by Lyn Stone
Robin suppressed a nervous giggle. Mitch had turned back into the hallway with that last comment and was still shaking his head, muttering in disbelief.
“She could incite riots with those knees,” Robin heard him say. “Gotta get that girl some baggy pants.”
Robin followed him out and switched off the light, reassured that he would treat this attraction between them with enough silly humor to dispel it. She wished she could.
He made her laugh, something no man had ever done before. This wasn’t the first time, either. Robin knew her sense of humor was underdeveloped. She had never felt the urge to giggle before, and it sort of unsettled her a little.
Still musing over that, Robin didn’t realize he had turned around again in the darkened hallway until she ran smack into him. He grasped her shoulders, kissed her soundly on the forehead and turned her around. “Your bedroom’s that way,” he said, giving her a gentle shove. “Sleep tight, kid.”
All these years she’d been waiting for a man to awaken that part of her she’d begun to believe was immune to desire. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be now? And why did the word desire seem so anemic to describe what he made her feel? She doubted she’d ever sleep again.
Mitch flopped down on Kick’s break-ass sofa and braced his head on his hands.
Damn, that was close. He’d come that near backing her against the fancy wallpaper in the hall and doing his best—or worst—to claim that delectable body of hers. If he hadn’t thought it would screw things up for good, he would have. He could have had her willing in less than a minute.
Her face betrayed every emotion she felt unless she was working hard to prevent it. But wasn’t he actually the one who had suggested she drop that defense mechanism? That protective mask of hers?
She wanted him, too, Mitch knew without a doubt. The fact amazed him. Humbled him, too, but not enough to keep him from acting on it. No, it was her fear, her mistrust in his intent that did that for him. He couldn’t make love to Robin with her thinking all the while he was putting the make on her for her money. Also, he worried that their being thrust into this situation of forced proximity might be causing the sustained level of lust.
Okay. He’d just have to deal with it. After all, he was responsible for her, wasn’t he?
He exhaled sharply and sat straight up, bracing his hands against the seat of the sofa, feeling the tension within him ready to snap.
God, he wished he could run. Just go outside and run like hell until he was too exhausted to move. But then he’d just fall down somewhere and think about her, anyway. “Well, push-ups ain’t the answer,” he muttered. Not in his present condition.
Kick did have an exercise bike, Mitch remembered, thinking back to when he and some of the guys had helped his new partner move in here a few months ago. Maybe exhaustion would help him sleep. Or at least make him too tired to follow through on what he wished he could do.
He padded barefoot down the hall to the last bedroom and flipped on the light switch. There was no overhead light source, only a weird-looking lamp in the far corner that threw a weak fan of light on the wall and ceiling above it.
The cycle was top-of-the-line, as was the rest of the equipment Kick had in his little home gym. He wondered if Kick really was this body conscious or if he just collected all the toys for show. He stayed in good shape and had way too much energy. Maybe this is how he worked that off.
Quickly stripping down to his briefs, Mitch started his workout. A half hour later he had worked up a good sweat. His leg muscles were burning, and he was getting dehydrated, but his mind was still alert and filled with visions of the woman down the hall. Exhaustion helped more than he’d expected, physically if not mentally. He decreased the pace and wound down slowly.
When he got off the cycle and leaned down to pick up the clothing he had shucked, he saw her. She was standing in the doorway, virtually hugging the frame. The way she raked his body with that slumberous gaze of hers promptly undid any relief the workout had provided. He sprang to attention again at the sight of her standing there.
One long, slender foot rested on top of the other as she leaned against the molding in a sleepy, childlike pose.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Still can’t sleep?”
She raked her bottom lip with her teeth and continued to look at him from beneath those long, fanlike lashes. “I didn’t want to be…alone.” The last word rushed out as if she’d tried to hold it back.
Mitch dropped the clothes he was holding. She released the door frame supporting her and approached him warily, stopping a couple of feet away. No words were necessary. The frankness of her expression told him exactly what she wanted.
