Sliding Into Home

by Arlene Hittle

  He smiled against the top of her head. “And here I was trying to be a good host, make sure you’re comfortable first.”

  “Not necessary, Greg.” Her fingertips danced along his spine, up and back down, before diving under his shirt. It was a double assault: Warm palms slid over his skin while her breasts flattened against his chest. The peaks of her nipples jutted into his ribcage, begging to be touched.

  Far be it from him to turn down that invitation. He moved just far enough away to tug her prim, collared shirt out of her waistband and then worked his fingers beneath it. But instead of bare skin, he encountered another layer of silky fabric.

  He plucked at it with his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this?”

  “Surely you’ve seen a camisole before.”

  Not recently, and certainly not worn by a female of his generation. His 84-year-old Great- Aunt Millie wore camisoles, for God’s sake. But he wasn’t going to tell Jenn that. As far as he was concerned, she could wear—or not wear—whatever she wanted to. Within reason. “It’s getting in the way.”

  Green eyes danced with suppressed laughter. “Well, we can’t have that.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She stepped out of the circle of his arms and reached behind her to take off her shirt. Her movements were languid.

  Here was the sensual woman from the strip club stage.

  Greg swallowed. He was about to live many men’s fantasy, bedding a stripper. Impulsively, he commanded, “Dance for me, Jenn.”

  ****

  Hands halfway to the hem of her camisole, Jenn froze.

  Greg wanted her to strip? Oh God.

  The lie was back to bite her. Fitting that it happened now, when she was about to break a dry spell that started in third year of law school, after she walked out on her then-boyfriend because he complained she was no fun anymore, always studying.

  She should tell him the truth. It was the perfect opening.

  You didn’t tell him you were Jade. In fact, you told him several times that you weren’t.

  Her conscience had a point. She’d never claimed to be her sister. He’d assumed it, but she never confirmed. She’d just stopped denying.

  Hell. She was a lawyer. Surely she could talk her way out of this, maintain the harmless illusion and still get what she wanted—no, needed. Because she needed sex with Greg. And soon. Before her lady parts shriveled up and fell off.

  Trying to emulate her sister’s comfort level with the goods God gave them, she let her arms fall to her sides and gave her entire body a little shake. She rolled her shoulders as if she might be considering doing what he’d asked. Then she took a step back toward Greg and shook her finger at him.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Her voice was steady. Amazing. Thank goodness.

  His eyebrows arched. “I take it that’s a ‘no’?”

  “You took Jade out of the strip club, remember?”

  He was biting his lip, trying not to laugh. “Apparently a grave mistake on my part.”

  “Apparently.” She didn’t bother to hide her smile.

  “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

  She shook her head. “You were right to be concerned. Besides, if you hadn’t offered that job, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

  “I suppose not.” His hands settled on her hips and he pulled her snug against him. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  The hunger burning in Greg’s eyes made her breath catch in her throat. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  A boyish grin slid across his features. “Good.” With that, he dipped his head. Teeth nipped lightly at the skin over her collarbone, producing a shiver that wracked her whole body. She moaned and dug her fingers into his shoulders.

  In an instant, he stripped her of her camisole and unhooked her bra. Her breasts sprang free, the nipples already tight and aching. He cupped them and ran a thumb over each bud.

  “Perfection,” he murmured, his breath warm on her neck.

  Her breath caught again. She tried to hide it with a smile. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

  “How about something like ‘I’m glad you like ’em’?” He dropped his hands to her butt and squeezed. “Or maybe ‘You’re not so bad yourself, Ball Boy’?”

  “Ball Boy?”

  “Remember when you so eloquently reminded me I ‘play with balls’ for a living?”

  “Something I won’t soon forget.” She arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly into his hands. “Now how about a little less talk and a little more action?”

  Before I say something to screw this up.

  “You’re more of a ‘cut to the chase’ girl, are you?”

  “Today I am.”

  With you. Only you. It usually took a lot to get her motor running—and keep things humming along. But here, with Greg, she was ready, wet and willing after a few perfunctory caresses.

  She’d analyze it later. Now, the important thing was to seal the deal before the illusion fell away and she was just herself, a too-serious lawyer with body hang-ups. Her fingers scrambled at the waistband of his sweats. She worked her way in and curled her fingers around his length. It pulsed in her grasp as he growled and plucked at the elastic leg of her panties.

  “You sure do wear an awful lot of clothes for a stripper.”

  “The key is in layering. Makes it look like you’re exposing a lot more than you really are.” That’s what Jess had told her, anyway. In an attempt to redirect the conversation, she brushed her thumb over the sensitive tip of his penis.

  “Well, they’re in the way.” In one swift movement, he shoved her panties down around her ankles and his finger found the moist heat between her legs.

  She gasped at the invasion, writhing with pleasure as he sought out her most sensitive spot and worked it. Back and forth and back again until she was almost mindless with wanting him. She managed to puff out three words. “Bed, Greg. Now.”

