by Ava Gray
She made him smile. Again. “How silly of me.”
“So we have the whole weekend. I was going to spend it going over their financial records. Are you saying I shouldn’t bother?” Mia tilted her head toward the dossier she’d brought home.
The weekend. He’d forgotten. Since his routine had shifted in the move, he visited Lexie and Beulah May on Saturday. When he’d worked nights at the Silver Lady, weekdays hadn’t proven a problem. That wasn’t the case any longer, and it had taken Beulah months to adjust; the old lady depended on his adherence to routine.
If he had any sense, he’d excuse himself now and come back tomorrow night. As Mia shifted on his lap, ratcheting his lust up another notch, he knew he wasn’t going to. He’d slip out in the morning.
Belatedly, he realized she was still waiting for a response. “It won’t hurt to check, but I’m relatively certain this goes further up the ladder.”
A sexy, knowing smile curved her mouth. “Am I distracting you?”
One wouldn’t think a woman in flannel pajamas could affect him so, but she drove him crazy. He remembered the warmth and softness of her skin. With slightly unsteady hands, he worked the band from her hair. It spilled raven-dark around her face, softening the bold lines.
“Absolutely,” he admitted.
“I’m thinking work can wait until morning,” she said thoughtfully. “Or maybe even Monday. Am I going to get in trouble for seducing the director of HR, by the way? I’m just a lowly IT analyst.”
His smile blossomed. She brightened his world until he couldn’t think about anything else. “That depends. Are you trying to sleep your way to the top?”
She kissed the tip of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “On top of you, sure.”
“That does it,” he said firmly. “Cute as they are, those pajamas have to come off.”
Mia slid off his lap with a wiggle and headed toward the bedroom, every movement an enticement. “Promise?”
As he followed her, Søren knew it wouldn’t be the same this time. He would be every bit as vulnerable to her in bed. When he reached the bedroom, he found her already naked, stepping from a pool of flannel. His mouth went dry at the sight of her lovely bronze skin gilded in the lamplight.
His gaze skated from her shoulders to her breasts to the indent of her waist and the flare of her hips. Her thighs were thick, muscular, as if she liked to ride—horses or bikes, perhaps. If he dared to yield control, she might take him for a spin.
“You’re so beautiful you make me ache.”
“Let’s see how you make me feel.”
He accepted the challenge. Søren stripped without any of his usual finesse. His hands trembled in his eagerness to touch her, kiss her. The time they’d cuddled in her living room had inflamed him beyond what seemed safe or sane. It had been so long since anyone stroked his hair or caressed his face. Most of that isolation was self-imposed, but regardless, the end of a long drought could only come via a powerful torrent.
Her eyes widened as he prowled toward her. He swung her up in his arms, kissing her as he pressed her back onto the bed. She responded like a dream, all fierce heat and open generosity. They landed sideways, but the mattress was big enough it didn’t matter.
“How’s that for starters?”
She smiled up at him, glorious in her dishevelment. “Good.”
“Just good? Clearly I need to do better.”
Humor glinted in her dark eyes, mingled with banked arousal. “Well, I have to give you something to which to aspire. If I said you were sex on a stick, you’d quit trying.”
A startled chuckle escaped him. “Sex on a stick? You think?”
Mia brushed the hair away from his brow, her touch tender. “I do. God, what’s the world done to you?”
He recognized that as a rhetorical question; she understood his circumstances as nobody ever had. Braced on his arms, Søren gave a wry shrug. “It’s enough you think so.”
Almost, he could stay like this forever, gazing into her upturned face. But her body felt too good beneath him. He shifted his hips and her legs parted wide, making room for him. She was already wet, and the awareness went through his brain like lightning.
Shoving into her like an animal was out of the question. He had to display a little finesse before he took her, make her come until she wouldn’t notice his desperation. He didn’t want her knowing how powerful her hold on him had already become.
“God, you feel good.”
