No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Matt stirred behind her. His fingers kneaded her breast, hardening her nipples. She arched back, pressing more fully against him, and a purr of pleasure vibrated in her throat.
"Good morning, gorgeous," he whispered. His breath chased across her ear, shooting shivers of delight down her spine.
"Right back atcha," she murmured, reaching up and back to sift her fingers through his thick, dark hair. "Although it's almost noon." And check-out time is one o'clock…
Matt buried his face in her fragrant hair and ignored the mantra pumping through his brain, this is the last time you'll touch her … the last time. Well, he intended to make the most of it.
His hand cruised slowly down her torso, his mind visualizing the creamy skin beneath his fingers. The smattering of freckles decorating her chest. The tiny beauty mark just below her left breast. The shallow indent of her navel. He lightly bit her neck, then laved the spot with his tongue, absorbing the delicate shudder that ran through her. "Have I told you how delicious you taste?" he asked.
"Hmmmm. Not in the last several hours."
He nuzzled the skin behind her ear and breathed deep. "Or how incredible you smell? Or how soft your skin is?" His hand skimmed lower, and with a low moan, she shifted, her buttocks brushing against his erection as she spread her legs. He lightly teased her swollen, feminine folds, then slipped two fingers inside her. "How wet and tight, silky and hot you are?"
She undulated against him, and he gritted his teeth against the pleasure of her firm buttocks cradling his erection. When he slipped his fingers from her, she groaned in protest. Grabbing a condom from the stash on the nightstand, he quickly sheathed himself, then eased into her velvety heat from behind. He made leisurely love to her, savoring each slow thrust, each of her sighs, the sensation of her back pressed to his front. Her orgasm gripped him like a pulsing, velvet fist, and holding her tight against him, he buried his face against the curve of her neck and surrendered to his release. And the instant his shudders stopped, the mantra began again. That was the last time. The last time.
* * *
Matt stepped from the shower half an hour later and swallowed his disappointment that Jilly hadn't joined him. Feeling let down was ridiculous, especially given that she'd showered first. Their interlude was over.
Pushing aside the ache that thought brought, he quickly shaved, then packed up his toiletries, noting that Jilly's were already gone from the counter. He opened the bathroom door, and halted. Dressed in jeans, her sturdy boots, black turtleneck, her hair pulled back into its usual chignon, she looked neat, remote, sexy as hell, and he wanted nothing more than to get her undressed. Her overnight bag, laptop, and the box of flowers he'd given her all sat at her feet.
"I'm ready to leave," she said.
He swallowed to locate his voice. "Okay. I only need a few minutes—"
"I called a cab to bring me to the train station. The next train leaves in twenty minutes."
He raked his hands through his wet hair and stood there, dressed in nothing but a towel, a dozen confusing, conflicting things he wanted to say buzzing through his mind, but not knowing how to express any of them. Afraid to say anything for fear of not saying enough. Or of saying way too much.
"I'd be happy to drive you home, Jilly. In fact, I'd sort of planned, or rather hoped, to do so."
"Thank you, but I've already made my arrangements."
She didn't say I don't need or want you making plans for me, but she might as well have. He suppressed the urge to yank on his hair in frustration.
"I … I think it's better this way, Matt."
His common sense knew she was right. A quick, clean goodbye here at the hotel, no messy farewells. So why did he feel so … miserable?
"It was a great weekend," she said.
"Yeah, it was."
The shadow of a smile flitted across her lips—lips whose texture and taste were permanently embedded in his brain. "So I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he agreed.
She hesitated for a second, and he tensed, wondering if she was going to say something more. But what else was there to say? Nothing except—
"Goodbye, Matt."
Yeah, that's all there was left to say. And she'd said it. She reached down and picked up her things, then leaned toward him and lightly brushed her mouth across his. The scent of clean laundry wafted over him. She opened the door, and a second later she was gone, leaving him with nothing but an elusive trail of her scent, a three-day weekend filled with indelible memories, and a hollow ache around his heart.
