For a moment, she let the anticipation heat the air before them. Their breathing ragged, she stared into his eyes, watched them heat, watched them glaze over with passion. Despite feeling almost crazy with wanting him, she hesitated, wishing this moment could be endless. Leaning in, she kissed him, lingering over the task, loving the teasing way he bit her lip, thrilling over the way his tattered self-control had begun to erode until they were both nearly helpless with the need to lose themselves in each other.
Her breathing shallow, MaryJo could feel the tension building within her. She was on the verge of an orgasm and Travis had barely touched her. Pulling back from him, she worked the condom over him, lowering her head to lick the tip before she sheathed him.
"Mariela—sweet Jesus." Travis staggered against her, an animal groan tearing from his throat as he pulled her roughly against him. "You're lucky I didn't come right then." Parting her thighs, he slid her to the edge of the hood, lifting her into large, warm, unbelievably capable hands. Staring at her, his expression was pained, perspiration dotting his forehead as he nudged into her slowly.
Frantic, she pushed against him, needing all of him. But she was no match for his strength, his hands cupping her butt, holding her firmly, gently. Incrementally, he slid into her, allowing her to take only another inch. Her eyes widening, she protested. "I'm so close—give it to me."
"Are you crazy, yet?" His voice ragged, she wondered how much it was costing him, this insane resistance.
Arching into him, she moaned when he captured her breast, lavishing it with his tongue. Biting back a scream, she clutched his head to her, tugging his hair to keep him there. "Yes—yes. Just don't stop."
"Don't judge me too harshly by this first time," he muttered before thrusting her against him in one swift jerk. They moaned in unison as he embedded himself in her. Her head rolling back, MaryJo cried out as he filled her. Heat, sensation, friction blended in a vortex of blinding fulfillment. When he pulled out and thrust into her again, she gasped. "Travis . . . oh . . . yes." She remembered to breathe as her hands found his face. Capturing it, she stared into his eyes, those brilliant, beautiful eyes as he sank into her again. She sought his mouth, his tongue. She needed all of him inside her. His hands kneading her butt, he worked his hips against her, filling her with him. Her breath coming in gasps, MaryJo felt the clenching, shuddering wave of her release begin. "Travis—I'm . . . oh, God."
Travis was surrounded by heat, by the most amazing, scorching, propelling heat he'd ever experienced. Her sweet ass in his hands, he moved inside her, feeling her tight, wet center working him, driving him to the edge of sanity. He was coming fast, hard, furious when she shuddered. The intensity of her climax rolled over him, pulling him into the most shattering, clutching heat he'd ever known. "Mariela." Groaning into her sweet, hot mouth, Travis came, riding a fireball—an explosion of stars blurring his vision, as his knees buckled with the need to collapse.
Stunned by the magnitude of his release, he was quiet for several seconds, content to hold her. She lay slack in his arms, warm and spent, her legs still wrapped around him, shivers still rippling over her. The scent of her damp skin surrounded him, burning into his brain. Citrus and sex, and hell—even a little motor oil mingled into the most enticing blend he could ever imagine. Their breathing, ragged at first, began to slow. Staggering the two steps back to her car, he set her gently on the hood before disengaging. Smiling when MaryJo murmured her protest, he bent to kiss her. "How about we find our clothes and continue this inside?"
Glancing up at him with those beautiful, shining eyes, she grinned. "I could use a hot shower to warm up. How about you?"
Mesmerized, Travis' gaze locked on her knowing smile. Unable to forget the brief moment when that gorgeous, talented mouth had nearly brought him to his knees, he nodded. This day was shaping up to be one of the best of his life. "I think that's a fantastic idea."
Sliding down from the hood, MaryJo shivered in earnest. Now that they'd regained their senses, the biting air inside the garage was insanely cold. "Why don't you find our clothes while I pick the lock on this door?"
Scooping up discarded clothing as he searched for his sneaker, Travis paused. "Seriously? You can pick a lock?"
Her eyes wide, she nodded. "Dad gave me a set of lock-picking tools for my sixteenth birthday. I can unlock just about anything."
