by Karina Bliss
Averting her eyes, Pip held out the cordless phone and said apologetically, “It sounds important or I would have taken a message.”
Shrugging on a shirt, he came out, holding the receiver to the clean side of his face. “Hello? Paul…What can I do for you?”
He listened, then his gaze lifted to Pip’s, intent and searching. “Let me get those details for you.”
She perched on the arm of the couch and tried not to listen as Joe relayed his account details. It wasn’t hard; she was acutely conscious of his muscled torso under the unbuttoned shirt. The gym was obviously a regular hangout for him.
Joe hung up and gave her an inscrutable look. “Come talk to me while I finish shaving.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, reluctant to enter what was suddenly a dangerously small space.
Unbuttoned sleeves fell back from his strong forearms as Joe lifted the razor and resumed shaving, seemingly absorbed in the task, but watching her in the mirror. “What exactly did Paul tell you when he thought you were me?”
Something about his studied nonchalance triggered a memory for her. He’d reacted like this when she’d asked him whether he’d had to sell his soul to get to camp. Then there was Kaitlin’s comment that Joe was doing a deal to help Grandpa stay in hospital. The recent telephone call became invested with new meaning. Pip blurted, “My God, you sold your apartment to be able to come to camp.”
She read the answer in his eyes before the shutters came down. “You’ve got a vivid imagination.” Seconds passed before he added, “But not a word to my ex-wife or daughter.”
“Of course not.” Still stunned, Pip could only stare at him.
“And it wasn’t only about keeping my promise about camp. A major deal I was relying on fell through last week, which would tie me to working longer hours. I sold my apartment to free up weekends for Kaitlin and to meet my father’s medical bills—he’s in private rehab after a stroke.”
He’d honored his commitment to his daughter…and his dad. Pip’s throat tightened.
In the mirror he frowned at her. “And it was minimum fuss, minimum effort. My tenants had once expressed an interest in buying it—all I had to do was call them. Only the sale moved more quickly than I expected.”
She nodded, still unable to speak.
Joe rinsed the razor under the faucet. “For the record, I can’t stand my father,” he said harshly. “So quit looking at me like I’m some kind of saint.”
If anything, that made his sacrifice more laudable, but Pip got the message. “No fear of that. The girls told me all about your underhanded tactics, Mr. Pro Dishwasher. So I’m onto you.”
He grinned despite himself, she could tell. “We’ll still beat you next year.”
“I won’t be here, next year. I’m going back to New Zealand at Christmas.”
Joe paused in his shaving. “Damn, I’d hoped to be in a better financial position by then. To ask you for a date.”
Her pulse leaped. “For the record, I’m not interested in your money.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Pip marveled that it didn’t crack with the heat. “You could ask me now.”
Joe wiped away the last remnants of shaving cream with a hand towel. When he looked up, his expression was detached again. “If I don’t have anything to offer a woman, I don’t offer.”
“Then why even tell me you’re interested?”
His mouth twisted. “I’m human.”
“Don’t you know it’s not a man’s troubles that define him,” she said softly, “it’s the way he handles them.”
“Yes, I do, which is precisely why I’m not embroiling you in my messy life.” As he spoke he did up the buttons of his shirt, then stepped past her to open the entry door. Gently he knuckled her cheek. “Next lifetime, Miss Browne.”
“If that’s what you want.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw and he dropped his hand. “Yes.”
“Then goodbye, Joe.”
Pip walked down the hall toward the elevator with dragging steps. Why was she so loath to let him go?
He was the kind of man—arrogant, wounded, stubborn—who never attracted her. Why work that hard? She pushed the elevator button, conscious of his gaze still on her. There was so much more to him, depths she wanted to plumb. Integrity. Hurt she could soothe. Pip was instinctive in her emotional choices; her family said impulsive. But she trusted the big insights.
The elevator doors opened, she turned and strode back to Joe. She refused to spend the rest of her life regretting the what-if. “I have to do this, at least once.” Grabbing his open shirt, she tugged until he lowered his head. Then kissed him.