* * *
Tuesday morning, Jilly walked into Maxximum Advertising, her professional armor firmly welded in place. Hair pulled back into her sleekest chignon, dressed in her chocolate-brown, pinstripe, "don't mess with me" suit, her black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, she was ready to face anything. Including Matt Davidson.
Sure, her heart was pounding, but only because she'd sprinted for the elevator. And yes, her nerves jittered, but only because she'd indulged in an extra-large coffee on the train, and all that caffeine on an empty stomach was kicking in. She just needed something to eat. Cruising by her cubicle, she plopped her briefcase on her leather chair, turned on her computer, then headed for the break room, ready to warm up the blueberry muffin she'd purchased from the corner market. Bakery bag in hand, she entered the brightly lit break room. And halted as if she'd walked into a wall.
Matt leaned against the counter, drinking from a blue, New York Mets ceramic coffee mug, perusing a folded-over page of the Wall Street Journal. He looked up, over the rim of his mug, and stilled. For several long seconds they stared at each other in silence. A myriad of images flashed through her mind. Matt smiling at her. Laughing with her. Kissing her. Touching her. Buried deep inside her.
Gripping her bakery bag, Jilly banished the images and forced her feet to move and her lips to curve upward, praying her smile didn't appear as tight as it felt.
"Good morning," she said, walking briskly toward the sink, slapping away the memory of how they'd awakened together yesterday morning.
"Good morning." He jerked his head toward the coffee machine. "I just put on a fresh pot."
"Great." Jilly busied herself at the sink, rinsing out her coffee cup, removing her muffin from the bag, all the while pretending she didn't notice the way his charcoal-gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and long legs. Or remember how good he looked, and felt, underneath his clothing.
"I wonder if Jack Witherspoon will contact Adam today," he said.
"I don't know. But if not today, then certainly this week. Jack wants to launch the ad campaign as soon as possible."
From the corner of her eye, she watched him cross to the fridge. Then he walked back to her, and set the container of milk next to her cup.
"What's that for?" she asked.
"Your coffee."
Their eyes met and Jilly's insides seemed to tense and melt at the same time. Lifting her chin, she said, "You've never brought me the milk for my coffee before."
"I never knew you took milk in your coffee … before."
In the span of a heartbeat, a wealth of intimate knowledge passed between them, and she bit the insides of her cheeks in an attempt to stem the dread seeping through her. Good grief, if she couldn't even remain detached during a brief encounter in the break room, what hope did she have to survive working with him on a daily basis?
None. So it was time to buck up and get a grip. Time to forget about the intimacies they'd shared and concentrate on the fact that the object on the counter might look like an innocent container of milk, but it represented the personification of his take-charge personality—the trait in a man she'd spent her entire dating life avoiding.
Wiping her face clean of all expression, or at least she prayed she did, she forced her gaze to remain steady on his. "Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of getting my own milk."
"I'm perfectly aware of tha
t."
"I hope you plan to honor our agreement for it to be business as usual between us, Matt."
"Of course." He raised his brows. "Unless you've changed your mind?"
"No. Of course not." Really. Definitely not. "I just feel the need to remind you of our agreement."
"Because I brought you milk for your coffee?" Before she could answer, he stepped closer to her, invading her space—the space she needed to keep between them so she wouldn't reach out and touch him. She backed up, but her hips hit the counter, leaving her nowhere else to go. He halted when only a foot separated them. Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the counter, caging her in. Her heart pounded, and her brain screamed at her to move away, but her feet remained stubbornly in place. She should have been outraged at this further manifestation of his take-charge ways. And as soon as she could breath properly again, thus providing the necessary amounts of oxygen to her suddenly numb brain, she would voice her outrage. Definitely. A muscle ticked in his jaw … his clean-shaven jaw that her fingers itched to touch.
