Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3)

by Jennie Marts

  That was a good question.

  He awkwardly held the flowers out to her, his brain failing him for one clever thing to say. “I got you these.”

  A shadow crossed her eyes, her smile slipping for just a minute. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you like roses?”

  Then it hit him. Just as she was saying, “I’m sorry. I do like them, and I appreciate the thought. They’re beautiful. I’m just not a huge fan of roses lately.”

  Oh hell, he was an idiot. He shook his head and pulled the flowers back. “I’m sorry. Of course not, I wasn’t even thinking.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I love that you got them for me. But we can’t take them on the bike anyway, so I’ll have to get them when we get back.” Her gaze traveled up and down the length of his body, and she offered him an impish grin. “The roses and the suit are great, but we’re not going on that kind of date. And even though you look amazingly handsome in that suit, it’s not gonna work for the bike, or for where I’m taking you to dinner.”

  Even with all of his plans, he’d bungled everything up and done everything wrong. He should have asked where they were going, not just assumed that she would take him on the kind of date that he would take her on.

  It seemed he couldn’t assume anything when it came to Murphy.

  “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll go change,” he told her.

  “Ten is too many. Don’t think about it, just go throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. And how about some boots? Do you have any cowboy boots?”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “No. I do not have any cowboy boots. I have some hiking boots.”

  “Just go with sneakers.” She laughed and looked down at her bare wrist as if she were checking her watch. “And now you have exactly seven and a half minutes to change, or I’m leaving without you. Which means you have to hurry and you might not have time to hang that neatly pressed suit up perfectly in the closet.”

  That what she thought. Did she know how long he’d spent ironing these pants? Besides, it didn’t take that long to hang something up.

  “Quit arguing with me in your head about how much time it takes to hang a suit up, and go get changed,” she teased. “And don’t even think of coming back down with your shirt tucked in.”

  He turned and ran up the stairs. Unlocking the door, he hurried in, tossed the flowers on the counter, and brushed a hand across the dog’s head as she followed him excitedly into the bedroom. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he tossed it on the bed and toed off his shoes. He quickly changed into jeans and a white T-shirt, then pulled on a light blue oxford button-up but left it open and untucked.

  Cramming his wallet, keys, and inhaler into his pockets, he opened the closet and stuffed his feet into the pair of black Converse sneakers laying on the floor.

  He headed for the door, and almost made it, but couldn’t do it.

  Dammit. It would only take thirty seconds.

  Turning around, he hastily grabbed a couple of hangers and hung up his suit jacket and pants, then raced back across the living room, tossed the dog another treat and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Murphy grinned up at him as he jogged down the stairs. “You hung the suit up, didn’t you?”

  “You’ll have to come up to my bedroom later to find out,” he answered with as much suave confidence as he could muster. Take that.

  She laughed out loud, a hearty belly laugh. “You crack me up. But I love it. And that sounded an awful lot like an invitation.”

  He shrugged, already feeling the warmth creeping up his neck as he tried to act cool. “That’s because it was.”

  Her eyes narrowed with seductive regard, and her grin turned coy. “Noted.”

  Oh boy.

  Maybe they should skip dinner. Who needed food anyway? Not when there was a chance at having her upstairs and in his bedroom—in his bed.

  But it seemed like she’d already planned something for tonight, and he was the last person to want to mess up someone’s arrangements.

  “Here ya go,” she said, handing him a black helmet. “Safety first.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled the helmet over his head and buckled the strap under his chin.

  She held out the black leather jacket she’d had across her lap. “And I got this for you. Put it on, too.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t take that. It’s too much.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You got me a gift of an expensive bouquet of flowers.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not. Because those flowers will wilt and die, and you’ll have this jacket forever. So quit arguing with me and take the jacket. The clock is ticking, Bannister.” She started the engine and slid forward in the seat, causing the skirt to slide further up her legs.

  It was the legs that did it. How could he argue with such a great pair of legs?

  “Fine.” He took the jacket and shrugged into it. It fit perfectly, the smooth material carrying the distinct scent of quality leather.

  He caught her appreciate glance.

  “Nice,” she said, running her tongue seductively across her top lip. “Suddenly, I’m starving. Get on.”

  He climbed onto the back of the motorcycle, fitting his crotch snugly against her backside. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he peered over her shoulder. She wore a white Henley and the top three buttons gaped open, giving him a view of bare-skinned cleavage and a white lacy bra. He swallowed, trying to avert his gaze, but only managed to look down at the sight of her legs straddling the seat, her skirt riding high and pulled tightly across her legs.

  He leaned forward so his head was close to her ear. “I’m not sure how practical it is to wear a skirt on a motorcycle.”

  “No?” she teased, turning her face so he could see her cocky grin. “Why not?”

  “Because everything’s open and, you know…” he sputtered. “Well…a bug could fly up there.” The leather jacket suddenly seemed too warm. This was not his forte. He didn’t usually talk about this kind of stuff.

  “Then I guess he’ll be one happy bug.” She laughed and pulled on her helmet. “You crack me up.”