Somehow, he wasn't all that shocked. "You are the coolest woman I know." He was starting to believe MaryJo could probably do just about anything. Watching as she withdrew a tool from a kit on the workbench, she approached the locked door with confidence. Her hips swaying, his gaze trailed the length of her beautiful spine. The familiar ache of longing overtook him again. For the first time, it crossed his mind to wonder whether he'd be able to get MaryJo out of his system. A shudder coursed through him that had nothing to do with the penetrating, March chill. What if he discovered he didn't want to?
A FEW MINUTES LATER, cold, shivering, they stumbled together into her bedroom. Mary Jo draped in his arms, Travis couldn't stop kissing her. When she would've pushed him back on the bed, he shook free of his daze long enough to wonder at the stink emanating from her dresser. "Mariela—what's that smell?" When a delectable blush crawled into her cheeks, his curiosity intensified.
"It's—the flowers you gave me. I'm trying to keep them alive."
"The chili night?" His mouth at her breast, it was difficult to do math with a non-functioning brain. "Baby, that was . . . eight weeks ago."
"But—they were the first flowers you ever gave me."
Forcing himself to his feet, he crossed the room and opened the window, dragging in a breath of cold, fresh air. "I'll be right back." As he carried the moldy, withered State colored flowers to the bedroom across the hall, Travis remembered the extravagant, billowy eyesore on the table downstairs . . . also shriveling away. MaryJo's personality was the opposite of what he'd bought in his desperate attempt to apologize after the disastrous date. Smiling, he covered his nose. If they made it out of bed today, he would head to the grocery store to buy up all the simple, wrong-color, insult flowers he could find.
HOURS LATER, TRAVIS lazily propped himself up on one elbow. Admiring MaryJo as she slept, his mind replayed the best shower of his life. If not for complete exhaustion, he would be nudging her awake for a second round of cleanliness. Her body slick with soap, he'd memorized curves too beautiful to ever forget. She'd slid down the length of him, her smile daring as she'd knelt before him. Her enthusiastic mouth had vaporized every thought in his head. His groan had reverberated through the bathroom—scaring poor Jack, who'd appeared to be waiting for them to finish. Staggering with the onslaught of sensation, he'd throw a hand out to the tiled wall to prevent himself from falling.
Hauling her up before he ended up finishing without her, his hands were filled with her perfect, curvy ass. It was the perfect size to grab onto—as he'd taken her against the shower wall. The better to gaze into heated, brown eyes, to watch them glaze over, to hear her gasps in his ear as he made her come.
When they'd finally collapsed in her bed, his legs ready to give out, MaryJo had reminded him how hard it had been to wait so long. Her sexy voice, moaning his name, demanding he hurry—had become his new, favorite sound. Later, they'd taken their time, talking and kissing interspersed with sex that had left him mindless with pleasure.
Stretching beside him, MaryJo opened one eye, her sleepy yawn making him smile. "I told you not to let me fall asleep," she complained. "We have a month to make up for."
He grazed her mouth with a kiss. "We need to pace ourselves," he admitted, laughing at her disgruntled expression. "We missed lunch," he reminded, suddenly aware of Danielle's watchful, yellow eyes—staring at him. Judging. "And now we're on the verge of missing dinner." His stomach growled on cue.
"You poor . . . poor man." She rose up on one hand, long, midnight hair draping over him as she kissed him. "Maybe I can make it up to you."
It didn't take long—befor
e her velvety eyes were bright with passion, breath hitching between beautiful, parted lips. He rose up over her, suddenly hard again as she deepened their kiss. MaryJo was a woman who threw herself wholeheartedly into a kiss. "Baby, Danielle is on the chair."
"I know." Her fingers scraped his scalp, sending a tremor down his spine. "That's her spot."
He nuzzled her breast, loving the way she arched up to meet him. Her breath shuddered out on a long, delicious moan. "I'm not sure I'll be able to give you my best performance," he teased, his mouth grazing the delicate hollow of her throat. "I feel as though she's . . . judging me."
MaryJo's eyes fluttered open, glazed and beautiful as he entered her. "She is," she assured on a gasp. "That was . . . a 7.9."