"Per our agreement, I have every intention of ignoring what happened between us as best I can," he said, in a low, tight voice, "but it's proving a bit more difficult than I'd anticipated. Unfortunately I don't operate like a light switch that can be turned off and on at will, although I dearly wish I did. As time goes on, I hope this will get easier. But in the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you'd take my word that I'm trying, and that I might mess up."
His gaze skimmed down her body before returning to hers. "Believe me, if I didn't intend to honor our agreement, you'd sure as hell know it. Because instead of giving you the damn milk, I'd kiss you. I'd tell you that I feel like hell this morning as a result of not sleeping last night because I couldn't stop thinking about you. And that I'm not looking forward to the next few days or weeks or however long it's going to take until I can be in the same room with you and not feel this … whatever the hell it is. And that instead of making small talk, I want to ask you to dinner tonight."
Jilly stood perfectly still, heart racing, all thoughts of outrage gone, mesmerized by the clear frustration simmering in his eyes. Tension and desire and heat radiated off him, and it was all she could do not to touch him. Evidently he was experiencing the same conflicted feelings and desires as she, a fact that surely should not have pleased her. But she was only human and, damn it, misery loved company.
Drawing a deep breath, she shifted sideways. His arms fell to his sides, and she quickly put some space between them. Feeling much more in control, she lifted her chin. "Yes, this is awkward, but we knew it would be. And as you said, it will hopefully get easier with each passing day. As for dinner tonight, that is impossible, not only because it would violate our agreement, but because I already have a date."
Silence swelled between them, and she had to force herself not to look away from him. Telling him you already have a date definitely stretches the bounds of truth, her conscience chided. She mentally duct-taped her conscience into silence. She did have a date. Sort of. So what if it was with Kate? It was hardly her fault if Matt believed she was already dating another man. In fact, if he did, that was good, right? And wasn't that the entire goal of tonight's club-hop with Kate—to find a man to date? You betcha.
A curtain seemed to drop over his expression. "Not to worry," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I wasn't actually going to ask you to dinner. I understand the rules." Without another word, he retrieved his coffee mug and newspaper, then left the break room. Jilly stared at the empty doorway, bit down on her bottom lip to stop its trembling, and firmly told herself that this was good.
Yeah. So then why did she feel so bad?
* * *
"How about the tall, blond guy standing at the end of the bar?" Kate asked over the din of pulsating music. "The one wearing the pale blue sweater?"
Jilly glanced toward the bar from the vantage point of their small corner table. She shook her head. "I prefer dark hair."
"All right. How about the guy standing next to the blond guy? He has dark hair and is definitely good-looking."
Jilly checked out the man. Yup, no doubt about it, he was dark-haired and good-looking. Strikingly so. But for all the heat he generated in her, he might as well have been a telephone pole. "Sorry. I'm not feelin' a spark."
Kate sent her an exasperated look. "Well, you might feel a spark if you'd get your butt out of that chair and go chat with someone besides me. How are we supposed to find you a man to date if the only person you'll talk to is me?"
"I like talking to you."
"Thank you. I like talking to you, too. And I bet if you gave that gorgeous man half a glance, he'd like to talk to you, also."
Jilly shrugged. "Maybe later. Right now I'd rather hear about the rest of your weekend."
"Fine. Ben and I ordered out Chinese, went over the guest list for the wedding, and enjoyed incredible sex. How about the guy in the white shirt holding the martini glass?"
Jilly flicked her gaze over him. "Hair's too long, don't like the goatee."
"He could get his hair cut and shave."
"You know what they say—never try to change a man."
Kate studied her for several long seconds, and Jilly tried her best to appear nonchalant under the scrutiny, but clearly she failed because Kate nodded.
"I understand," Kate said.
"Understand what?"
"What's the matter with all these men here. They all share the very same problem."
"Yes, they do. I'm not attracted to any of them."
"Precisely. And the reason you're not is because not one of them is Matt Davidson."
