She had the same feeling now. This man. This instant. God, she could really have him. She could just reach out and touch him and answer all those burning questions she’d had for years.
What was so great about sex? Why did everyone care so much about it? All her life, she’d never understood. And, if anything, she’d avoided looking for answers. She was overwhelmed with the sudden certainty that if anyone on this earth could show her, it was John McAllister.
“Celie?” Frowning, he stepped closer.
She lifted an unsteady hand and took off his baseball cap. Waves of damp brown hair fell forward, but not before she caught the spark of heat in his eyes.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was low, almost like a growl.
“What?” She held his cap at her side, and the warmth of his body heat seeped into her fingertips.
“Look at me that way.” He leaned closer, and she smelled grass again and sweat. “Not unless you plan to do something about it this time.”
She eased her head back, tipped her chin up, and stared him straight in the eye. Everything she needed, everything she was feeling, she wanted him to see it. Time seemed to stop as she stood there with her heart racing, wondering what he would do.
Then he did exactly what she’d expected—he dipped his head down and kissed her.
CHAPTER
12
It was like a levee bursting, in her mind, in her body. She was inundated with so many sensations: his lips hard against hers, the warmth of his hands, the soft little noises that were coming from her own throat. Then there was something flat behind her shoulders, and she realized he’d backed her against the wall. The solid weight of his body pressed into her, and she stood on tiptoes and squirmed against him, trying to line things up just right.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against her temple. The rest of it was lost, though, as she yanked his head down for another kiss. He tasted so good, and she couldn’t get enough of his hips pinned against her, his tongue delving into her mouth. She skimmed her hands down his back. She loved the taut muscles, the valley of his spine, the smooth feel of his skin beneath his shorts.
He pulled back abruptly. “I need a shower,” he gasped. “Give me two minutes.”
She didn’t want him to shower. She liked him hot and glistening and smelling like summertime. Plus, if he left her for even a moment, she might chicken out. And she wanted to do this.
He raised his eyebrows. “One minute?”
Instead of answering, she trailed a hand down her chest, unfastening the buttons of her blouse.
His gaze dropped, and he looked pained. “God, Celie. I swear, just give me thirty seconds.”
But then she shrugged her shoulders, and her shirt fell to the floor, and the next thing she knew, his head was burrowed against her neck and he’d filled his hands with her breasts. She felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin as he made his way down, down. His hands cupped her hips, and she started to get alarmed, but then suddenly he lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
She clutched his neck and squealed as he stumbled into the living room. “Oh my God, put me down!” she sputtered, laughing. She was too heavy for this. He’d probably throw out his back, and she’d die of embarrassment. “McAllister! I mean it!”
“No way.”
He carried her into a darkened corridor, and then through another doorway into a small bathroom. He set her down on a pedestal sink and reached into the shower to turn on the faucet.
“Takes a second to warm up,” he said, breathing hard. And before she could reply, his mouth was back on hers. His kiss was rough and demanding, and she could taste all that pent-up need. She felt a cool draft against her skin as he unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms. Then his mouth was hot on her breast, pulling and nipping, and she yelped.
His head jerked up. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s just…good.”
If possible, the look in his eyes became even more heated. He kissed her neck, clutching her thighs through the thin cotton of her skirt. He eased her forward, off the sink, so she was standing again, and she felt his hands tugging at her clothes. Then suddenly fabric pooled at her feet and she was naked, right there in front of him.
“How did you…?”
Before she could finish, she looked down and saw that he was naked, too. Her courage vanished. Just like that. She looked up at him and tried to speak, but no words came out.
He seemed to sense her shift in mood, because the groping stopped and he looked at her for a long moment. Then he drew her into his arms and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured.
She felt him, like a steel rod, jutting against her. She leaned her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart hammer as she tried to relax, but her throat felt so tight she couldn’t breathe. She heard the steady thrumming of the shower as the bathroom filled with steam. Why couldn’t she do this? Tears stung the backs of her eyelids, and she felt mortified.
“Come on,” he whispered.
And then he took her by the hand and stepped into the shower. He didn’t look at her body, just her eyes, as if he knew she felt vulnerable. She took a deep breath and stepped in beside him.
He turned her so that her back was to him and the hot water sluiced into the space between them. He kissed the back of her neck, and she felt his fingers loosening her ponytail. Then he combed his hands through her hair as she stood there under the streaming water and closed her eyes.
Minutes passed as the water splashed over them. His strong hands kneaded her shoulders, and her fears seemed to swirl down the drain.
“Relax,” he murmured in her ear.
She nodded, although that was the last thing she could do. His hands glided lower, slowly, over her arms and hips, over her stomach and thighs, until her body started to quiver. He circled an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. She tipped her head back and let him touch her everywhere he wanted to, everywhere she needed him to, as steam surrounded them and the tension gathered inside her.