Mia tilted her hips. “So do you.”
He wasn’t inside her; he had that much control left, but he couldn’t resist the luscious heat. Her juices coated him as he slid up and down her cleft. Each time he brushed her clit, she jerked and hissed, nails digging into his shoulders. He hadn’t felt a woman’s naked pussy on his cock in years.
It would feel amazing to thrust deep and feel her tighten on him as she came. He could tell she was getting closer with each tiny movement. Her breathing sped up, and her head was tossing side to side. Soon, she’d start bucking, and what he’d give to be inside her when she came.
Protection. Christ, he couldn’t go bareback. Never again. He couldn’t take the chance she’d get pregnant.
Søren rolled off her with a groan. Thinking she’d send him away, he hadn’t come prepared. They’d agreed on one night only, and he’d had every reason to think she hated him, despite the pleasure. He didn’t deserve another chance, and it was beyond him why she’d offered one.
It was too much to hope she had a stash of condoms hidden. In fact, jealousy might kill him if she did. He curled his hands into fists, one touch away from an orgasm.
“I am the dumbest son of a bitch in the world,” he growled.
She rolled onto her side, sliding her thigh over his. The contact made him jerk. “Why do you say that? Not that I’m arguing . . . since you stopped.”
“We can’t.” Eyes closed, he willed her to get it.
“Ah,” she said on a note of discovery. “The mighty sailor forgot his raincoat. Well, I don’t keep them on hand. This isn’t a typical night for me—and I doubt the old people who live here need them. But . . .” She traced a line down his chest toward his aching cock. “There are other things we can do.”
Søren froze, wanting to beg her to stop. He didn’t have himself under tight enough control to tolerate her touch. Instead he watched with silent fascination as her slim fingers curled around his shaft. She bent her head.
Oh God no. Not that.
To his everlasting embarrassment, he came.
CHAPTER 12
Mia tried not to show her astonishment.
She’d never had that effect on a man in her life, let alone one so cosmopolitan. But she’d barely touched her lips to his skin, and he arched up. Now he lay with his forearm over his eyes, as if to block out the sight of her. She slipped from the bed and returned with a hand towel. After wiping away the evidence, she lay down beside him, near enough that he could touch her if he wanted, far enough that he didn’t have to.
He was the most puzzling man.
“Well,” he said at last. “That was humiliating.”
“I take it as a compliment.”
At that he rolled onto his side, facing her. “Do you?”
She nodded. “You’re very good for my ego.”
“Then clearly, that’s why I did it. I was indulging you.” Did she spot a spark of self-directed amusement in his eyes?
“I appreciate your consideration,” she said solemnly.
“Anytime you need such a boost, you’ve only to let me know.” He reached out as if he wasn’t sure he had the right, his palm curving with the line of her cheek.
Mia closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. “You make me feel as though nothing else matters.”
“I don’t want it to. Not tonight.”
He skimmed his hand down her throat to her shoulder, shaping the line of her arm. Pleasure sang in her nerve endings; it was different this time. Perhaps because
he’d lost the sharp edge of desire, tenderness trickled in to fill the gaps. He caressed the swell of her hip, the bend of her knee, and Mia shifted, her arousal growing in tandem with his gentleness.
This man was such a study in contrasts. The way he’d taken her that first time, she would never have imagined he could touch her like this. Now he stroked the sweet curve of her inner thighs. Mia took the cue and parted for him, feeling her body grow damp with anticipation. Openmouthed, he nuzzled her shoulder, working his way down to her breast. He licked the tip in a slow circle, and she ached for more.
She laced her fingers in his hair, glorying in the fact that she could touch him. Without being told, she knew how rare this was for him. He didn’t let women do this. Mia imagined him thrusting into a series of bodies, taking release with precious little pleasure. Primitive denial nearly blinded her; she didn’t want him touching anyone else ever again. Which should have sent her scrambling from the bed.