“Sure about this?” he asked softly, searching her eyes.
She nodded, reached down and clutched the hem of her T-shirt. He watched, spellbound, as she drew it over her head and trailed it on the floor. Breath caught in his throat. He didn’t care. He needed her more than air.
Mitch opened his arms, closing them around her quickly when she came to him. He reveled in the feel of her. Her breath rasped softly but urgently as her hands gripped his back, those long graceful fingers sliding sinuously over his sweat-slicked muscles. Her small, perfect breasts bonded firmly to his chest by the dampness of his skin. His nose sought the silkiness of her hair, breathing in the sweet clean scent of her.
He traced her slender body with his palms, at last slipping them beneath the wispy silk that only half covered her bottom. Her skin felt smooth as satin as he caressed her, pulling her tightly against him, only half assuaging the ache she caused.
Vaguely he thought of a bed, though he wasn’t sure they would make it that far. Instead, he backed up several steps to the padded exercise mat and lowered them to it so that they lay side by side. He trailed one hand from her hip to waist and then upward to feel, at last, one smooth firm breast beneath his palm. Almost reverently he lowered his mouth to taste her there, to explore the small tight peak with his eager tongue. He drew on it gently, then harder, his own body echoing the shudder that rippled through hers.
He smoothed his hand downward over her flat abdomen and lower to the nest of curls that surrounded his final destination. Heat enveloped his fingers as he pressed them against her, sliding one into her with a slowness and sureness of purpose. Her resulting cry of pleasure almost ended his determined attempt at gentleness.
She moved against him restlessly, pressing closer, her hand seeking, finding, drawing a groan from him as she stroked and squeezed and pleaded with her touch. “Now?” he asked.
“Now,” she answered, the word more demand than acquiescence.
Mitch ravished her mouth, devouring her, loving her heady response, his mind completely focused on nothing but possessing her in every way humanly possible. His body fitted to hers in an automatic reflex. He sank within her as deeply and surely as she had embedded herself in his heart.
Sheer undiluted pleasure coursed through him, obliterating any worries of how this would end, what would come of it. There were no tomorrows, no yesterdays, only now, this moment out of time that would never be equaled again. Robin was his.
He drew back and thrust slowly, savoring the exhilaration, providing and relishing the sweet slide of joy, the promise of perfection just out of reach. Again and again, he gave and took, offered and demanded, waiting only for her cue to deliver all that he was.
Her pulse beat frantically beneath his mouth as he savored her neck. His teeth grazed her upturned chin, and she cried out, frantically seeking his kiss. Hot and wild, it went on and on. The taste of her essence, sweet wine and his own sweat mingled as he claimed her mouth.
Her body undulated faster, meeting his every move and attempting to increase his pace. He executed a particularly deep lunge and her breath hissed inward, her eyes closing tightly as if she would capture the feeling and hold it.
The sight and sensation sent him reeling. With a groan of surrender, he abandoned finesse and threw hi
mself into motion. He slipped one hand between them and touched her, desperate not to leave her wanting. Her body grasped him, shuddered around him and forced him into a climax so powerful and prolonged, he thought he might die.
Mitch groaned, the last sound he was capable of making, and collapsed. Damn. He didn’t think he could move anything if he tried. Even his lips. They must be paralyzed in a permanent smile.
Robin sighed beneath him. He felt the intake of air and the soft, replete sound of her exhalation. A wordless compliment if he’d ever heard one.
Mitch finally managed to roll to one side so that she could breathe more easily. She uttered a murmur of protest when he disengaged their bodies, as if she had wanted him to stay.
Only then did it strike him that he had made the ultimate mistake, the worst imaginable lapse of consideration a man could commit in this kind of situation. Never once had the thought of a condom entered his mind. If he’d had any energy left, he would have pounded his forehead and cursed his stupidity.
