Slow Burn: Seducing Mr. RightTake Me

by Cherry Adair

  He carefully extricated himself from her, not touching more than he had to. She flinched and struggled to cover herself. The pale purple material of her dress was twisted around her middle. She tugged and pulled at it, not looking at him.

  God. He’d never seen a more abject picture of embarrassment in his life. He pulled the edge of the sheet to cover her pale, perfect, freckled body. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

  “No.” Her voice was muffled by the arm she’d flung over her eyes. The only way his little crab could hide.

  He reached out and clicked the light off, plunging the room into darkness, then lay down beside her. Inches separated their bodies. Miles separated their needs.

  “That was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

  The pause was so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Down the corridor someone broke the thick silence, filling an ice bucket. The room smelled of sex and heat and lost opportunities. Beside him, Cat lay mute.

  “Can you forgive me?” An overwhelming sense of dread settled on him.

  “Of course.”

  “That’s not how it’s supposed to be done.” He filled the excruciating silence with confessions. “And it was my fault. I should have realized that, without love, it would be harder for you to take. I just hope to God I haven’t spoiled it for you with the next man.”

  “The next... You th-think—you think if it wasn’t right with you it would possibly be right with someone else?” she asked bitterly into the darkness.

  He reached out to touch her. She jerked away. God almighty. Luke pressed hard fingertips into his burning eye sockets. He should be shot.

  “Trust me, sweetheart. Yes. Loving the person makes all the difference in the world.”

  “If you say so.” A world of doubt colored her words.

  “Are you really okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “If I go get a warm, wet towel will you let me—”

  “No!” She cleared her throat and repeated the word with less vehemence. “I’m going to get up in a minute and t-take a shower.”

  It was evident what she really wanted was to see the south end of his sorry ass heading north. Luke’s elbow bumped her ribs as he rolled over. She flinched. He swore under his breath. Oh, Lord. How was he going to fix this? What could he say? What could he do?

  Hands stacked under his head, and out of temptation’s way, Luke stared up at the ceiling with an aching heart. Beside him, she shifted restlessly, embarrassed and uncomfortable with him now. He’d blown it and blown it bad. He wanted to slide his arm under her shoulders and pull her back into his arms and against his thundering heart. He wanted to be articulate.

  Dammit. He wanted to be Mr. Right.

  “You know this changes our relationship, Cat.” It had to be said. Because he was trying so damn hard not to let any of the pent-up frustration and emotion seep out of his voice, it came out flat and surly.

  “I don’t want it to change,” Cat said fiercely. She shifted; her leg brushed his. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t want it to change?”

  “No. I like things just the way they were before.”

  “You want to forget this ever happened?” His hand bumped her nose as he reached out to touch her.

  “Ow. Yes.”

  “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Hey, Van Buren, don’t you have your own bed?”

  “Are you crying?” he asked softly. Yes, she’s crying, you insensitive, low-life moron.

  “Sinuses.”

  “Probably the air-conditioning.” Yeah, right. “You kicking me out, Catwoman?”

  “Don’t take this personally, Luke, but you’re taking up both halves of this bed, and I need to get some sleep before the main event tomorrow.”

  How much more personal could this get? Luke thought bitterly. He was completely naked. She had half her clothing on. He’d been so wild for her he hadn’t even noticed. Of course she wasn’t used to a man in her bed. Especially not Mr. Wrong. She’d been a virgin. Just because he’d never been any woman’s first was no excuse.

  “Can I at least wait until I get my breath back?” Until I can think of something to say or do that will make this better for you?

  “Hmm? Oh, sure. Gasp away.” The mattress shifted. “I’m going to the bathroom. See you in the morning.”

  See you in the morning?

  He heard her pad across the carpet. The bathroom door slammed shut. He watched for a sliver of light. He waited in vain.

