French Kiss

by Susan Johnson

  “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not.” She held his gaze. “What are you gonna do about it?”

  “Screw you until I can’t screw anymore.”

  “I’m not sure I like that.”

  “Too bad.” He didn’t break his rhythm.

  “What if I told you to stop.”

  She was beginning to pant, so he figured he was home free on that one. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

  “I could make you.”

  He laughed.

  “Hey!”

  “How about you make me stop doing this,” he murmured, easing first one leg, then her other over his shoulders, holding her hips in a harsh grip and pounding into her.

  Oh, jeez, oh, God, he wasn’t playing, he really was doing whatever he wanted to do, and she was getting so turned on she was going to come like—RIGHT NOW!!

  He half smiled and slowed down enough for her to feel the entire shimmering wave and once her orgasm had died away, he picked up the pace and started all over again.

  “No, no, not yet,” she whispered at first, for a brief, fleeting few seconds, but he knew better, and before long, she was panting and gasping and clutching at him as though he was her lifeline in a hurricane. And that time they came together.

  He didn’t even wait to wipe up; his cock had a mind of its own. It surged upward again, higher, larger, as though her hot, slick cunt had bewitched it. He really took his time that go-around, all his nerves on high alert, every sensation seemingly magnified, a kind of revelatory intensity of sensation bombarding his brain.

  “Can you feel that?” he hissed, sliding in until he hit bottom.

  “Oh, God, oh, God…”

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shut, her words no more than a whisper, so he figured she was feeling it just fine.

  Like him.

  In fact, his head was going to blow off this time.

  Or as near to it as the human body would allow.

  It must be the scent of Paris in the air.

  Or the lights of the Eiffel Tower out there.

  Because this was a kind of raw lust he’d never felt before.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Please…”

  He couldn’t. She didn’t have to worry.

  He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

  That first tear sliding from under her closed lids finally made him stop—brought him back to reality. Filled him with guilt. Gathering her in his arms, he sat up, held her close, and apologized over and over again. Until her eyes fluttered open and she whispered, “I wanted you just as badly. You’re just stronger, that’s all. You can last longer.”

  “I should call a doctor.” He was stricken with remorse. He’d gone crazy. There was no other word for it.

  She smiled faintly. “Give me a minute to rest.”

  “No way,” he muttered. “We’re done.” Christ, he might have really hurt her.

  “Maybe we can talk about it.” Her smile was pure sunshine. “I have this insatiable craving, you see. I figure you’re too good looking, and that’s why I’m out of control.”

  “Whatever,” he said, not willing to agree. Although his own feelings were as inexplicable. He thought maybe having Jordi back was the reason, or being dead tired. Maybe they were both just in some peculiar, quirky, tie-me-up, tie-me-down place, and in the cold light of day, they’d be back to normal. “We’ll talk about it later,” he added, needing time to deal with the shit going on in his head.

  “When later?”

  Her voice was a seductive whisper, her green-eyed gaze provocative as hell. “Not for a while,” he said. The last thing he needed were headlines about some lady ending up in the hospital because of him.

  “Five minutes?” she pleaded.

  He blew out a breath, inhaled deeply, and tried to think rationally. “We’ll talk about it in half an hour.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  A smile slowly formed on her damned kissable mouth, and he was suddenly shaken to the core. He wasn’t going to be able to say no. Whether in five minutes or half an hour or tomorrow, he fucking wanted her.

  Twenty-one

  “I gotta go. Sometimes Jordi wakes up early."

  The soft sound was warm against her car, the voice deliciously familiar, the words a first for her in terms of male excuses. They tended to be more like, I have to go to work, or school, or once, walk my dog. Not that she’d had tons of morning-after excuses, but she’d had her moments. She’d even heard the one about having to catch an early flight, although that had been understandable. She’d met the guy on a layover in Miami. But having to get up for a child? Johnny had the perfect alibi for a quick retreat.

  “Ummmm,” she mumbled, not up to any conversation that would be patently false. Anyway, she was still half-asleep after a very, very lovely night of flame-hot sex. And seriously, still all aglow from Johnny’s exceedingly pleasurable attentions. There was no way was she going to say anything to put him on the spot.

  “I’ll meet you back here at noon for lunch.”

  Dropping a light kiss on her cheek, he walked away.

  Yeesss! So it wasn’t just a wham, bam night of steamy sex. Lifting her lashes marginally, she watched him leave with the kind of adoring gaze predicated by a night of unbelievably fabulous orgasms. He’d dressed so quietly she’d not even heard him. But then he’d probably had plenty of practice at quick getaways. Not that she was going to complain when she’d benefitted so exquisitely from his expertise. The man was good at what he did— there was no doubt about it. And she wasn’t talking about his music.

  And now she’d see him at lunch!

  She fell back to sleep with a smile on her face.

  Hours later, she came awake with a start. Quickly glancing at the bedside clock, her eyes flared wide. OHMYGOD!!! IT WAS ELEVEN-THIRTY!!