Why? After nearly twenty years of having sex, he had never—not one single time—neglected to protect a woman he had sex with. And now, with the very woman he loved, he had—
The realization hit him right between the eyes, as powerfully as a fist. Loved. He loved Robin. Oh, Lord. And while she might come to him looking for a little comfort on a sleepless night, he couldn’t expect her, by any stretch of his fevered imagination, to love him back. Ever.
And even if she should, through some quirk of magic, decide she did, what could he possibly do about it? Ask her to marry him? Fat chance. Even with a prenup so she’d be sure he wasn’t after her money, she’d think he only wanted her around as a trophy. Hey, look at me, guys, I snagged me a model. A wealthy one at that. God, he wished she weren’t quite so beautiful. Or rich. Or mistrustful. He sure couldn’t fault her for that. Not after she’d gotten mixed up with those two losers.
She also came across as a little insecure in some ways. Oh, Robin knew she was smart all right. And she had to know she possessed many other qualities in addition to her beauty. Trouble was, she didn’t trust that any man would look beneath that facade to find the real Robin. Well, he had found her.
Now he just had to decide what to do with her.
Robin lay still and pretended she had fallen asleep. She really didn’t want to open her eyes and look at him. What in the world had she been thinking? She hardly knew this man and here she was lying naked in his arms on an exercise mat in a stranger’s house.
She felt his lips press against her temple, soft and warm and comforting. The splayed fingers of the large hand cradling her back caressed her skin almost tentatively. The other hand rested possessively on her hip. “Robin?” he whispered.
Reluctantly she answered. “Hmm?”
“We should go to bed. You’ll get a chill.”
She snuggled closer, still disinclined to face him. He would want an explanation, and she had no idea what to say, how to justify what she caused to happen.
He moved away a little, releasing his hold, but still touching her as if trying to soothe her. “C’mon.”
She still refused to open her eyes as she struggled to sit up. He helped her as they got to their feet, then felt him fit the T-shirt over her head. Robin slipped her arms through the sleeves. When she finally forced her eyes open he had put on his briefs. He slid one strong arm around her, holding her at the waist. She might have been a sleepy child the way he handled her.
“I won’t discuss this,” she warned, feeling defensive.
“Okay,” he agreed, his voice rife with understanding. And regret? Had she heard regret? No, she couldn’t ask that.
“Don’t patronize me,” she said, hating the awkwardness she felt. He had been wonderful to her and here she was sniping at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know. It’s all right,” he told her, leaning once again to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. His hand rested lightly at the back of her neck.
Robin drew in a deep breath to fortify herself against his tenderness. All that did was inundate her senses with the scent of lingering aftershave, clean male sweat and sex. Mind-rending sex. Her head swam and she almost stumbled.
He tightened his hold on her, reached down and swept her right off her feet. Robin wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in the curve of his neck. When he put her down on the bed where she had tossed and turned earlier, she was tempted to hold on, to urge him to join her there for the rest of the night. Instead she snuggled deeply into the fluffy feather pillows and curled away from him, still unwilling to look him in the eye.
She had broken their agreement, the one she’d firmly insisted on herself. “Will you still be my friend?” The question escaped before she could stop it.
“Always,” he answered, without pausing to think. “Go to sleep now.” He rested his hand on the crown of her head for a second, then combed his fingers through her hair. “Don’t worry, Robin.”
She nodded, unable to speak. If she did, he would know she was about to cry. Robin didn’t shed a tear, however. Not until she heard the soft snick of the door when he pulled it shut and she knew he was gone.
The next morning she showered, dressed in the clothes she had worn the day before and sat on the bed trying to read a dog-eared paperback she’d found in the nightstand. Anything to keep from facing the man she had seduced so shamelessly.
Seduced. Hardly that, Robin thought with a smirk. There hadn’t been much seduction to it, if any. All she’d done was show up and make it clear what she wanted. Yanked that shirt right off and made a perfect idiot of herself. Fine way to go about sealing a friendship. Now he’d think she was the epitome of the image she’d been battling all her adult life. Sex object.
