by Lori Wilde
The allure of the forbidden.
She finished the water, set her glass beside his. That seemed too intimate as well. She pushed at her tumbler with an index finger until it was on the other side of the bedside table from his.
He stripped off his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. Red ones from what she could tell in the dim light. Cotton. Probably Hanes. Jean-Claude had slept in silk trunks.
She was in a T-shirt and no underwear—she’d rinsed her panties out and hung them in the shower to dry—and he was nearly naked. Boldly, he stared at her, his gaze honing in on her eyes, her mouth, her chin. She grabbed her pillow, used it as a shield across her body.
“Want more water?”
“I’m good.” She tried to keep her gaze trained on his face, determined not to look lower, but damn her treacherous eyes. They flicked over his chest, swept across his flat abs, took a stroll on down to his hips.
Egad! Was he getting a hard-on? Quickly, she jerked her gaze away and every muscle in her body tensed. Was she just going to ignore it?
Seriously? What was she supposed to do? Jump his bones?
It’s a thought.
But not a smart one. Her brain froze as her body melted, Popsicle-in-the-sun-gooey. Well, there were some tiles on the ceiling that needed counting. She could do that. Better than sheep, right? One. Two. Three.
He got back into bed beside her. God, he smelled good.
She pulled the covers up to her chin and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.
A minute passed.
Then ten.
Twenty.
She lay on her back, stiff as a plank, listening to every sound. The soft hum of the digital clock, traffic noises on the street below, Luke’s ragged breathing.
“This isn’t working, is it?” she whispered.
“It’s working just fine,” he murmured, his voice drowsy. “Get some rest.”
“I can’t.”
“I know. How does anyone in this city sleep with all the sirens, honking horns, and backup beepers going off?”
“You get used to it. Gets to where you miss it when you’re not in the city.”
“Thank God, I don’t have to get used to it.”
“You hate it here, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ just not my cuppa coffee.”
“I love New York.”
“It is exciting.”
“But you prefer wide open spaces.”
“It’s who I am. I’m not ashamed of where I’m from.”
Meaning she was? Melody rolled over onto her side, put her back to him.
A few minutes later, Luke shifted, turned. His knee lightly touched her butt. Only the thin cotton of her T-shirt separated him from her bare ass.
And he let his knee just rest there.
Yipes!
Gooseflesh blanketed her body, but she neither protested nor moved. She closed her eyes against a bombardment of sexy images that lit up the thrill center of her brain.
He slipped an arm around her waist, heavy but reassuring.
She stopped breathing. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not trying anything funny. Honest. I normally spoon with my pillow. It’s how I fall asleep. Do you mind if I spoon with you instead?”
Hell yes, she minded. Hanging by a thread here, buddy. “No,” she croaked.
What are you saying? Get up. Get out. Slap his face. Slap your own face. Just stop this.
But the deal was, she liked it, and a warm buzzy feeling, similar to how she felt after drinking the Dom Perignon, wove a drifty spell over her. The traffic noises crooned their sweet lullaby. Nice. Really, really nice. She floated on a river of languid sensation, felt surprisingly safe and steady. The tension drained from her body and she felt herself letting go.
Melody woke sometime later and for a groggy moment she thought that she was at Jean-Claude’s apartment, but her back was pressed up against a man’s hard chest, her butt curved against his pelvis, his arm wrapped around her waist.
Cuddling.
Jean-Claude wasn’t a cuddler. He’d never once spooned with her and this guy was acting like they were tucked away in a silverware drawer together, stacked one against the other.
Memory tapped her on the temple. Not Jean-Claude, but Luke. She was in bed with Luke Nielson and he was snuggled up to her like … like … well, like she was his woman.
She should have been ready to run for the door, broken shoes or not, but instead, all she wanted to do was curl deeper into him.
So she did. Audacious, yes, but it felt so good lying here beside him, the ghost of her teenage fantasies stirring back to life. She remembered another time he’d held her, wrapped his arms around her as they sat on the picnic table looking at the moon over Lake Cupid. The way he’d kissed her hair and pronounced that she smelled like flowers.
In a matter of minutes it had all turned ugly.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the past.
His palm was pressed against her belly, his face buried in her hair. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, warm and lulling, and then she felt something else entirely. The head of his erect penis poking jauntily against her ass.
Panic seized her throat, squeezed hard. Your fault. You got into bed with him. You knew better but you did it anyway.
What should she do?
Although his penis stayed hard, he made no other move. Was he awake at all? Or was this just natural male biology? The glorious phenomenon of morning wood?
Bravely, she whispered, “Luke?”
He didn’t answer.
Or move.
Yeah, okay. He was asleep. She would have been relieved, except for the man spear still poking into her.
She had to get out of here and fast.
Slowly, she eased out from underneath his arm, slipped off the bed, and padded to the bathroom. Exhaling heavily, she closed the door, sagged against it, her knees weak as boiled noodles, the rest of her body hot and moist and desperate. Blood charged through her veins, restless and thick.