  Luke’s throat closed. He was no Casanova, but he knew he had more finesse than this. What the hell was with him, anyway? He was so discombobulated with the taste, the touch, the smell of Cat that he didn’t know up from down or in from out. Now, when he wanted to be smooth and suave and say the words she needed, wanted, deserved to hear, he’d fumbled badly. Even if he was Mr. Wrong, he should have made it good for her.

  Not only had Cat lost her virginity to the wrong damn guy, he’d made her first sexual experience awful. He’d been a lousy lover. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d betrayed her trust, broken his promises and hurt her in all the ways a man could.

  Yeah. He was a real prince of a guy.

  He wanted to love her all night. He wanted to love her forever. Instead he’d behaved like a sixteen-year-old with his first girl. Hell. He felt like a sixteen-year-old with his first girl. With startling clarity, Luke realized that the last few weeks with Cat had been foreplay. Blow-your-socks-off, let’s-get-ready foreplay. He’d had about as much willpower as a wet rag.

  Luke wiped his damp palms on the tangled sheets. He felt as if he were traveling through an emotional storm. They’d taken an irrevocable step.

  He wanted to howl like a savage beast. He wanted to burst into the bathroom, grab hold of her and toss her over his shoulder. He wanted to bring her back to this mangled bed and make love to her slowly, tenderly, until they were both too weak to move.

  He wanted to grab her by her shoulders and demand she see that he was Mr. Right.

  But Cat’s feelings had to be paramount. Not his own. He knew Cat inside and out.

  Luke jerked upright, eyes narrowed on the bathroom door.

  He did a mental forehead slap. Damn right, he knew her inside and out.

  No way would his Cat make love with a man she didn’t love.

  What had he been thinking?

  As insecure as Cat was, she would never have slept with him if she didn’t love him. The fool woman was trying to be noble and save him from himself.

  Luke realized something else. He’d been so busy trying not to seduce her, he hadn’t noticed that she’d been doing her damnedest to seduce him for weeks.

  His heart took flight.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BLINDED BY TEARS, Catherine leaned her hip against the bathroom counter. The second she’d slammed the door behind her she’d yanked the dress, wound like a shroud around her middle, up and over her head. She was absolutely mortified.

  It didn’t help matters that she knew she was the one responsible for her own humiliation. The idea was for Luke to make the first move, remember? she castigated herself, while choking back a sob.

  Didn’t she have enough problems without this? One of the buttons on the back of the sundress had caught in her hair. She was stuck with her face covered, her arms pinned overhead by the inside-out dress, and no way to get free.

  This would be funny. In about ninety-eight years.

  The harder she struggled to free her hair, the tighter the tourniquet became around her upper arms. Furious, frustrated and trying to cry silently, she yanked savagely at the snarl behind her head. The harder she tried to free herself, the more fruitless it became. The harder
she tried to be quiet, the more the sobs hurt her chest. The harder she tried not to love Luke, the more her heart ached.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  The door snicked open. “Need help?”

  Catherine shrieked, then said bitingly, “Dammit, Luke. I’m stark naked here!” It was pretty obvious she couldn’t reach for a towel, let alone cover herself with her hands. She started to turn around, then quickly changed her mind. Besides, he’d seen every freckly inch of her already. “Get out, Van Buren!”

  “Hmm. This looks very interesting.”

  What a particularly weird situation this was—standing here buck naked, arms immobilized over her head, blind, furious and humiliated. “Find me a pair of scissors, then leave.”

  “Hair caught?” Although he wasn’t touching her, Catherine could feel the warmth of Luke’s skin all down her left side. “Why don’t you let me try to untangle it instead of cutting it?”

  “Because,” she said through her teeth “I don’t want you anywhere near me. Go away.”

  There was absolutely no point in rehashing what was obviously a no-win situation. She loved him. He cared about her. Close, but no cigar. She’d get over loving him. At about the end of the next millennium, but by God, she could do it. Starting now when she felt the heat of his hand on her hip. She crowded against the cold porcelain sink.