He paused, mid thrust, smiling when she murmured her protest. "Only 7.9?" Travis marveled at his ability to form words. As she moved with him, the room grew hazy with pleasure. Her cries drifted through his sensual fog. He loved the frantic quality to her voice, the need she didn't seem afraid to express. She clutched him, pulling him down for a kiss that left his head spinning.
"8.5," she gasped against his lips. "Dani's a tough grader. She refuses to . . ." Her hands fisted in the sheets as she tightened against him, her moan a beautiful sound that danced along his nerves like an arcing live wire. "Grade on a curve."
As her body fisted around him, laughter seized his chest. Travis jerked against her, unable to stop laughing. He could only hang on until the exquisite pleasure subsided. Collapsing against her, bodies still joined, he was caught in a fit of laughter. It was the first time he'd ever had an orgasm—and cracked up at the same moment. But, knowing MaryJo, it likely wouldn't be the last.
Her smile was lazy. "That's really not good for my ego," she complained when his smothered laughter shook the bed. Raising up on one elbow, Travis glanced across the room, meeting Danielle's implacable stare. "Sweet, I think you need to check your glasses."
"Why?"
"Because she's holding up a 9.3."
It was her turn to crack up. Her gorgeous hair dark against the pale blue pillowcase, MaryJo turned to smile at Danielle. "Dani never lies." She gave him a swift kiss. "I guess after that performance I owe you dinner."
I could get used to this. Surprisingly, the admission didn't startle. Didn't make him want to rapidly get dressed and leave. Didn't make him question what it all meant. Today, he just wanted to be with MaryJo. As she pulled him down for a last, lingering kiss, he couldn't imagine leaving. Travis sensed several of his rules might be set aside for Basketball Saturday. "If you show me what to do, I can help."
TWO WEEKS LATER, MARYJO let the curtain flutter back into place. Travis was in the driveway. After a final misting of perfume, she examined her reflection in the mirror one last time before heading for the stairs. Smiling as she descended, she acknowledged the bursting happiness his presence gave her. The last two weeks had been the best of her life. Since the day in her garage—Basketball Saturday, they'd begun calling it—MaryJo had experienced life utterly immersed in a glorious haze of passion. For Travis. For life. Spending time with the man she loved . . . loving every moment they had together. Every night, eager for each other, unable to rid themselves of their clothes fast enough. Travis' desire for her seemed endless. And each time they made love, she'd sensed him treading closer emotionally.
Sure, there had been a few set-backs. Easing the worry from her mind, MaryJo crossed the foyer to open the door. Several nights—Travis had felt the compulsion to leave . . . easing from her bed during the night when he'd believed her asleep. As though it were a living, breathing entity sharing their bed, she'd sense his withdrawal vibrating from him. A desire for space. Sometimes, it was a simmering frustration, as though he was waging war with himself. Each time he left, she'd held her breath, wondering whether he would return. Or if that night's closeness had been the trigger that scared him away for good. His attempts at openness were both blessing and curse. Each time Travis shared a confidence, his eyes revealed relief. And uncertainty. Though she longed for him to trust her, MaryJo knew it could only be realized on his terms. His timetable.
Shaking off her worry, she opened the door for him. Travis stood on the top step. He was gorgeous tonight—freshly shaved, expensive suit, sexy smile and just enough swagger to set her heart pounding. "Wow, you look amazing." Tonight, she would meet his friends. His co-workers. As they celebrated edging closer to the end of a long, arduous process. He'd wanted her to celebrate with them.
"I think that's my line." His eyes heating, he gave her the once-over before releasing a flirty whistle. "You look—incredible."
"Don't get used to this," she warned. "This is the result of a team of specialists. Jules and Alyssa worked on me for two hours," she admitted. Another loaner dress from Jules and another professional makeup application from Alyssa. "Unless I hire them, I will never be able to replicate it."
He grinned, familiar with her bluntness. Apparently not bothered by her honesty. "You always look good. But . . . tonight- Wow." Pulling her against him, his mouth sought hers, his hunger matching her own. The weeks they'd been sleeping together fell away and it was like the first time. Every time. Hell could have frozen over before MaryJo would have ever described herself as over-sexed. But with Travis, all it took was a glance to become erotically aware of him—of what they'd do the moment they had the opportunity.