Jilly wanted to refute the statement, but it was so true, that to do so she surely risked getting sizzled by a lightning bolt. She pressed her fingers to her temples, then shook her head in frustration and defeat. "What am I going to do, Kate?"
"That depends. How strong are your feelings for him?"
"Strong. I strongly feel he's all wrong for me."
Kate looked toward the ceiling. "I meant your feeling feelings."
Unease trickled through Jilly's veins. "I'm … I'm not sure."
"Well, maybe you're not sure, but I am. Jilly, there's only one type of woman who could look at that array of beautiful men standing three deep at the bar and not see something that interested her."
Jilly shot her a look. "I'm not a lesbian."
"I know. Jilly, you're in love."
Jilly nearly spewed her margarita. "I am not."
"Of course you are. Good grief, you might as well have it tattooed on your forehead in big, neon-green letters. I suspected as much, but when you didn't even bat an eyelash at that divine, dark-haired Adonis, I knew."
"I didn't see you ogling the Adonis."
"Of course not. And do you know why? Because I'm in love." Kate leaned back and smiled triumphantly. "I rest my case."
Damn it, she needed to find herself a friend who wasn't a lawyer. Yet, the words echoed in her mind until the realization that Kate was right hit Jilly like a blow to the head. Good God, she wasn't merely attracted to Matt, she loved him. Loved everything about him. His smile. His laugh. His sense of humor and fun. His integrity. His work ethic. His obvious love for his family. His inability to throw a decent snowball. The way he touched her. Kissed her. Made love to her. Jilly's unease turned into full-fledged panic. A strangled sound escaped.
"What's that noise?" Kate asked.
"My emotional gears shifting without benefit of a clutch. Damn it, I can't be in love with him!"
Kate's eyes filled with sympathy. "Too late. Tell me, how did things go at work with him today?"
Jilly blew out a long breath and briefly squeezed her eyes shut. "Awful. Awkward. Even when we were nowhere near each other, I was aware of him every minute."
"And when you were near each other?"
"Torture. My heart beat fast, my hands turned clammy, my stomach jittered, and I wanted to remove his clothes—with my tongue."
"Oh boy. Y
ou're in love all right. Bad case."
"But I don't want to be in love with him. Why did I have to fall in love with him? He's my co-worker for crying out loud. And he's bossy. You know how that irritates me."
Kate hiked up her brows. "What bossy thing has he done now? Worse than arranging the facial for you?"
"Very funny. Well, he'd obviously planned to drive me home from the resort."
"Yeah, he deserves an ass-kicking, all right."
Jilly sizzled her with a scowl. "I didn't need him to drive me. I'd already called a cab."
"All right. Did he argue with you about it? Try to force you into his car?"
"Well, no."
"What else?"
The distinct feeling that she was on the losing end of this battle eased through Jilly. "He brought me the milk for my coffee in the break room this morning," she said in a small voice.
Kate laughed, then leaned forward. "Jilly, you've been so determined for so long not to allow a man to take care of you that you've become unable to distinguish 'bossy' from 'thoughtful.' So he tries to arrange things—so what? Hasn't he also deferred to your wishes?"
She reflected for several seconds, and the truth behind Kate's words dawned like the sun rising over Jilly's head. At work, Matt was definitely a take-charge guy, and it was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. She couldn't fault him for that. And away from work, while he did exhibit take-charge tendencies, they were, as Kate said, thoughtful gestures. Romantic gestures. Polite gestures. And he had on several occasions deferred to her wishes in a very gentlemanly way.
Jilly blinked. "I think maybe I was looking for and assuming he had faults that he doesn't really have."
"Of course you were."
A sensation like air streaming from an untied balloon filled Jilly. "Well, what kind of doofus does that make me?"
"You're not a doofus. You're cautious. And in this day and age, that's a good thing."
"But I still don't want to love the guy, Kate. This affair could totally screw up my career. How can I make these feelings go away?"
"It's love, Jilly, not a sinus infection."
A SURE THING? Page 16