  She gunned the engine, dropped the bike into gear, and roared out of the driveway.

  He tightened his grip on her waist, not altogether comfortable with being on the back of the bike. “Where are we going?” he yelled against the wind.

  “Someplace fun,” she yelled back. “Don’t worry. I asked your brother, and he said you liked this place.”

  Oh great. She’d talked to Owen? And he’d given her a recommendation for a place he liked? All of his brothers had a sarcastic streak, and Jack wondered if they wouldn’t end up at a dive café downtown or a grubby fast food joint.

  But instead of heading into downtown, she eased the bike onto the highway and headed up into the mountains. After about ten miles, she exited and followed a smaller windy road along the edge of a mountain stream.

  She was a good driver and handled the bike well. He settled back, easing the death grip he had on her waist, and tried to enjoy the ride.

  “Don’t let go,” she yelled and goosed the engine.

  He leaned in, pressing his back against hers while sliding his arms around her middle and clasping his hands in front of her stomach.

  She slowed the bike, then reached down and grabbed his right hand, pulling it inside of her jacket and pressing it to her breast. He sucked in his breath, thankful he didn’t swallow a bug.

  Heat warmed his neck, but he didn’t move his hand. He held perfectly still, frozen by her boldness, hoping she didn’t know how much she’d stunned him. Stunned, and, well, if he were being honest, completely turned him on.

  She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the blush burning his cheeks, and that fact emboldened him.

  Two could play at this game.

  So he moved his hand, but he didn’t pull it away.

  Instead, he held on, cupping her breast i
n his palm while he worked his thumb inside the top of her shirt and stroked her skin along the lacy edge of her bra.

  She squirmed against the sudden rise in elevation in his jeans, and he gripped her breast tighter, dipping his thumb inside of her bra and skimming the pebbled tip of her nipple.

  The road was familiar, and he was pretty sure where they were headed, but he couldn’t focus on the road or the directions; he was too busy thinking about her perfectly rounded butt against his crotch and his hand that was holding her breast.

  She slowed the bike and turned off the road and into a wooded clearing. The trees were thick around the area, but a picnic table sat next to the creek with a concrete fire pit next to it. There were several such picnic spots up and down the road—they were popular with families going on picnics and fisherman looking for a place to cast a line.

  He didn’t see evidence of a picnic supper on the bike, but nothing would surprise him with Murphy.

  She cut the engine, and he pulled his hand from inside her shirt and dropped it to rest against his leg. After pressing the kickstand into place, she climbed off the bike, no easy task in the skirt, but the woman was flexible and by this time, the little black skirt was riding high on her thighs.

  He slid off as well, stretching his legs and readjusting his jeans to hopefully disguise his arousal. Not that it mattered, no one was around. The clearing was empty, and they hadn’t seen another car on the road in a while.

  “Is this where we’re having dinner?”

  She pulled the helmet from her head and shook out her long hair. After hanging the helmet from the handlebars, she turned to him, stepping close and wrapping a slender arm around his neck. “Nope. This is where we’re stopping for appetizers.”

  Appetizers?

  He only prayed that she had the same kind of hors d’oeuvres in mind that he did.

  Leaning closer, she laid a line of warm kisses up his throat and skimmed his earlobe with her teeth. “You touching me like that has suddenly made me ravenous. But not for food.”

  She pulled him toward the trees. With the dusk settling in and the thick growth of forest, they were hidden from the road. At least he hoped they were.

  Although if she kept touching him like that, running her hands along his chest and nibbling his neck, he wouldn’t care if every driver saw them. Let them look.

  Where had that come from?

  This didn’t feel the conservative guy he normally was. He was actually being impulsive.

  And it felt good—really good.

  And so did her lips.

  Her kisses were urgent and deep, full of hunger and need. She pulled him with her, a few steps deeper into the woods, walking backwards, stopping when her shoulders pressed against the side of a half dead pine tree, its trunk bare of branches.

  The scent of her skin mingled with the smell of pine, and she tasted like cinnamon gum. The combination of scents and flavors was intoxicating as he slanted his mouth across hers, dipping his tongue between her lips.

  She let out a soft moan as he ran his hands up her rib cage and across her breasts. Arching against the tree, she pressed her hips into his, grinding against his rapidly swelling fly.

  Sliding his hands down, he gripped her perfectly rounded butt, the fabric of her tiny skirt riding higher as she writhed against him. He skated his fingers along the hem of her skirt, brushing the bare skin underneath as he shifted his hand around her legs and to the warm center between her thighs.

  He expected to feel more bare skin as he slipped his hands under her skirt, but instead met a silky fabric barrier.

  “What are you wearing?” he asked, drawing back and looking down at the black fabric visible under her skirt.

  “They’re boy shorts,” she answered between kisses against his neck.

  “What? You’re wearing some boy’s shorts?” He narrowed his eyes, his shoulders rigid. “You mean you have some other guy’s underwear on?”