  When the chuckle rumbled from his throat, it vibrated through her body. It warmed her all over.

  “That’s an offer I’m not likely to refuse.”

  He scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hall and through a doorway. Then he laid her on a king-sized bed. Having kicked off her panties on the way into the room, she lay there somewhat dazed by the intensity of their desire. Her skirt was ruched up around her waist and her legs splayed wide.

  Greg watched her intently as he shed his sweatpants, looking away just long enough to pull off his shirt and retrieve something from the drawer in the nightstand. She caught a flash of silver before his naked torso distracted her. She had to prop herself up on her elbows to get a better look.

  God, he was an impressive specimen of manhood. Tanned skin. Six-pack abs. A sandy-colored happy trail leading to—gulp. That took him from merely impressive to superhuman. It looked even bigger than it felt.

  She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. “So that’s what a real man looks like.”

  The arch of his eyebrows and the lifted corners of his mouth told her she’d said the words that she’d merely meant to think.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” She asked the question, even though it didn’t really need asking.

  He nodded. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wonder what kind of guys you’ve been dating.”

  “No one lately.”

  “Been a while, has it?” When she responded with a reluctant “yes,” he ripped open a foil packet. “Well then, let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Yes, please.” She fell back against the pillows as he planted a knee on either side of her hips. His erection hovered near the part of her begging to be filled, just out of reach. She arched closer, but not close enough. “Tease.”

  “Now you know how I feel with all the looking but not touching.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his length and guided him between her thighs. “For tonight, touch all you want.”

  “All I want?” A goofy grin spread across his
face. “Better be careful what you ask for.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jenn didn’t reply, merely looked at him, eyes shining with pure, sweet desire. Greg knew the feeling; he’d never wanted a woman more. So he filled her. He slid into welcoming wet heat and thrust. She matched him move for move, stoking his desire to inferno level.

  They moved together as one until she writhed beneath him and he was about to explode. His balls were tight and hot. They pulsed with every thrust that brought them both closer to the edge. When she wrapped her legs around his waist to urge him deeper, he was a goner. Two more long, powerful strokes and he came with enough force to power a rocket.

  But Jenn didn’t. He could tell by her unspoken disappointment.

  He flung himself off her and flopped beside her. He covered his eyes with his arm, unable to look at her after failing again. Another failure to add to the list, although never before had one happened in the bedroom. “I’m sorry.”

  Her hand landed in the middle of his chest, warm against his skin. “Don’t apologize.”

  “But you didn’t—”

  “I never do, at least not through intercourse alone.” Her smile was small and sad. “I thought you might prove to be the exception to that rule, but it’s not your fault. There’s something wrong with me.”

  Now he rolled onto his side to examine her. She looked serious enough, but he couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head. “Sex by itself doesn’t do it for me. Never has.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” A woman as sensual as Jenn/Jade couldn’t possibly be broken down there. “You just haven’t been with the right guys.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “What?”

  Finally, she stopped and bit her lip. He waited until she’d sufficiently composed herself to repeat the question. “What’d I say?”

  “You do realize that you just lumped yourself in with all the Mr. Wrongs I’ve had the displeasure to meet, right?”

  Shit. She had a point. Again. “Blame it on post-coital idiocy? I can’t think straight after great sex.”

  “I’m glad it was good for you.” Her hand curled into a fist on his chest. Her fingers took a few chest hairs with them. “Means I’m not totally deficient.”

  Greg bit down on a curse, more because of her words than the pain. “I told you there’s nothing wrong with you. And just as soon as I recover, I’ll prove it.”

  Except he didn’t. Jenn didn’t orgasm the second time they made love, or even the third. She came close a couple of times, but never made it over the edge.

  It was after midnight before he admitted defeat. He traced circles around her nipples, which tightened anew under the attention. She wanted him. No doubt about that. He wanted her, too. Despite the glitch, she was the most responsive, expressive woman he’d ever bedded.

  And he was an asshole for not delivering on his promise. “I’d love to give it another half-dozen tries, but I need a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s derby.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Greg. I can take care of myself.”

  Where had he heard that before? He rolled his eyes. “Of course you can. But you shouldn’t have to.”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. Get some sleep. We can try again some other time.”

  ****

  Or not.

  How humiliating to have Greg keep trying—and failing—to do what came naturally to everyone but her. His technique wasn’t the problem. He was amazing.

  She just wasn’t right inside. Not his fault. Nobody’s fault but her own.

  Jenn realized he still watched her, his eyes sharp and his features intent.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  He leaned over and captured her lips for a kiss. When he pulled away, he said, “No, it’s not. Really. But it has to be for tonight.”

  “I know. You have a home run derby to win at noon.” She rolled to her side.

  He did the same, draping one arm over her hip to hold her close. His chest was warm and solid against her back, and his fingers seared her hip like a brand.

  That tiny reassurance, more than any other, brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

  Why couldn’t she just let go? Enjoy? Let him whisk her away to never-before-scaled heights?