  “I don’t want you to touch me,” Catherine told him with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Darn,” Luke said softly, picking her up in his arms like Rhett about to carry Scarlett up the stairs. He was naked. Why hadn’t he dressed? “Isn’t that too bad.”

  “Put me down. Dammit, Luke. I’m not joking, put me do—” He dropped her on the bed. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, tears that had little to do with the fierce pull on her tangled hair.

  “Don’t suppose you had a chance to wash up yet?” Luke asked conversationally.

  Catherine could feel his eyes traveling down her body, and was grateful for the dress covering her face as she blushed. She wiped her hot, wet cheek on her upper arm. “I hate you,” she told him feelingly. “Go to your room.”

  She heard his departing chuckle. What...? Water ran. He was in the bathroom. Like a contortionist, she felt around the bottom of the bed with her toes for the sheet, hoping to cover herself before he came back.

  “Amazing.” The mattress depressed as he sat next to her. “Maybe you should have joined the circus.”

  “I won’t be at your mercy forever, Lucas Van Buren. Don’t!” she warned as he touched her thigh.

  “Let me at least do this, Cat.” His deep voice sounded achingly soft. “Please?”

  The man was infuriating. “At least turn the light off.”

  The warm washcloth touched her intimately. Catherine almost shot off the bed.

  “No.”

  She’d already forgotten the question... Oh, yes. The light. “What’s this? The equivalent of a paper bag over my head?”

  Luke laughed. “The equivalent of tying you to the bedpost.”

  “There are no bedposts.”

  “Exactly.”

  Catherine quivered like a horse at the starting gate as he stroked her intimately with the rough terry cloth. The heat of her skin dried the tears on her cheeks. She’d never felt more vulnerable and exposed in her life, and it had nothing to do with being naked. Well, not much, anyway. How could he do this to her? Didn’t he know what his earlier rejection had done to her?

  Luke efficiently finished bathing her with the washcloth, then tossed the cloth aside. She felt him get off the bed.

  “See you in the morning,” she said briskly. Not if I see you first.

  “Ah, my little crab. Convenient that you can hide under that pretty dress of yours. How lucky can a guy get?” The mattress between her feet depressed. She shrieked. She’d pictured him dragging on his pants and walking to the door.

  He picked up her right foot. “Don’t scream so loudly, Cat. It would be extremely embarrassing if hotel security burst in here and saw you like this. We’ll start here.”

  Catherine’s toes curled as his warm hand closed around her instep.

  “The first time I fell in love with these feet was...oh, I guess you were about sixteen.” His thumb caressed the length of her arch with sure, strong strokes. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. “You were sitting by the pool. You had on a swimsuit the same color as the water, do you remember? And you were painting your toenails Passion Pink. I thought you were the prettiest sight I’d ever seen.”

  “You’re c-crazy. My feet are huge.”

  “Nah, your feet are just the right size.” Moist breath flirted with her toes. She instinctively tried to tuck them out of sight. Luke chuckled. “Remember when we went shopping? Holy hell, Catwoman, I should be nominated for sainthood! I wanted to grab your feet, and...do...this....” He sucked her toes into the wet cavern of his mouth.

  Catherine almost came off the bed. Dammit, she wanted to see...no, she didn’t. She lay back against the mound of pillows and felt the slickness of his tongue as he ran it along the underside of her toes. The sensation was indescribable.

  “Luke...” She had no idea what she wanted to say, so it was a good thing he ignored the interruption. He licked and sucked and nibbled her toes, instep, arch, heel. It was the most intimate of seductions, yet he’d gone no farther than her ankles.

  By the time he set the second foot down on the bed, Catherine’s heart raced and she felt as limp as an overcooked noodle, yet as wired as if she’d just run a marathon. Blinking open her eyes, she wished she could see Luke’s face. But the darn dress was still firmly over her head.

