“God, yes,” he panted. “Need this, need you.” Love you.
“Shhh,” she crooned, looping her arms around his neck. “You’ve got me. Whatever you want.”
Adam kissed her again, desperate for the dark, sugary rush of her taste, the slick press of her tongue against his.
It wasn’t easy to make it from the front door to the bed without letting go of the kiss, but Adam put his back into it. He didn’t want to let Miranda go, even for the five seconds it took to walk through the living room.
They didn’t bother with turning any lights on; the spill of moonlight from the curtainless window was enough for Adam to navigate around the bookcase, to see the hectic flush on Miranda’s cheeks, the burnished copper of her hair. When the edge of the bed pressed into the backs of his knees, Adam realized that Miranda was urging him backward, pushing her sweet body tight to his. Intuiting her plan, Adam broke the kiss long enough to turn and strip all the blankets and sheets from the bed. He was too hot already.
The smile Miranda gave him was scorching, but it was the gentle warmth in her eyes that stole Adam’s breath.
“Lie back, honey,” she told him, and Adam finally thrilled to the endearment the way he’d wanted to. “It’s my turn to make you forget everything.”
Selective focus was a beautiful thing, Miranda found. Her life had never been in such turmoil, her emotions never so unruly and uncontrollable, but the moment Adam scrambled back and spread himself out on the wide bed before her, the rest of the world fell away.
There was nothing for Miranda, nothing but this.
Adam, his broad shoulders strong against the softness of the pillows, his strong legs stretched toward her like an invitation. Everything about him called to her, tugging at her heart.
Tugging at her conscience.
Miranda pressed her lips together as tightly as she could. She’d messed up everything, so badly. She’d been unbelievably wrong about Jess and Frankie, and when she thought of her brilliant plan to separate them, she felt ill.
That damned book. One hundred and fifty pages of sleazy, tabloidy trash masquerading as pseudojournalism, and Miranda had written it. Not only written it, but sent it to her editor, to be published.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Adam made a soft sound, bringing her mind back to the present. This beautiful moment, which felt like a reprieve sent from heaven.
Rob Meeks could so easily have told them what she’d done. She wouldn’t have been able to deny it, would’ve had to watch the light fade from Adam’s eyes when he looked at her and saw someone who would do something so bad. Protestations of “book or no book” aside, Miranda was fairly certain what Adam’s reaction would be if he ever read what she’d actually written.
But Rob hadn’t told. And Jess wasn’t in danger. So there was still time.
Miranda could fix this.
She knelt at the foot of the bed and bent low over Adam’s prone form, rubbing her cheek along the heat of his side, bumping up his ribs to his chest and over to his shoulder. He moaned and she smiled.
One phone call on Monday morning would fix everything. Miranda would let the publisher know that she withdrew her consent to publish the manuscript and make them shred their copy. She’d get them to stop payment on the check they’d sent. It would all be over.
No one would ever have to find out how close she had come to selling her soul.
Filled with renewed purpose, and the relief that came from making a decision about what to do, Miranda set about ridding them both of their clothes. Adam was more of a hindrance than a help with the fiddly bits like buttons and zippers, but he was a big help when it came to tossing the clothes to the floor with reckless abandon. She palmed a little foil packet from Adam’s jeans pocket, silently blessing him for being a typical optimistic man who always carried a condom.
Adam needed to be taken care of. The shattered look on his face had to be banished. The guilt scraping at Miranda’s insides only made her more determined to fill Adam’s mind and body with pleasure to replace the tension and panic of the last few hours.
She’d make it all up to him, everything Rob did, everything she’d done.
When they were both naked, Miranda climbed up his body, straddling his hard thighs.
Her eyes had adjusted to the meager light from the window above Adam’s bed. She could see every nuance of Adam’s expression, every tense and release of his muscular shoulders and arms.
“You feel amazing,” he said, eyes dark and wide, watching her.