  Which meant she had only a half hour to shower, dress, and make herself presentable for lunch. The time wouldn’t normally be an issue, were she in other than her current milieu—i.e., in the presence of a man who consorted with the great beauties of the world. A bit more makeup and attention to detail than usual was definitely called for. Or if the world had been a more perfect place, her own hairdresser and design consultant on call. Or even better—enough time to go out and buy something decent to wear.

  Damn. If only she’d brought a better wardrobe.

  If only she actually possessed a better wardrobe.

  Unfortunately, her closet was a disaster zone of leftover-from-college grunge, the requisite black suit, and mostly Gap— because the store was conveniently close to her house.

  Aaaagh…

  When the knock on the door sounded precisely at noon, Nicky shouted, “Just a minute,” sprayed another spritz of perfume around her neck and shoulders and shook her damp curls into place. Wrinkling her nose at her Gap-clad reflection in the mirror, she grabbed her jacket (Okay, that was nice because she had a very talented friend who designed in leather) and purse (ditto there). But she was pretty near to marching into Chanel first chance she had and recklessly spending a month’s salary on a decent outfit.

  When she opened the door, Johnny surveyed her with a quick head-to-toe look. “You look nice and clean,” he said in a low, sexy, highly insinuating drawl that went a long way toward saving her a bundle at Chanel. “How were the museums?” he added with a much-too-knowing grin.

  She grinned back. “Very educational.”

  “Liar.”

  “So, I was tired. You, apparently, never sleep.”

  He winked. “I had better things to do last night.”

  “Did you actually go to the toy stores this morning?”

  “Yep.”

  Of course he wouldn’t disappoint his daughter. What was she thinking? “Did you buy them out?”

  “Yep. Including something for you.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  “What did you get?” She couldn’t help herself. She loved presents, and one from a toy store couldn’t be e
xpensive like the Chanel or Hermes he’d tried to give her. She could enjoy this one.

  “You have to wait.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s no reason.”

  “Because I’ll show it to you tonight, then.”

  He’d said tonight, as in he was having sex with her tonight. Her vagina quivered in anticipation. She could feel the melting sensation send little waves of warm pleasure throughout her body. Taking issue, however, with his way too arrogant presumption that there was no need to ask her if she wanted sex with him tonight, she took a stand for female independence. “What if I were to say no?”

  A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. “Then I’d try to change your mind,” he smoothly replied, his gaze once again neutral.

  “What if you couldn’t?”

  “Then I’d try harder.” He didn’t say this was a pointless conversation because he had no intention of irritating her. He leaned in closer. “I’d try really, really hard,” he whispered.

  Oh, God, oh, God… she remembered how hard he’d been, how resilient and indefatigable. How lusciously large. “Okay, so maybe tonight’s good,” she said, in a suffocated tone. “Damn you.”

  “I feel the same way, so we’re even.” He knew what she was damning as well as he knew that he shouldn’t get involved with her in any way, shape, or form. She was building a tree house for Jordi. The construction would take weeks. He wasn’t good with long-term relationships or any relationships, for that matter. He could be getting himself into one helluva mess.

  “So we’re making trouble for each other.”

  He blew out a breath. “Probably.” His mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “But screw it.”

  She half-smiled. “Is that an invitation or a casual statement.”

  He laughed. “If we had time”—he glanced up and down the hallway—“it would definitely be an invitation.”

  “I’d be happy to take a rain check.”

  “Ask me why I’m not surprised.”

  “Now why would I do that?”

  Her voice had taken on a tiny edge. Oops. Dipping his head, he brushed her lips in a conciliatory kiss and eased her back a step so they were both inside her room. “You’ve been on my mind— like constantly.” He shut the door. “So, if you want a rain check right now, I’ll change our reservation. How’s that?” He ran his finger lightly over the severe line of her brow.

  “No, no, don’t… really, I shouldn’t be so—”

  “Hot for sex?”

  She gave him a look.

  He laughed. “We’re both hot for the same thing—okay? Although, just for the record, Vernie scares the shit out of me, and she and Jordi are waiting downstairs.” His grin was boyish and sweet. He kissed her again, a butterfly kiss. “Why don’t I make good on this later?” he whispered, lifting his mouth from hers. “I promise you’ll like it.”

  Who was she kidding? Sex with him was awesome. No way was she gonna be difficult about when and where. “I am hungry,” she said, planning on collecting her reward for Miss Congeniality later tonight.

  He crooked his arm and grinned. “Then we’d better see that you’re fed.”

  Carnal images from last night having to do with eating you-know-what suddenly surfaced, and her temperature racheted up big-time. Followed by a jolt of lust that rippled up her vagina, leaving her breathless. For an unnerving second, she debated the embarrassing ramifications that might ensue should she actually touch his outstretched arm. Not that she had a choice; he was expectantly waiting.

  So with due warning to all her senses and sensibilities to behave, she gingerly placed her palm on his arm—and found that instead of behaving, SEX, NOW, NOW, NOW, was being instantly communicated to every susceptible nerve in her body. She should have known better. The impact of his physical beauty and animal magnetism up close and personal was irresistible.

  It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from pleading, “Please, please, can we have a quickie?”

  “Fucking A you turn me on,” he murmured, as though reading her mind, or perhaps under the spell of the same prurient fairy dust. Dragging her into his body, he slid his hands down her back and held her hard against his rising erection. “I’ve been missing you something fierce.”