  Greg might see her as a challenge now, but he’d eventually get tired of always trying, never succeeding. He wasn’t a man who liked to fail. She knew that about him now. He only appeared to be a devil-may-care slacker. In reality, he was driven to succeed, to be the best. At everything.

  His breathing evened out. She listened to him, matching her breaths to his, until her eyes drifted shut. When she awakened the next morning, she was alone. Running water told her Greg was in the shower, but the scent of fresh-brewed coffee beckoned her to the kitchen.

  She pulled on the blue silk robe he’d so thoughtfully left for her and followed her nose down the hall. A burgundy-and-white Condors mug that appeared to be clean waited for her next to the top-of-the-line espresso machine. She made herself a cup and laced it generously with sugar and milk from the fridge. While she rooted through the refrigerator, eggs and sausage caught her eye.

  By the time Greg wandered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a low-slung towel around his waist, she’d downed two cups of sweet, creamy coffee and had the beginnings of an omelet in a skillet on the stove. The precooked sausage patties were warming in the microwave.

  He glanced from her face to the pan and back. “Making yourself at home, I see.”

  “That was pretty presumptuous of me.” Her cheeks burned. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Jenn.” He gave the air an appreciative sniff. “It’s good to know you’re as competent in the kitchen as you are at the office.”

  Just not in the bedroom.

  The unspoken insult hung in the air between them. Maybe it was just in her imagination, though, because when he looked at her, leashed desire smoldered in his eyes.

  She coughed and looked away. “Yes, well, I find myself extra hungry this morning. I seem to recall someone never got around to ordering that pizza last night.”

  “Only because someone proved too powerful a distraction.”

  He took a step toward her, but she danced out of reach. “Derby at noon, remember?”

  “I remember.” His heavy-lidded gaze raked her from head to toe and she shivered. “Just as soon as I kick Dad’s ass, we’ll have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

  She drew a ragged breath and turned her attention back to the stove. She lifted the eggs’ cooked edge and swirled the skillet, letting the raw egg run beneath. “The omelet’s almost ready. Find some cheese and I’m yours for the day.” And night.

  “Another offer I won’t refuse.” He crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator. “Gruyère, Camembert, brie or cheddar?”

  Leave it to the rich man to keep his fridge stocked with expensive French cheeses. Sometimes she wondered if he really did have more money than sense. Or maybe he just really liked cheese. “Is it Wisconsin cheddar?”

  He thumped a brick of white cheddar cheese onto the counter. “All-American girl, are you?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She eyed the solid lump of cheese. “I assume you have a cheese grater.”

  He hummed Tom Petty’s “American Girl” as he fitted his fancy food processor with a shredding attachment, cut a couple chunks off the brick of cheese and threw them down the chute. Seconds later, he presented her with a bowlful of shreds. Perfect. Just like Greg. “Your shredded cheese.”

  Their fingers brushed when she took it from him. She jerked away and sprinkled the cheese onto the omelet. Time to think about anything but how cozy it was to be in the kitchen with Mr. Perfect. She had no reason to get comfortable with the idea, because it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t, with her track record.

  Her hand shook as she tried to slide the spatula under the omelet. Greg was behind her in an instant, covering her hand with his to steady
it. His breath tickled her ear. “Careful, Jenn. You don’t want breakfast to end up all over the stove.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t want that.”

  ****

  Jenn managed to serve up breakfast without wearing it or dumping it on the floor, and Greg was soon driving them to the ballpark downtown. His father had used his considerable pull to secure free use of the Diamondbacks’ Chase Field for the event.

  Walking onto the major league field was slightly more intimidating than taking his position on the Condors’ turf, but Greg was still comfortable. Baseball diamonds were similar everywhere: bright green grass, brown dirt base paths, air scented with hot dogs and slightly stale popcorn. The only difference was a much bigger crowd.

  And what a crowd it would be. Forty-five minutes before the derby’s scheduled start, folks were already filling into the stadium. He imagined few seats would remain empty by the time things got underway. He glanced up at the retractable ceiling, which was currently closed. The day was sunny and warm, and an open roof should be to his advantage.

  Open roof or not, a bone-deep satisfaction settled over him. He wanted this project to succeed as much as Jenn did, and she’d done a fantastic job of planning to make it happen. The Foundation’s staff had executed her instructions flawlessly.

  “Everything looks great.” He squeezed her hand.

  Her smile was relieved—and a little mysterious. “The thanks really belong to the staff who did the setup last night while we were…umm…otherwise occupied.”

  His cock twitched at the reminder, but he remained focused. Getting distracted now, when he had home runs to hit, would be monumentally stupid. And, despite a propensity for making boneheaded mistakes, he was no dummy. “And you. They couldn’t have prepared nearly so well without your checklists.”

  She blushed and slipped her hand from his grasp, edging away from him. “I’m sure they’d have managed.”

  Why couldn’t she just accept a compliment? And why was she suddenly scared of his touch? Greg was about to demand answers when he noticed his father striding their way. So that was the problem.