“It’s the two of us, together,” Miranda replied, rubbing herself sinuously against him. She felt like a big cat. All the sensation in her body seemed concentrated in her skin, making her need to push hard against Adam and get as much contact as possible.
She stretched out full-length on top of him. A pair of groans split the air.
“So good, sweetheart,” Adam huffed.
“I know.” She shivered. “We fit.”
The thick, solid length of his erection was like super-heated steel against her stomach. Demanding attention.
Miranda gave Adam a deep, lazy kiss, holding herself up on her hands above him. The curve of her spine pushed her lower body into his and she writhed slowly, enjoying the pressure, the hot, slick caress of the swollen cock on her stomach. The way Adam’s eyes squeezed shut and he gasped into her mouth, hands clenching on her upper arms.
Licking at his lips, Miranda backed off before nipping at his chin and nudging her tongue along his jaw and down his neck.
She slid down, down, down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. Adam propped himself up on his elbows to watch her, hot, dark eyes never leaving her face.
“Never want to see anything but this again. Christ, Miranda, you look better than anything.”
“Better than a perfectly clear pot of stock?” she teased, lapping at his belly button. The shallow cup of flesh quivered under her tongue. “Better than Violet’s buttercream or Quentin’s béarnaise, or Milo’s carved radishes?”
Adam cracked a smile—his first real smile since Rob had stormed the kitchen. A sense of accomplishment glowed through her.
“Definitely better than Milo’s radishes.” He chuckled. “Those ones he carves to look like people are freaky.”
“Mmm. I won’t tell him you said that; it’d break his heart.” Miranda licked a wet stripe up Adam’s cock, base to tip.
“Thanks,” Adam gasped, head thunking back down on the bed hard enough to bounce as his arms slid out from under him.
“You’re welcome,” Miranda said, intoxicated by the immediate rush of heat that filled her body when she did this to Adam. To be the one to make him moan and flush, smile and pant—how could she ever have thought she’d be able to do without this?
Fierce exultation rocketed through her veins at the thought that she didn’t have to. She could have it all—Jess safe and happy, Adam hot and alive and throbbing beneath her.
As she applied herself to the task of turning Adam inside out with pleasure, she reflected that life could be very sweet, indeed.
Adam was lost in a haze of shivery, zinging sensation. Everything inside him felt too big to contain, like he was bursting out of his skin. But in a good way.
Miranda was like magic moving over him, her mouth hotter than the inside of the big bread oven. Wetter, though, God, so wet and scalding and awesome. The changing pressures of her mouth kept him off guard, nerves awake and begging.
She ducked her head and took him deep, the silky smoothness of her cheeks hollowing against the sides of his dick. Twisting up in a corkscrew motion, her tongue working delicately, a velvet rub against his most sensitive skin. And all of it was amazing. But it was the sharp, light edge of teeth she gave him that made him want to howl.
He should’ve known she’d be a technique queen, his detail-oriented Miranda. One night together had taught her Adam’s hot spots, the ways of moving and touching that short-circuited his brain. The furrow between her brows
gave her a look of such dedication to her appointed task—that expression got him right in the balls, made him hotter almost than the way she was touching him.
They had to slow this down or he wasn’t going to last.
“Did you get even better at this since last night?” he managed to grunt out.
“Glad you like it,” Miranda hummed, the vibration setting off another round of the shakes all through Adam’s body.
“That’s really not a strong enough word for how I feel about this. And if you don’t want it to be all over before it gets started, you should stop touching me. Like, now.”
Gripping him in one soft hand, Miranda sat up. “Tell me what you want. All I want is to make you feel good.”
“Lucky me,” Adam said, drinking in the sight of her, bare and beautiful in his bed. “I’m feeling pretty damn good right now.”
Reaching out a hand, he beckoned her up to lie on his chest, then turned them both so that they were side by side, facing each other.