Every feminine urge inside her was screaming to go back to bed and beg the man to make good use of his rock-hard erection.
After she used the facilities, she washed her hands and splashed water on her face. There, just what she needed to bring her back down to earth, a cold jolt.
She opened the door to find Luke standing right in front of her.
In his underwear. Although she did not dare look down to determine his state of arousal.
Ulp!
He stepped toward her.
She managed to hold her ground. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer her question, just gathered her up into his arms and stared deeply into her eyes.
She should have pushed him away, told him to step off, acted offended. Except of course, she was not offended. Not in the least.
Instead of resisting, as a smart woman would have done, Melody closed her eyes.
Yes.
Stupidly, she let her eyelashes drift downward, and the minute her vision was cut off, the rest of her senses intensified. Robbed of sight, she could identify every note of his cologne—coriander, basil, bergamot, sandalwood, flannel, and cedar. Traditional, his scent. Straightforward. No bullshit. A throwback to a simpler, more uncomplicated time.
His kiss had changed since high school. Matured. Developed. Gone were the herky-jerky movements of an awkward kid trying hard to play it cool. Now, he was smooth as tumbled stone. Practiced. Accomplished. Everything flowed and melded with alarming ease.
He was different now.
So was she.
But the sparks were still there.
Sparks, eh?
Um, this was a full-blown forest fire.
His lips were perfect—firm, warm, just the right amount of moisture and heat. Gold medal quality. He slipped his tongue between her parted teeth, and, well, she didn’t protest. In fact, she might have egged him on by moanin
g the tiniest little bit. He increased the pressure and everything turned urgent.
Gimme.
Gimme, gimme, gimme.
She ensnared his face with both hands, cupping her palms around his cheeks, egging him on with her tongue.
And then, damn him, he broke the kiss, swore under his breath, pulled back, and stared at her with heavily lidded eyes.
“What …” She gasped, splayed a hand to her chest, and fought to put starch into her knees. “Was that all about?”
He shook his head, long and slow. “That,” he said, “was a very bad idea.”
“Clearly.”
Even as he said it, he did not let her go. In fact, he pulled her up tighter into his arms, pressing her against the rigidness of his body, letting her know exactly how much he wanted her.
A helpless sound seeped from her lips and she opened her mouth to say something—what, she wasn’t sure—only to have him capture her lips again.
He reached up to cradle the back of her head in his big palm, his fingers sliding through her hair.
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her rib cage.
His tongue—the wicked thing—was plundering and tasting her with a long, lingering sip as if she was an exceptional vintage of a fine wine and he was a connoisseur.
Driven by raw animal need, she dissolved against his chest, opened her jaw wider, and tipped her head back.
Her arms acted of their own accord, slipping around his waist, spreading up the muscles of his back, his warm skin innervating her fingers, pulling his head down lower to deepen the kiss.
Blazing!
She hung suspended in that moment. Caught. A prisoner of desire. Feeling everything—the pressure, the heat, his scent so stimulating and masculine.
Abruptly, he wrenched his lips away, leaving her hauling in big gulps of air and longing, and feeling as if she’d just collapsed after sprinting to first place in the New York Marathon.
Melody blinked, and a sweet shiver shimmied from her spine all the way to her tingling toes. Lights inside her head danced like summer fireflies and she could hardly gather her thoughts. She widened her eyes, blinked, hardly able to believe where she was or what she was doing.
“Yep,” he confirmed. “Definitely a bad idea.”
“You just had to check to make sure?”
Luke looked so cool and unaffected, as if he did this kind of thing every day of the week. He cleared his throat. Twice. “I totally did not plan that.”
“Which time? The first or the second.”
“Both.”
“You know third time’s a charm,” she said, shocking herself, and shrugged. “Just saying.”
He stepped away from her, jammed a hand through his hair, ruffling the silky waves. “Or three strikes and you’re out.”
“Out of what?”
“Look,” he said. “I pushed too far. I should have known better. I did know better, but I crossed the line anyway.”
She peered at him. She could not read his expression. Was he teasing? “Known better about what?”
“I don’t want to be the rebound guy.”
“I’m not asking for anything but hot sex. Are you looking for happily-ever-after?”
“Maybe,” he said.
Her heart quickened. “But not with me?”
“You’re just out of a relationship, Melody, and besides you’re a Fant and I’m a Nielson. Us being together simply wouldn’t work.”
“Not in Cupid, maybe,” she agreed. “But this is New York.”
“I’m a rancher, a country boy. This place isn’t for me.”
“I know,” she said, her body aching all over. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have one wild night.”
“You mean it?” he croaked hoarsely.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
He groaned. Tightened his grip on her. “Melly, are you absolutely sure?”
“No one ever has to know. One night and then we forget all about it.”