"What time is it?" His sensual mouth grazing her throat, his muttered rasp sent a shiver coursing through her. "Maybe we could-"
She pulled back reluctantly, requiring a deep breath before she could speak. "If my hair hadn't taken an hour to get it this way, I'd already have your shirt off."
Running a distracted hand through his hair, Travis chuckled. "You read my mind."
"We can't be late to your own party," she reminded over her shoulder as she collected her wrap. Rejoining him in the foyer, she smiled up at him. "But, I could probably make the ride home interesting for you."
His gaze scorching her, he groaned. "God, you fight dirty. All night, I'm going to have that vision in my head."
Linking her fingers through his, she tugged him out on the porch. "I believe in mutual torture."
TRAVIS WAS HAPPY. HAPPY in all capital letters. In a way he'd never dreamed possible. And while he doubted something so good could possibly last without him screwing it up, he'd managed to keep the clutches of fear at bay. MaryJo was the best thing to happen to him in a decade. Whatever it took to make sure he didn't ruin it—he would do everything in his power.
His glance slid to her in the seat beside him. She was so beautiful to him. And tonight . . . she was staggering. Every head would turn when they walked in to the celebration for his staff. Every man there would envy him. Every guy in the room would wish they were him—going home with the sexiest, most amazing woman in the room. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."
Her luminous eyes widened. "Travis—I'll do my best. I really don't want to let you down. If I get too awkward . . . if I start to bore people, please promise you'll give me a sign?"
"The only sign I'm giving you is the one to leave. And it's going to be me . . . kissing your neck—in that spot that makes you crazy." Hearing the catch in her throat, he smiled, knowing her face was heating to his favorite shade of pink. "Maybe pulling you behind a potted fern so I can feel you up."
"I'm being serious-"
"Mariela—you're perfect," he interrupted. "We're going to have an amazing time." Remembering her words on the porch, on the day he'd almost lost her—Travis brought her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against the smooth skin. Her worry that she was wrong for him. That she was somehow not girly enough—that she wouldn't fit in or say the right things or whatever other nonsense she'd spouted. Increasingly, he was becoming . . . ready to admit she was exactly the type of woman he needed.
Not needed, his brain corrected. Wanted. MaryJo was a woman he would choose to be with. Ignoring the shiver of anxiety, he dismissed it. Not tonight, Lockwood. Nothi
ng would ruin tonight.
TRAVIS HAD BEEN RIGHT. Three hours later, MaryJo was having a great time. She'd met nearly everyone on his team. She'd had the opportunity to watch him in action, as she was now. Sipping from a gleaming flute, she enjoyed the sweet, expensive bubbles fizzing on her tongue. He was talking with a young, earnest guy from his team. Was that one Moe? Whatever they discussed, Travis was nearly as animated as the kid.
"Are you having a good time—it's MaryJo, isn't it?"
Turning, she intercepted the pencil-thin blonde who had been eying her surreptitiously all evening. Patrice—the woman Travis couldn't stand. He'd tightened imperceptibly as he'd introduced her early in the evening. "It is. And you're Patrice?"
"Patrice Reynolds. I'm one of Travis' partners." Standing next to her, Patrice surveyed the room with a sense of ownership.
MaryJo had tried—and failed to find a flaw in Travis' partner. With the exception of an overwhelming curiosity—that feeling of what was Travis thinking? when he'd selected her, MaryJo couldn't find fault. Patrice stood out precisely because she was nothing like everyone else. Nothing like Chuck, his friend since college. Nothing like the young guys and women working on his development team.
"These parties can be so boring—and with us so far behind—I'm surprised Travis insisted we go through with it."
"I understand you've been having a rough time with this software release?"
"It's the worst one, by far," she acknowledged. "I wasn't here for the first three, but from what Chuck says, this one is an absolute shambles."
MaryJo noticed her expression never altered. As the evening wore on and inhibitions loosened . . . as conversations grew more congenial, Patrice had maintained her veneer. Like the high school principal invading the prom, intent on killing the buzz. "If they've been having such a rough time, maybe they need a celebration more than ever."
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