Miranda pillowed her head on Adam’s bicep and watched him watching her. It was quiet in his apartment, the usual discordant jangle of traffic and street noise somehow soft and distant. The peace was like a reset button, bringing everything back to neutral.
Miranda’s slim arm crept across his waist, reminding him that they were pretty fucking far from neutral. She seemed to be feeling around for something on the bed behind him, and he almost twisted around to get a peek, but he didn’t really care what it was enough to stop looking at her.
She made a pleased sound and held up a condom packet between two fingers, waving it triumphantly.
Adam melted. She’d planned ahead. It was so her. “Well, I declare, Miss Wake. You been carrying that around all night, just in case?”
Miranda giggled. Actually fucking giggled, and Adam wanted to eat her up with a spoon, he loved the sound of it so much.
“Nope. Snuck it out of your jeans when you were busy getting me naked.”
“You’re a genius,” he said adoringly. “Gimme that. And gimme a kiss, too, while you’re at it.”
Tilting her lips up to Adam’s, Miranda parted for him easily, tongue dancing and playing. She distracted him with her soft, sweet mouth, dragging him in for another kiss, and another, and before he knew it, the packet was open and the condom was poised at the damp tip of his prick.
“Whoa there,” he said as she started to roll it down. “You think you’re the only one who gets to play?”
“Want it,” she breathed against his mouth. “Want you.”
God, she was going to be the end of him. “You’ve got me,” he promised, letting her agile fingers get the condom on his now-twice-as-hard cock.
For once, Adam and his dick were in agreement. Miranda saying she wanted it, in that raspy voice, was the sexiest thing ever to happen in the entire history of people having sex.
Pulling her top leg to rest on his hip opened Miranda up for his fingers. A single touch and he knew she was telling the truth. She was sleek and slippery with desire for him. He parted the slick folds with two fingers and groaned at the way her heat clung to his skin, sucking him in. The bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft beat like a tiny heart against the heel of his hand. When he pressed it, she cried out.
Now. Right now. He had to have her. Later they could take their time, love on each other for hours. But he had to be inside her now.
“Yes,” she said, eyes glazed with passion. Adam realized he’d said all that out loud.
He took her mouth again, at the same time as he canted his hips and pushed into the tight, grasping heat of her. Miranda’s body closed around him like a fist, forcing a ragged moan up from his chest.
Miranda drew breath for more of those short little bird cries, sharp and high and utterly arousing. She was so lost in it, abandoned to passion. Adam slid deeper, working his hips, reveling in the molten grip of her core. Her nipples dragged across his chest, twin points of searing heat amid the overall hotness of what they were doing. They were joined, connected, in the most basic way possible. Adam’s heart leaped like a fucking ballerina. When did she become so necessary to him?
Adam cupped his free hand around her heaving breast and thumbed the pink bud at the tip while twisting his hips against hers. She stuttered out another cry, eyes flying wide and shocked to his face. Another quick bump and grind had her mouth opening soundlessly, body locking down on his in waves of undulating pressure that milked the orgasm right out of his cock.
They lay panting quietly, arms and legs tangled together in a spent, happy mess. Adam became aware of the air brushing against his skin, cool where the sweat was drying.
Miranda stretched luxuriously against him, rolling her shoulders and smiling into a yawn.
Adam yawned, too. “I could sleep for a year.”
“Hmm. Not with all the covers on the floor.”
“You cold, sweets? Here.” Adam swung over the side of the bed and grabbed a handful of cotton, dragging it over them both as he cuddled Miranda to his side. “Lemme warm you up.”
She snuggled against him happily. The pure joy of it made Adam’s arms contract around her shoulders involuntarily. Propping her pointed chin on his chest, Miranda gave him a searching look.
“How are you holding up?”
Adam exhaled noisily. “Better. Worlds better, here with you in my bed, all naked and pretty. If we could just stay like this for the rest of my life, I’d be extremely happy.”