Finally, she turned into him and brought his mouth down to hers, and all she could think about was how much she craved this man, everything about him. The kiss went on and on until she knew they were both aching from it.
He started to step away, but she caught his arm.
“Let me get a condom,” he said.
But she didn’t want him to leave, and she didn’t want a condom either. “Are you healthy?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “Yeah.”
“Then you don’t need one.”
She tried to kiss him again, but he pulled back.
“You’re on the Pill?”
She nodded. It was a lie, but she couldn’t bring herself not to tell it. Whatever this was, whatever chance she was taking, she didn’t want to think about it too much.
She stared up at him. His hair was dark and wet and slicked back from his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. She saw something guarded in his gaze, that skepticism she’d seen so many times before. He had good instincts about people, but she did, too.
“Please?” she heard herself say. “I want to feel you.”
His eyebrows tipped up at the words. He reached for her hands and fastened them around his neck. “Hold on,” he said. And then he lifted her up, just as effortlessly as before, and lowered her onto him.
It was hot and painful, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out. Her back pressed against the cool tile, and he moved against her, slowly, steadily, until the pain was replaced by layers and layers of pleasure.
“John, I—”
“It’s okay,” he said tightly.
“But…oh my God.”
“I’ve got you.” His arms tightened around her and his breath heated her neck, and she felt like he was touching her very soul.
She clung to his shoulders, trying to get back some kind of contr
ol, but everything was too much, too strong. He pulled his head back and looked into her eyes. She saw the tension in his face and something else, too, something raw and desperate that sent her plunging over the edge, dragging him with her.
Stunned.
That’s how she felt staring at his bare backside as he stood at the linen cabinet. He turned, and she snapped her gaze back up to his face. He handed her a blue bath towel, folded guy-style in a big square. As she wrapped it around her body, he pulled another towel out for himself and slung it low around his hips. Then he took her hand and led her down the hallway and into his bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them.
The room was sparsely furnished, and a simple black spread covered the bed. McAllister pulled her down onto it and leaned over her, propping himself up on his elbow. A smile spread slowly across his face, and she felt her cheeks flush.
She had no idea what to say. It had been sweet, and then painful, and then amazingly good, and the first thing that came to her mind was “thank you,” but somehow that sounded all wrong.
He twisted a lock of her wet hair around his finger and his smile faded. “Tell me about your meeting with Rowe,” he said.
Wow. So much for talking about making love. But maybe that’s not what it had been to him. A hollow space opened up in her chest as she tried to adjust to the idea. She’d known she wouldn’t be any good at this, but she’d wanted to try it anyway. She didn’t regret it, but the ramifications were starting to become clear. She was going to get her heart crushed here.
He dropped his head down and kissed her collarbone. “You’d better make it quick, because I have plans for tonight, and they don’t involve fighting with you about this.” His wet hair tickled her throat. “So what happened? They told you they’d send an agent, right?”
Okay. Clearly, this was no big deal to him. She was the one who felt like the world had just spun off its axis.
“Celie?” He paused and looked up at her. “Honey, you’d better start talking, or else I’m liable to get distracted.”
“Yes, they offered to send an agent.”
His forehead wrinkled. “And you said no, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but Rowe insisted. He said I’d be much more likely to hinder the operation than help it. He agreed to let me be on the sidelines, though.”
“I knew it,” he muttered. He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Damn it, this is exactly why I wanted to go with you. I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”
She sat up on her elbows. “I can’t just sit at home while all this happens without me.”
“Why not?”
She scoffed. “Because it’s not right. This is my problem. I feel guilty enough getting agents involved—”
“It’s their job to get involved. They’re trained.”
“Yes, but what if someone gets hurt? God, as if I don’t have enough guilt in my life already.”
He shot her a disbelieving look. “You have guilt? What the hell for? You’re a saint.”
The hollow in her chest grew bigger. He didn’t understand her at all. “Well, let’s see. I feel guilty for stealing two hundred thousand dollars. I feel guilty for lying to law enforcement. I feel guilty for spending years with a man who was helping put drugs into the hands of children while I was busy playing tennis. ”
“That wasn’t your fault. Your only mistake was marrying a prick.”
She sat up and plunged on, just to prove to herself how little he knew her. “I feel guilty for being jealous of my best friend. I feel guilty for contributing to the stress that caused my dad’s heart attack. I feel guilty for—”
“Stop it.”
“—avoiding my mother all the time.”
“This is crap. You’ve spent your entire adult life helping other people. Why can’t you accept someone else’s help for a change?”
I feel guilty for lying to you. She wanted to say it, but she didn’t have the nerve. He was looking at her with so much intensity, she was scared to think how he’d react.
He’d be furious. And he’d be right.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.
He shook his head and looked away. Something out the window caught his eye, and he crossed the room to peer through the blinds.
“Oh my gosh, T-Bone!” she squeaked, realizing what he was staring at. “I told him I’d only be a minute!”