Instead, she closed her eyes, giving herself over to him. His lips tugged at her taut nipple, grazing teeth nipped and nuzzled. With clever fingers, he brought her to the brink time and again, until she sobbed with the need for relief. Then he kissed her, lips warm and luscious. His tongue surged in her mouth, stealing her cries, when he finally let her come. The orgasm shook through her until she couldn’t get her breath. Afterward, she nestled into his side, boneless.
To her surprise, he gathered her close and buried his face in her neck. “I don’t have this. I never have this,” he whispered, as if he might be dreaming.
“There’s something I’d like very much.”
He tensed. “What?”
“To know your name,” she hastened to add. “I swear I won’t do anything with it. But it would mean a great deal to me to know who you are when I hold you like this.” Mia pressed a kiss against his jaw, hoping to soften him.
She didn’t think he’d tell her. Physical closeness set the boundary, and it didn’t include further intimacies. To hide her hurt, she laid her face against his shoulder and breathed him in.
And then, unbelievably, he said, “Søren.”
“Sirren?”
A shudder worked through him.
“Close enough.” He inhaled slowly. “Say it again?”
Bemused, Mia complied. “I’ve never heard that before. It’s Danish,” she guessed, remembering what he’d said about being born in Copenhagen.
He nodded. “Without my surname, you’ll discover nothing else. It’s safe enough.”
“I won’t even look,” she said, stung. “I promised.”
His body eased against her, reminding her she was lying naked with a man whose real name she’d only just learned. Still, it was progress. Not long ago she would’ve put money on never learning this much about him.
“I’m sorry. Force of habit.”
“Considering everyone an enemy?”
“Yes.” His unadorned answer made her sad.
“I’m not your adversary. Forget what I said before.”
The war had been waged inside her, and she’d made her decision. She wouldn’t break her promise to him for some petty revenge, not when she’d wanted him almost from the first moment she saw him. It strained credulity that she could be with him now, like this, his sleekness tousled from her hands, his gaze shimmering with warmth, like sunlight on ice. Søren smoothed a hand over her hip, and Mia gave a lazy smile, sliding her leg over the top of his.
“That means . . . a great deal to me. Understand that I can’t reciprocate much, but . . .” He paused, sweetly sheepish. “I find I want to know everything about you.”
“Really? Well, I grew up in Minnesota, a small town called Pine Grove. My parents weren’t well off and . . . they were always fighting. My mother met my father while she was traveling in Iran. She was a photojournalist. They fell in love. He came with her back to America, but she wouldn’t marry him. She was . . . a feminist.” Mia turned her face against his chest, knowing each word would feel like a kiss. “My father was . . . old world in many of his beliefs. It drove him crazy that she wouldn’t take his name.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, careful and tender. “I don’t imagine that ended well.”
She shook her head. “After years of fighting, my dad gave up and went back to Iran. My paternal grandfather calls me his son’s child of shame.” Mia didn’t like remembering, but folded in his protective embrace, those memories lost much of their sting. “I spent a summer in Iran when I was thirteen. My dad wanted me to understand my ethnic heritage. I’m sure he meant well.” Surely, he couldn’t have known how she’d be treated there.
“It changed you.”
Mia inhaled. She couldn’t speak of how she’d been made to feel. “Yes. I never took my freedoms for granted anymore.”
“No,” he said soberly. “I suppose you would not. Were you close to your mother?”
“No.” She tried not to sound bitter. “As it turns out, she wasn’t cut out for motherhood. Being tied to one place made her angry. She loved to travel, and each time she looked at me, she saw the anchor holding her in place.”
So she drank. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.
A long silence built. At first she thought she must be boring him, but when she eased back to gaze into his face, she saw a quiet storm building. “I have no time for those who don’t value their children,” he said tightly. “Nor compassion, either.”
Whoa, I hit a nerve. Mia filed that tidbit away for later scrutiny. Right now, she was enjoying his protective instinct. That response told her a great deal.