  She sighed as she pulled away then lifted her skirt, giving him a full view of the silky black underthings. “No, you dork. They don’t belong to a boy. They’re my underwear—that’s just what they’re called, because they resemble the style of boy’s briefs. Except they are a little different.” She turned around, flashing him a view that showed the shorts riding high across her butt, the bare flesh of her cheeks perfectly rounded as they peeked from below the lacy edge of the fabric. “They give me a little more coverage with wearing a skirt on the bike. You didn’t really think I was going commando on the motorcycle, did you?”

  He shrugged as she spun to face him again, the idea sending darts of heat up his back and warming his neck. “A guy can hope.”

  She offered him a naughty grin. “Yeah? What are you hoping for right now, Bannister?”

  The corners of his lips pulled up in a sly smile as he imagined all the things he hoped would happen with her. He never imagined he’d be making out with her against a pine tree after groping her from the back of a motorcycle, but something about the crazy night, her wild spirit, and the cover of darkness, emboldened him. “I’m hoping to get another view of those shorts.”

  The naughty grin she wore turned seductive as she turned back around, and slowly lifted her skirt up and over her hips. She bent forward, spreading her legs and tipping her butt up in a pose that sent his male fantasies skyrocketing.

  Sweat broke out on his back as he reached his hand forward and cupped the deliciously rounded curve of her cheek. Turning his palm up, he skimmed his fingers across the lacy edge of her underwear, then slid his hand between her legs, softly stroking her through the silky material.

  She rocked slowly back and forth against his hand, her hips gyrating in a seductive circle as she held on to the tree in front of her.

  The rest of the world fell away—it was as if they were the only two people that existed. It didn’t matter that they were outside in the woods, or that a passing motorist on the highway might glimpse them through the trees.

  He wasn’t thinking about any of those things. He couldn’t.

  His focus was solely on her—on the way her hips moved, on the heat she generated against his hand, and on the soft, sexy sounds she made as he continued to stroke her.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. He’d been in similar positions with her countless times before, seen her in this exact pose and brazenly touched her just like this, but then he’d always woken up, alone and sweating in his bed.

  But nothing, even in his wildest dreams, compared to the reality of what was actually happening now, with the real live woman that was leaning against a tree and offering herself to him. And not just any woman—Murphy. The one woman who’d captured his heart the first time he’d met her and the only one that he’d never been able to let go.

  And he wasn’t about to let her go again this time—because she still held his heart in the palm of her hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  Murphy’s breath caught in her throat as Jack shifted his hand again, sliding his fingers inside the fabric of her underwear.

  She wanted—no, she needed—to feel him. To finish this.

  She knew she was pushing his boundaries, knew this was totally beyond his comfort level. Outside, in the open, against a tree. Hell, it was completely out of her normal box as well. She’d never done anything like this, never been so bold with a man.

  But there was something about Jack—something that brought out her brazen side—something about the way he looked at her, the way he touched her with such reverence that gave her confidence and had her acting like she was a woodland Playboy Bunny.

  She could tell he was out of his comfort zone by the rosy blush on his cheeks and by the way he squirmed against her when he was behind her on the bike.

  She hadn’t planned on making the stop at the picnic area, hadn’t planned to seduce him in the woods, hadn’t even planned to press his hand against her breast as they were riding up the road. She’d done that last thing as a silly taunt, a way to tease
him, to surprise him a little.

  But she’d been the one who was surprised. She couldn’t believe it when he slid his thumb inside of her bra and rubbed it against her nipple. She almost ran the bike off the road at the zing of heat that shot through her.

  His daring move, combined with his hand in her bra and the steady vibration of the engine in between her thighs had her almost coming undone. She’d already been aroused by the simple feel of his hands around her waist and his legs straddling hers.

  She didn’t think when she pulled the bike over, didn’t think when she dragged him into the woods. Wasn’t thinking now. She was going by instinct—by what felt good.

  And right now, Jack Bannister’s hand inside of her panties felt really amazingly, fantastically good.

  She sucked in her breath as he slid his other hand up and inside of her shirt, cupping her breast as he continued to stroke between her legs.

  Heat surged through her veins, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. A small moan escaped her, and she arched her back, urging him on, each stroke sending a wave of desire throbbing through her.

  She couldn’t seem to focus, to reason, because this situation was beyond all reason, beyond any boundary that she had ever pushed.

  Everything else fell away. Everything except the feel of his thumb skimming across her tightened nipple and the sensation of his hand—oh, God, his hand.

  She clutched the trunk in front of her, the bark rough against her palms, but it didn’t matter, because all she could do was hold on as the last stroke carried her away.

  Her legs were still shaky as they climbed from the bike and took off their helmets. She pulled the elastic from her hair, shaking it free and trying to finger-comb it into submission and counter the just-got-out-of-bed look.

  Or the just-got-off-the-pine-needle-covered-ground look, in this case.

  She wondered how far they would have gone if another car hadn’t pulled into the rest stop, their headlights shining through their secluded spot in the trees. They’d been on the ground, nestled against the trunk with Jack’s fly undone when they heard the engine.