His lips parted under hers in surprise, then Joe caught her hands and broke contact. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Pip blushed and dropped her gaze in confusion. Of course, a girl could also regret the things she did do. She tried to pull her hands free, but his grip tightened. “I’ve told you before about patting tigers through the bars.”
Her heart started to beat faster in a queer tattoo. She raised her eyes back up to his. “But they’re so cute,” she managed to say before his mouth captured hers, firm, demanding. It was a kiss that left her without a shred of lipstick or common sense. At last Joe lifted his head.
“Now go home,” he ordered roughly, and released her.
Pip held up a shaky finger. “One more,” she said, and with a groan he complied.
Kissing him was like playing with matches. One led to another, then another, and before Pip knew it her body was on fire, Joe’s shirt was unbuttoned and she was sliding her palms up and over all that muscle, heedless of being burned.
His skin was smooth and hot, taut over flesh and sinew. He lifted her so they were chest to chest, his fingers splayed across her rib cage, just under her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in sensation.
“So I said to Harry—”
Still holding Pip, Joe spun so his back blocked the open doorway, sliding her down his body and out of view of the passing couple.
“Evening,” said a man beyond Joe’s shoulder.
“Evening,” he croaked back.
They went on, the two voices, down the hall and into the elevator.
“Shut the door,” said Pip in a voice she barely recognized, when he turned back to her.
Joe left it open and started doing up the buttons of his shirt. His fingers shook. She laid her hand on them, a question in her eyes. He lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Pip, until I broker my next big deal, I don’t even have a home. But that’s not what’s stopping me. Kaitlin’s the only part of my personal life that’s going well and that’s entirely thanks to you. I’m not ready for another relationship and I don’t want to hurt you.”
The yearning in his eyes contradicted every word he said. She smiled at him tenderly. “You think I’d let you?”
A ghost of a grin touched that harsh mouth. Joe shook his head.
“Remember, you’re the one who’s going to be left,” she reminded him. “I’m returning to New Zealand in eleven weeks. The only reason I’m still here is to cover another teacher’s maternity leave until Christmas.”
His hand tightened on hers. “Last chance to run.”
She was already half in love with him. But did any woman walk away from the lure, the temptation of a dangerous attraction? Pip never invested more than she could afford to lose. And she figured she could handle a little heartbreak—if she had to. She lifted her chin. “Hey, I’m the woman who pats tigers, remember?”
“Then you’re in trouble.” Joe kicked the door shut. “Because this one’s out of the cage.”
CHAPTER TEN
TAKING PIP INTO HIS ARMS, Joe bent his head and gently nipped her full lower lip. She drew a sharp breath and he smiled into her eyes, the clearest lagoon-blue, flecked with green and a little uncertainty.
“Not so fearless now?”
Smiling, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and tugged him in
to a deep, no-holds-barred kiss that set his heart pounding and his blood roaring. He felt himself go mindless and hard. She didn’t wear any perfume and her fresh, natural scent was incredibly sexy.
Her hands scrambled with the buttons of his shirt; he shoved the coat off her shoulders and unzipped her gray shift dress. Between kisses, they stumbled backward toward the bedroom, littering clothes behind them until they were both down to their underwear.
By the bed, Pip reached for the zip on her knee-high boots and he saw with satisfaction that her hands trembled. “Let me.” He sat her on the bed, knelt down in front of her and took over the job. Her body was shaped like an hourglass with full curves and a tiny waist that Joe could almost span with his big hands. She was so fine-boned it gave him pause. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Smiling, Pip leaned forward and smoothed out his frown with her thumb. “I might have sore shoulder muscles from rock climbing, but I won’t break.”
His chest tightened at that smile, the gold and cream perfection of her. No, but I might. “I had no idea you were so beautiful,” he said honestly.
“Except for the sports bra,” she murmured, and it struck him that she always turned aside compliments. “I didn’t come prepared for this.”
A thought hit Joe like a bucket of cold water. “Then I guess you haven’t got condoms?” She shook her head. “Damn.” He rezipped the boots. “Neither have I.”