“I don’t talk to her much.” Not since she got out of rehab three years ago and came to give me a perfunctory apology, part of her steps. “She’s on the move constantly. Last I heard, she was in Kazakhstan, chasing a story.”
“Let me guess the rest. With your brilliant mind, you earned a scholarship and sent yourself to college with no help from anyone.”
Mia ducked her head. “Not quite. My dad sent me money for expenses, but I invested in stocks instead and took a part-time job in the university bookstore. Once I got out of school, those dividends gave me the capital I needed to go into business as a forensic accountant without first working for another firm.”
His expression pleased her to the point of absurdity. “You are . . . exceptional.”
“No,” she denied. And then: “Well, maybe a little.”
“Where did you go to college?”
“Carlow. It’s in Pittsburgh.”
“I was expecting one of the Ivy League schools.”
Mia shook her head. “In my opinion, they’re a bit overpriced.” She shifted, running her fingers down his chest. His intake of breath did wonders for her ego. “You said you can’t reciprocate much. Surely there’s something you can tell me.”
“My parents,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “They were fantastic. They taught me the importance of keeping your word and working hard.”
“What happened to them?”
His level look said he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. Instead, he said wonderingly, “I didn’t plan this. I don’t think I could have planned for you.”
“Good to know I’m not predictable.”
“And the truly amazing part is, I want you again.”
Her lips twitched. “I noticed. I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“How remarkably discreet of you.”
“You know we still can’t—”
“I know. I’ll be prepared next time.”
Next time? Mia’s eyes widened as he kissed his way down her stomach. Oh, God, he was going to kill her. But she’d die smiling.
Søren knew he was becoming obsessed with her. He’d watched her sleep for the last hour, stroking her hair. Get up, he told himself. Go. But he couldn’t make his muscles obey with her cuddled against him. Nothing had felt so good for years. Her quiet breathing lulled him, and before he realized it, he broke his last rule. He slept.
The sun beat down on
him as he walked, sweat trickling down the small of his back. Overhead the sky blazed blue. He could see the white house where they lived from here, its green shutters brightening the place up. The paint had been Lexie’s idea. Since she’d been so quiet after her mother died, he had a hard time telling her no these days. Forest green shutters seemed like a small thing to give a kid who had lost so much. They’d also painted her room a rosy pink, and he’d stenciled strawberries in a border around the walls.
It was a nice neighborhood, where children could safely play in the front yards. In the distance, he heard the tinny tune of the ice cream truck, two blocks away. Kids gathered on their front porches, change clutched in their grimy hands.
Today, he was coming back from the post office after mailing off another round of résumés. Things were tight—there never seemed to be enough money to fix things up the way he wanted. But he kept the electricity on and food on the table and managed to pay the neighbor, a stay-at-home mom with two kids of her own, to look after Lexie while he worked. Whitney let him use play dates to run errands; otherwise, he’d have to drag Lexie everywhere with him, which he wouldn’t mind, but it wouldn’t be fun for her.
After paying postage, he had two dollars cash left until his next payday. Fortunately, the bills were paid, and they had food in the house. Lexie was good about not asking for toys constantly; she seemed happy enough with his undivided attention. In the evenings, they played Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land. Afterward, he whipped something up for dinner; tonight he was thinking macaroni and cheese, fortified with tuna and peas—what his mother called a poor man’s casserole.
Then they took their plates to the couch to watch TV together. His wife had always insisted they eat at the table, which was why he’d switched it up. The loss didn’t trouble him as much; he’d lost her long ago. But for Lexie, the grief was fresh, and he tried to spare her the reminders.
He spotted his daughter from half a block away. She’d just come out Melissa’s front door with their neighbor’s girls. Sunlight glinted off her light brown hair, finding the golden strands. Happiness swelled inside him. Because of her, he had purpose. He had a place he belonged.