“Yes. But eventually you’ll have to go back to the restaurant.”
Adam felt a pang. His restaurant, his sanctuary, had been violated. By that loser, Rob, who never deserved even to set foot in Market’s kitchen.
The sympathetic tilt to Miranda’s head said she knew what he was thinking.
“It’ll be easier than you think,” she said softly. “Once you’re back there, in your groove, everything will fall into place. You were born for that life, Adam. And Market is yours, every inch. No idiot with a grudge can take that away from you.”
Adam swallowed convulsively to get his heart back down in his chest where it belonged. “You’re so good to me,” he said. “Jesus. When I think how I almost messed this up . . . Miranda, I know I made you mad before, about Jess and Frankie and not telling you. But I swear, no more secrets. I hate ’em, anyway. Only the truth between you and me, from here on out.”
An emotion flitted across her face, powerful and dark. Something like shame or pain mixed with the fiery light of determination. It was gone before Adam could pinpoint it or describe it to himself, replaced with dancing eyes and a saucy grin that made him wonder if he’d imagined it.
“If you still feel weird when you get back in the kitchen, I bet we can come up with something to exorcise those demons. A little after-hours private party, just you and me and the butcher block . . .”
Adam laughed, his spirits lifting at the thought of his prim little scribbler consenting to semipublic sex, for any reason.
Tilting her chin up with one finger, Adam curled down and kissed those swollen lips.
Yeah. Everything was going to be okay.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Sunlight poured into the room, hitting the bed at a strange, unfamiliar angle. Miranda blinked and squinted into the brightness. It took her a minute to remember where she was.
Adam’s townhouse.
Curious to know what time it was, she twisted around in the bed to see if she could locate an alarm clock.
Adam snuffled into the bedding next to her, brows lowered in stubborn refusal to wake up. Miranda grinned.
She finally gave up on a clock and dug her watch out from the pile of clothes beside the low, wide bed.
Eleven o’clock! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past eight. Miranda let out an involuntary noise, part squeak, part gasp, and Adam cracked an eye.
“Time’s it?” he muttered into the pillow.
“It’s after eleven,” she told him, wondering if she ought to get up and get home.
Her first thought on waking had been that damn manuscript and how badly she wanted to call up the publisher and square everything away so the ugly thing would never see the light of day.
“Not all that surprising,” Adam said, ending her internal debate with one sharp tug at her shoulder, pulling her back down beside him. Miranda didn’t put up too much of a fuss; his big body generated a cozy, furnacelike heat that tempted her to cuddle at least a few minutes more.
“The trauma of dealing with Rob Meeks’s pseudohomicidal tendencies, a stopover at the ER, then a bout of incredibly diligent and impressive lovemaking—that kind of evening takes it right out of you.”
“Well, sleep is very healing,” she attempted to say primly, but Adam crooked his fingers in her side and tickled her mercilessly until she collapsed in a giggling heap against him.
“I’ll tell you what was healing,” he mock-growled. He rolled her under him and stared down. Miranda tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t do anything about the smile stretching her lips and cheeks. Happiness bubbled through her veins, popping and fizzing like sparkling wine.
She felt as if she’d been wandering, lost in the subway tunnels for days, and now she was finally climbing back up into the light. She wasn’t there yet, still had some things to take care of before she could truly enjoy basking in the sun—make things right with Jess, bury the Market book under a ton of sand—but if she stretched, she could feel the warmth on her face, and it made all the difference in the world.
Adam made all the difference in the world.
He gazed down at her, his heart in his eyes. Miranda’s heart fluttered up to meet it, rising in her chest to her throat and expanding there so she could hardly breathe.
“I love you.”
For a second, Miranda wasn’t sure if she’d heard it or said it. Then Adam’s eyes widened, as if he were surprised, too.
“Damn. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that,” he said, pinking.
Miranda thought the muscles in her cheeks were in danger of getting sprained from smiling so much.
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