  “I’m feeling out of control—insatiable,” she whispered, twining her arms around his waist.

  “Christ, I could fuck you right here and now.” He grimaced, his nostrils flaring wide. “You’re screwing with my head, babe.”

  “I don’t like this mindless obsession any better than you,” she muttered. “Maybe we’re bad for each other,” she suggested with that minor portion of her brain not entirely overwhelmed by lust.

  “Uh-uh. No way.” He might question his abnormal cravings for this woman, but not the inevitability of his fucking her again. That he was going to do. “It’s just going to be a long day for both of us,” he said with a sigh. Letting his hands drop, he took a step backward. “So I’d better keep my distance. Restraint’s never been my strong suit.”

  To which all the tabloids would agree with full-color photos to prove it. In an effort to keep her face off the cover of The Star and save her family from embarrassment, Nicky said, “Maybe I shouldn’t go for lunch.”

  “Hey. You’re coming for lunch,” he growled, all strong, virile male.

  “Hey,” she shot back, a tremor in her voice. “Tone down the macho shit. You’re turning me on. Okay?”

  He spun away, needing to get a grip on his raging lust. Slamming his palms against the wall, he hung there, head down, breathing hard.

  Nicky shuddered, so incredibly aroused she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t come standing right there.

  The air reeked with sexual need.

  Like, the more you get, the more you want.

  An almost uncontrollable craving hung in the balance. Abruptly pushing away from the wall, constraint evident in every muscle in his body, Johnny said, “I’m good now. Under control”—he smiled tightly—“more or less. But don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t even pass me the bread at lunch, or I might carry you off to the nearest dark hallway and fuck you senseless.”

  Nicky smiled faintly. “I’m so horny, I’m not sure I’d take issue. Look”—she held out her hand—“I’m shaking. Did you slip me some ecstasy when I wasn’t looking?”

  “I wish—because this drug-free, permanent hard-on I have for you is freaking me out.”

  She shouldn’t have felt so gratified. She should have taken his comment at simple face value—as in he was unhappy with the intensity of his lust. But there it was—the difference between men and woman. She adored being wanted that badly while he was jumpy as hell over wanting her too much.

  Mars and Venus.

  Immutably at odds.

  Twenty-two

  Over lunch Johnny was ultra-cautious not to make eye contact and Nicky was more than willing to comply. She was operating on the edge of reason anyway. The littlest thing—like a look or a smile—could push her over, and there she’d be making a fool of herself in some posh, Paris restaurant.

  Johnny limited his conversation to Jordi and Vernie, while Nicky participated in the general discussion only when it was absolutely necessary. It was safer if she kept her gaze elsewhere. Since the restaurant overlooked a garden and the people-watching was world-class, it was easy enough to use those distractions to keep her from shamelessly lusting after a man who should be only a client to her.

  It also helped, distraction-wise, that Jordi chattered on nonstop, her relationship with her dad warm and unconstrained. The man was charming on every level—damn him. Father. Lover. Client. It wasn’t fair that he was so divinely perfect in every way—including his mastery of the Kama Sutra. It made it real difficult to consider giving up sex with him—when, of course, she should.

  For the sake of her business.

  The potential for problems down the road was inevitable with a man like Johnny who never stayed
with a woman much longer than it took for a rose to wilt.

  If she had any sense at all she’d keep things strictly business.

  On the other hand, she could be Zen about this entire episode— like live in the present and go with the flow. Definitely a more satisfying option.

  The words Nice and villa jolted her out of her internal debate, and she began to listen to the conversation taking place. They were discussing a trip to the south of France. The playground for the rich and famous had such cachet—Cannes, Nice, Juan les Pins, Fitzgerald, Picasso, yachts the size of football fields…

  Jordi, apparently, liked their villa in Nice because she had friends there. Vernie liked the climate and shopping. Johnny liked the seclusion. They all liked the private beach.

  How great would it be to have a private beach on the Mediterranean, Nicky thought. Not that she would ever be in that tax bracket. In fact, not too long ago, she’d been wondering how to make her house payment. And in her business, she never lost sight of the fact that six-figure tree houses were luxury items. If the economy soured, those purchases would be the first to go.

  But even such sobering thoughts couldn’t dispel her current good cheer. A night of highly erotic, orgasmic pleasure left one feeling as though the world might in fact be one of endless pleasure. Like the tantalizing dessert that was being placed before her.

  The mouthwatering scent of chocolate wafted into the air, the steaming confection oozing sweet decadence and calories.

  Not that she cared about calories at the moment. She’d burned off enough calories last night to allow her a full cart of pastries.

  As Nicky was putting spoon to dessert, Johnny’s phone rang, but she barely noticed, so overwhelmed were her senses by succulent chocolate.

  She heard Johnny say, “Excuse me,” but only glanced up in passing as he left the table. She was intent on her first delicious taste of a dessert that could pass for a flamboyant Easter hat. But she’d also been seriously ignoring Johnny during lunch in order to keep desire at bay, and continuing down that path seemed an expedient exercise.