“This is what you really want?”
“How many times do I have to say yes?”
“No regrets?”
“The only regret I have is that you’re still standing here talking when we could be heating up the sheets.”
“Hell, woman. I might be a lot of things, but I ain’t stupid.” Then he bent, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to bed.
Chapter 7
“LUKE,” Melody whispered his name soft and sexy, her thick golden hair falling in loose curls past her shoulders in the dim illumination of the nightlight. Her lids lowered seductively over big chocolate brown eyes, so worldly, and yet at the same time so disarmingly vulnerable.
Was this a smart thing to do?
She canted her head and studied him, the barest tinge of a smile plucking at the corners of her full pink lips.
Dammit.
The woman unraveled him in a way no other woman ever had. He wanted her … aw hell, who was he kidding … he hungered for her like a knuckle-dragging caveman, but his hyped-up libido wasn’t what scared him.
Lust, he could handle, but this? Well, he’d never felt such a relentless pounding need and no matter how many times he’d looked for a substitute in other women, only Melody possessed the power to drive him to the brink of insanity.
And that was a damn scary thought.
Plus, he was alarmed to discover that over time his desire for her had not diminished but had only grown more intense. First youth and the bad blood between families, and then later the distance had kept them apart, but now those barriers were gone.
It was just the two of them alone in a hotel room. How often had he dreamed of this scenario? A thousand times at least.
He could smell her, the intoxicating scent of her womanly aroma. And the heat from her body! He could feel the sizzle radiating off her.
She touched him. Two fingertips. On the back of his hand. That was all it took for him to get harder than he’d ever been in his life.
A groan rolled from his throat, detonated in the darkened room. Did his growl sound as loud and desperate to her ears as it did to his?
Shit, he was in deep trouble.
He ached at the thought of her sly little mouth on him. He captured her face between his palms, saw her pupils widen, felt her breath on his skin. Warm. She flicked out her tongue. Wicked. Licked her lips. Wet.
“Mmm,” he growled, and planted his mouth on hers. Was this a fantasy or was this really happening?
Ever since he’d decided to come to New York to plead for her help, he’d been dreaming of a moment like this, even as he’d tried to convince himself that acting on his impulses was a bad idea.
His head ticked off all the reasons why this relationship could never work. Chief among them was distance and their feuding families.
Yeah? So what? Take what you can get and be grateful for it. One night is plenty.
Ah, but that was a lie. One taste from her lips and he knew once would never be enough, but once was better than nothing.
He’d never been a man to deny his physical needs. And who knew? One blissful night with her just might do the trick. Clear his head. Snip away those old memories that he could never completely cut from his conscience.
Juggle fire.
That’s what he’d done when he allowed himself to share a bed with her. He’d thought he was strong enough to resist temptation, but he hadn’t counted on Melody’s eager receptiveness.
He wanted to be tender with her, but he felt so needy, so desperate, so out of control. He ground his pelvis against hers and she writhed against him, arching her spine, raking her fingers down his bare back, letting loose with a fierce little growl.
Wildcat.
Her skin was mouthwateringly hot against his, and her teeth playfully nipped at his throat.
He couldn’t get enough of tasting her. His mouth branded her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and the end of her chin.
At last. At long la
st.
It had taken him fifteen years to get here, but they were finally doing this. Consummating that long-ago lurking passion they’d just barely started to stir when they were horny, love-struck teens.
Her fingers were threaded through his hair, and she wrenched her mouth from his. “Gotta …” She gasped. “ … have you now!”
He stared deeply into her eyes. “Say please.”
“You want me to beg?”
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, cupping the back of her head in his palm.
“You,” she said. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
He pushed her back onto the mattress, loomed above her. She peered up at him, a wicked smile on her face. He shoved the T-shirt up around her neck, exposing her creamy white breasts and proving that yes, indeed she was not wearing panties.
God, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He parted her legs with his, planting his knee deep into the mattress just below the tantalizing V where her thighs joined, and leaned farther over her.
She blinked up at him.
“You’ve got a beautiful mouth,” he murmured. “I love that crooked front tooth.”
She tucked her upper lip around her top teeth. “I hate it.”
“Why?”
“It ruins my smile.”
“The hell it does. It makes your smile.”
“How?”
“Makes you look interesting. Not your run-of-the-mill perfect beauty.”
“Mother is always nagging me to get it fixed.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said. “I love it.”
“Really?” Her insecurity touched him. Didn’t she have any idea just how beautiful she was?
“Really.”
“Jean-Claude said the tooth ruined my smile.”
“I thought we already established that your ex is a boring douchebag. Let’s not talk about him ever again.”
“I’m for that.”
He kissed her again so long and hard that when he pulled back her lips were red and swollen. Probably so were his.
As she lay there panting, he went about his endeavor, kissing a path down her chest to first one breast and then the other, taking time to nibble and suck each hard-budded nipple.