McAllister scowled at her. “His name’s T-Bone ? Are you fucking kidding me?”
She gave him a sharp look. “His name’s Tom. And I need to go tell him—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, catching her arm as she tried to leave the room to track down her clothes. “I’ll go talk to him. I’ll tell him to take a hike because you’re staying with me tonight.”
She froze. He wanted her to stay. Was this his usual procedure, or did he actually enjoy her company? Maybe he just wanted to make love again. Or…whatever he thought they’d just done. Maybe she did, too, and who cared what they called it? They didn’t have to call it anything. They could just be together, in the moment, not analyzing everything to death.
“If I stay here, I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said. “I don’t like arguing with you.”
“Fine. We’ll find something else to do.” He looked her up and down, and she felt like he could see right through her towel. “You like hamburgers?”
“Um…sure.”
“I’ve got some in the fridge. We can grill out tonight if you want.” He glanced at the window. “Or maybe I can grill out, and you can stay inside. Lemme throw on some clothes and go talk to T-Bone. ”
She took a deep breath. This was crazy. She was crazy. She was going to spend the night with him in his cozy little house and have incredible, decadent, no-strings-attached sex.
With her luck, she’d probably fall in love with him before the burgers came off the grill.
John woke up with a start. He’d heard a noise—
Slam.
The screen door. He sat up and glanced at the empty space beside him in bed.
“Celie?”
He walked through the darkened house and found her sitting on his back steps in the dark. What the hell was she doing? It had to be 3:00 in the morning.
He pushed the screen open and stepped outside.
“It’s nice here,” she whispered.
He sank down beside her on the stoop. All the lights were switched off, and he could hardly see her there in the shadows. But he felt her body heat.
“Not much to see.” He stroked a hand down her back. She was wearing one of his old T-shirts, and, for some crazy reason, that made him happy.
“Yeah, but it’s so still tonight.” She sighed wistfully. “I miss being outside.”
His neighbor’s porch light was the only thing illuminating her face, and he couldn’t see her expression well.
“You live right next to a greenbelt,” he said. “Don’t you ever get outdoors?”
She shrugged, and he suddenly understood what she was telling him. She didn’t go outside much, and certainly not at night. Forget taking a stroll on the lakefront or exploring Austin’s hike-and-bike trails. The woman was afraid to go out alone, especially after dark.
John couldn’t imagine living that way. Some of his fondest memories were of taking in the view from some remote cliff side or watching the sun go down over a deserted stretch of beach.
He picked up Celie’s hand, and she leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She smelled like soap and sex, and the combination was an unbelievable turn-on.
“I want to take you out on my boat sometime.”
“We just went on your boat.”
“Yeah, but I mean for real. Just to relax. No distractions.” He’d slipped his hand around her waist and found her skin soft and warm beneath his shirt.
“No distractions at all?”
He’d kissed her neck. “Well, maybe a few.”
Celie spent the bet
ter part of Sunday hiding. She ran errands with T-Bone all morning. She spent nearly two hours in the fitness room in the afternoon. After a quick shower, she sought refuge in Dax’s apartment.
“You can’t do this forever, you know,” Dax told her as they hung out together in his kitchen.
His apartment was the mirror image of hers, but besides the floor plan and the ivory paint, they had virtually nothing in common. Dax had taken the time to decorate his place in a theme that he described as rustic-modern. Furniture made of glass, steel, and black leather competed for attention with hand-carved wooden statues and trinkets from around the world. The walls were lined with black and white photographs of famous baseball parks.
Celie hadn’t had the heart for decorating anything since her divorce. Her efforts had consisted of throwing down a new bath mat and buying a ficus.
Celie sat on Dax’s leather bar stool and toyed with an African fertility totem. The statue was a short male warrior with an exceedingly large penis.
“Sweetie? Are you listening?” Dax asked. “You’re going to have to face the music sometime. That man doesn’t seem like the type to give up easily.”
“Says who?” Celie asked, although she suspected Dax was right. “Maybe he’s relieved. From everything I can gather, he values his freedom.”
Dax eyed her across the chopping block in his kitchen. He was making sangria for a barbecue he’d been invited to this afternoon. “Well, I barely know the man,” he admitted, squeezing lime juice into a bowl. “But if someone spackled my ceiling, I’d think he had more in mind than just a one-night hookup.”
“Well, what if that’s all I want? I just barely got divorced. The last thing I need right now is a relationship.”
Dax gave her a baleful look. “You can tell everybody else that, sweet pea, but I know better. You like this man. A lot. I think you’re doing a preemptive dump.”
“A preemptive dump.” Celie ran her fingers over the smooth wooden statue. For some reason, it reminded her of McAllister.
Dax shrugged and sliced up an orange. “Sure. You expect him to drop you, so you drop him first and pretend not to care. I’ve done it a few times myself. It’s a textbook defense mechanism.”
One Wrong Step (Borderline Book 2) Page 14