  “Luke, could you please—”

  “Now I noticed your ankles a lot earlier, I must admit. You were probably fifteen or so. You’d just bought those gold high heels for that dorky Tony’s prom, remember?” Luke’s thumb caressed her right anklebone, while his lips skimmed over the left. The sensation shot to her very core. “You came down the stairs and the first thing I saw were your ankles. I about swallowed my tongue. World-class ankles, these.”

  He paid homage to every indentation. How could licking her ankle be erotic?

  “You were dating Anna Silk at the time.” Catherine shifted on the bed. Wanting to...wanting. “I was spitting jealous of her, and all those other girls you brought home to introduce to Dad. They were always beautiful.... You don’t remember Anna at all, do you?”

  “No. I remember a young girl who was all wild red hair and witchy eyes. I remember wishing she’d hurry and grow up.”

  His tongue felt slippery and rough at the same time as he laved her anklebone.

  “I loved you quite desperately when I was fifteen, you know.”

  His hands stroked up her calves. “Did you?” Luke whispered.

  “Oh, yes...” Catherine’s body vibrated like a tuning fork. “I’d loved you from the moment we met. But that was the year of my first full-fledged crush. You were so romantically wounded and brooding.”

  “Was I?”

  She struggled anew with her recalcitrant hair and that darn button. “I must have driven you crazy trailing after you. You accused me of stalking you, remember?”

  Luke kissed the back of her knee. His lips felt hot, and the touch of his mouth sent a shaft of pleasure skittering up her leg. “I wasn’t very kind.”

  “No, you weren’t. But I understood. You didn’t sleep over at the house very often, but when you did I’d try to be with you at every opportunity. I was starting to feel very grown-up, and I couldn’t understand why you didn’t notice me.”

  “I noticed. As I recall, you came home from a barbecue and you were wearing those funky shorts that came down to here.” The edge of his nail skimmed midknee. “Remember?”

  Remember? She could barely think now.
“You m-mocked me about those long shorts.”

  “Only to prevent myself from dropping to the ground and licking these knees. Trust me, Cat. I had dreams about these knees....” His tongue laved each knee in turn, while his clever hands stroked and petted. “Serious fantasies about them...”

  Catherine ached and throbbed, her nipples painfully hard. Moisture and longing pooled between her thighs. Luke had to be able to smell how hot he was making her.

  Again she struggled to remove the darn dress binding her. But after a few seconds, what Luke was doing took over her every thought. She lay back against the pillows, fisted her hands in her hair and just felt.

  “And Lord, your legs,” he said hoarsely, skimming both large hands up her thighs. Her muscles bunched and jumped under his expert caress. “I could go on for years about these gorgeous legs. Holy hell, woman. I had more wet dreams about these legs than a man has breakfasts. You laugh. I was a big man about town, and I was salivating over this exquisitely shaped pair.”

  How could he talk? How could she think? Catherine licked dry lips. “I’m c-covered in freckles.”

  “Thank you, God.” Luke shifted up the bed alongside her. She felt the glide of his hair-roughened thigh travel slowly up hers. “I’m going to spend a long, long time joining the dots. Be patient with me. It’ll probably take a lifetime.”

  Lifetime...?

  “I remember the night you stopped being tolerant of me,” Catherine murmured. “The girls took me to a strip club. My first time seeing naked guys. My first taste of beer. I came stumbling home and you were standing in the dark kitchen. You wore jeans and a black T-shirt. When I saw you, my heart about jumped out of my chest. I wanted so badly to be sophisticated. Of course, I also wanted to be a petite blonde,” she added dryly, wriggling as Luke’s agile tongue traveled across her hip.

  “You had stars in your eyes and wore a pale yellow dress. It floated around your legs as you dashed across the kitchen and into my arms.” His hand skimmed up her thigh, making her breath shudder in her throat.

  “You picked me up off my feet and swung me around. It made me dizzy. Then you pressed me against the fridge and kissed me.”