field. “I can handle it, thanks.” She swung the door shut with unnecessary force.
“I’m sure you can.” Mace caught the door neatly before it slammed and scooped another box out of the back. “As long as you don’t mind spending the entire day shifting your things in that little cracker box. I’ve got the Bronco. We can move your stuff in a couple trips.”
Becka kept walking as though she didn’t hear. Mace shrugged and followed her across the parking lot.
“You’re not ticked about last night, are you?”
The laughter in his voice made her keep control. “Did something happen last night?” she asked coolly. “I must have missed it.”
“I don’t know, you were sure breathing hard.”
She ignored him. Mallory watched avidly, dashing up to catch the door before it slammed behind Becka.
Mace glanced at her. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m enjoying this. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
He grinned and ducked in the door. Ahead of him, Becka started up the stairs, and he watched her appreciatively. Whatever she did to keep in shape, it was working.
He took a better grip on the box he was carrying, glancing at its contents. Books, mostly, tossed in haphazardly. He wasn’t surprised to see that they were mostly nonfiction. Becka didn’t strike him as the type for novels. The book on nutrition fit his image of her, as did one on t’ai chi, and one on…
“Ancient Chinese sexual secrets for Western lovers?”
Above him, Becka stumbled and caught herself before stepping out onto the upper landing. She walked quickly into her apartment without a backward glance.
Mace followed. “Well, this looks like a useful reference book.”
Becka dumped the sheets in her bedroom, next to the unmade bed that still stood in the center of the room. “Keep your paws out of my stuff,” she snapped and burst back into the living room to find him fishing the book out of the box he’d set by her shelves.
“Oh, but I think I could really learn something here.” He held the book out of her reach, stepping nimbly around her toward the bedroom. “Here we go, the Tortoises of Spring. ‘The woman places her hands and feet on the bed. The man inserts his jade stalk into her cinnabar grotto and plucks her lute strings ten times,’” he read, somehow managing to stay just out of her reach as he dodged around the bed. “‘He ceases when she rejoices. A hundred illnesses will vanish.’” Mace flopped down on the quilted surface of the mattress and sent Becka a wicked look. “We could cure those hundred illnesses right now, if you want.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Duvall. Hand it over, now.” She stretched across him, groping for the book.
Mace rolled onto his back and held the volume away from her with one long arm. “Hey, look at this one. She’s hanging from ropes coming down from the ceiling.” He slanted her a look. “Your mother know you read this?”
Face flaming, Becka made another stab for the paperback just as her hand slipped on the slick cover of the mattress, sending her falling down on top of him.
For long seconds, the only thing that registered in her stunned brain was the hard length of his body against her. Hard and getting harder, she realized, turning her head only to
brush her lips against the taut skin of his neck. She made a move, then, to get her hands under her and rise.
Swiftly, Mace rolled to pin her half beneath him. “No sense in rushing. You owe yourself a break after all that lifting.”
She felt an alarming thrill of excitement, and a trembling that started deep inside. Oh no, she thought, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be impatient and worried about time. She wasn’t supposed to wonder what it would feel like if he kissed her again with that mesmerizing mouth.
She wasn’t supposed to want him.
“It seems to me we didn’t get much of a chance last night to see where this could go,” Mace murmured, nuzzling her throat.
Keeping a grip on her wits was vital, Becka thought, striving for the detached amusement she used on the players when they made passes at her. “Better brush up on your lines, Duvall. They could use some work.” She fought to ignore the soft kisses he pressed into her skin. How could a man’s mouth be so soft and gentle when his hands felt so hard sliding down the curve of her hip, running up to brush over her breast? She jerked as the heat scorched through the thin cotton of her tank top.
“Maybe I should just skip talking, then,” he said, his eyes snaring hers, capturing her gaze until she couldn’t look away.
Becka steeled herself not to respond to the whirlwind of sensation she knew was coming. And while she prepared to defend herself against it, he slipped in to seduce her with gentleness.
His lips were warm, soft, taking light, quick samples rather than drinking her in as he had the night before. Nibbling his way across her jaw, he left a trail of heat and awareness that teased, enthralled. Before she could adjust, he returned to her mouth for more of those teasing kisses, now on one side, now on the other, now on the lids of her eyes that had somehow fluttered closed. The better to focus on his kisses so she could ignore them, except they never came where she expected. Like the soft, random landings of a butterfly, his kisses touched from point to point, here then gone, over before she could register the little buzz of electricity they triggered.
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