Maybe that’s what she was after all. She sure couldn’t demand that Mitch respect her mind after last night. Even she doubted her intelligence now.
“Oh, get over it,” she muttered to herself as she tossed the unread book aside and got up. Hiding out here in the bedroom was ridiculous. Certainly no solution. Besides, she was starving.
Determined to brave it out, Robin marched to the door, flung it open and almost ran right into Mitch. He was standing there balancing a tray on one hand, the other outstretched as if he’d been reaching for the doorknob.
“Morning. Brought you some breakfast,” he said with a grin. “Hope you like your eggs sunny-side up.”
Robin’s gaze fell to the tray. Sure enough, there were two fried eggs, two slices of toast and a glob of jelly. Two steaming cups of coffee wobbled in their saucers. She backed into the room. “This…this wasn’t necessary.”
He brushed past her and set the tray on a small round table beside the window, then plucked up the art deco vanity stool and put it down for her to sit on. “There you go. Service with a smile.”
She stared at him, then at the plate, unable to believe he had cooked her breakfast. She couldn’t remember when—or if—anyone had ever cooked her breakfast, even her mother. Even as a child, Robin had only been allowed fruit or low-cal yogurt to keep her weight below average. By the time she reached adulthood, the fare had become a habit. She had never eaten a fried egg in her life.
Mitch picked up one of the coffees and made himself comfortable on the bed. “Go ahead. Eat.”
Robin sat down and picked up the fork. Tentatively, she cut a section of the white part and tasted it. A bit greasy, she thought as she chewed. She nibbled a corner of the buttered toast. “Very nice,” she commented, since she knew he was waiting for her appraisal.
He got up and came over, taking the fork from her hand. “Like this,” he instructed as he diced up the eggs and stirred them around. The half-cooked yolks spread over and coated the white making an unappetizing mess. He put the fork back in her hand. “There you go.”
Robin considered refusing to eat, but Mitch looked so proud of himself for making it, she didn’t have the heart. Well, she had certainly eaten worse-looking things, she tho
ught, recalling sushi. And anchovies. And cottage cheese was not all that attractive now that she thought about it.
She scooped up a bite, determined to enjoy this even if it choked her. To her surprise it was delicious. Or maybe she was just so ravenous anything would taste good.
Nodding as she chewed and swallowed, with another forkful on the way to her mouth, she exclaimed, “Great!”
He beamed and resumed his seat on the bed. “Knew you’d like it. Much better with grits, but there weren’t any.”
“That’s okay.” She finished the treat, wishing for more. Jelly had always been a no-no. She spread it on the toast and wolfed it down. All of it. If she stayed in Nashville, she could just imagine herself at three hundred pounds in less than six weeks.
“You know I can’t eat this way all the time,” she said, taking the last sweet bite and reaching for the coffee. “Or even very often.”
“Sure you can. Thin as you are, you surely don’t have to worry.” He set his cup down on the nightstand and leaned back on the bed, propped on his arms.
Robin laughed wryly. “Little do you know about the vagaries of weight control. I’ve gained almost ten pounds since I stopped modeling. And those added pounds were only due to less stress.”
He frowned. “Less stress? What on earth could be more nerve-racking than what you went through with ol’ Troy-Boy’s stalking and James’s fooling around?”
Robin smiled, feeling much more at ease, now that she realized he wasn’t going to bring up last night’s fall from grace. “Modeling is strenuous. It takes a lot out of you. People think we make outrageous amounts for just standing there in front of a camera or plodding down a runway and back. Believe me, it’s hard work. We earn every penny and then some.”
“You don’t ever have to do that again, do you?” he asked, looking truly concerned. “Do you want to?”
“Goodness, no! I never wanted to in the first place.” She made a face. “I had what’s known as a dedicated stage mother.”