“I’m on the pill,” Pip reassured him, then colored. “Unless you mean we need to do blood tests and things? I’m healthy…Are you…” Her color deepened. “I mean, do you do this often? I don’t.” She blushed with her whole body. Fascinated, Joe’s gaze followed the glow.
“I haven’t had sex for two years and only ever with one woman.”
He’d come close a couple of times, but both women would have expected a more meaningful relationship, which had cooled his libido.
“Seriously, I’m the first since your divorce?” She regained her composure and an impish smile curved her lips. “I’ve had two lovers, so I guess I’m twice as experienced. In fact—” she lounged back on the pillows, and struck a provocative pose “—I’m almost a femme fatale.” She seemed so delighted Joe had to laugh.
“Bet I’ve had sex more.”
She pouted. “Not everything’s a competition, Joe.”
“Hey, you started it.” Her playfulness was a joy. He leaned forward to kiss her smiling mouth, and felt all his troubles slide away. “It’s only pregnancy that I’m paranoid about,” he reiterated.
“That’s why I’m still on the pill after nearly a year’s celibacy,” she said. Her smile faded as she sat up, unconsciously massaging one shoulder. “But we could go out and buy condoms if it will make you more comfortable.”
Her pragmatism reassured him. This woman wouldn’t be careless about birth control. Silently, he unzipped her boots again and pulled them off. Her shins were covered in bruises. Lightly, he touched one. “From camp?”
Pip looked and winced. “My femme fatal status didn’t last long.”
He saw she was embarrassed, and sat next to her on the bed, lifting her fingers to kiss them. “I like real better.”
She snatched her hand away. “Oh, Lord, I still have dirt under my fingernails.”
Joe captured her hands and kissed them again. “And I really like dirty girls.”
“How about recovering tomboys?” she joked, but he heard the undertone of mortification. It was oddly endearing that a woman who looked the way she did would have hang-ups about her femininity.
“What else could you be, growing up with three older brothers?” He could imagine her as a spitfire kid, hiding all her feelings under the veneer of a tough. It aroused a strange tenderness in him. “Pip, you could chew tobacco, kick tires and belt your jeans with frayed rope, but you’ll never be anything but a sexy, utterly feminine woman.”
She dropped her gaze. “Hey, Fraser, you’ve already got me into bed.”
“Yeah, so it must be true. Now turn over.” When she blinked, he chuckled. “Let me work on those sore shoulders before I get to the rest of you.”
“You don’t have to—”
He trailed a finger gently from the dip in her collarbone down, over her bra to her navel, stopping on the white bikini briefs. “Tonight, Miss Pip, I’m in charge.” He pressed lightly on the briefs, in exactly the right place, and her eyes darkened. His own control started to go and he had to remind himself they had all night.
Swallowing hard, Pip turned and lay on her stomach. Joe straddled her, unhooking her bra and massaging the nape of her neck and her shoulders. She squirmed in pleasure. “Oh, that’s so good, don’t stop.”
He kneaded his way down her back, hauling off her panties and barely resisting the temptation to slide a hand between her legs. Instead, he traced her spine with his lips, kissing a bruise on her left buttock, another on the back of her thigh. “Call yourself a toughie, Miss Browne?”
She turned over, distracting him with her pink-tipped breasts, firm and high, and a golden triangle of curls. Then she punished him with a teasing kiss that nearly decimated his self-control.
“Joe,” she pleaded, but he was nowhere ready to let her off the hook yet. He lowered his head to her breasts, teasing a nipple, sucking and pulling, his hand finally moving between her legs. Separating the curls, he found her so slick the ache in his groin went from pain to agony. Her questing fingers closed on him, not helping at all.
“Two can play at that game,” she whispered, her slightly prim New Zealand inflection at odds with the way she stroked him and the sensuality in her heavy-lidded gaze.
He’d suffered through a relationship that never overcame its rocky beginning. In the bedroom, Nadia was always desperate to please, while Joe had been equally desperate to feign the love she needed from him. All that pretending hadn’t made for good sex.
He’d never known what it was like to make love to a woman whose feelings he couldn’t hurt. Who had no shadows in her eyes. A woman who played with him, and drove him crazy—for her pleasure as much as his.
But tonight was all about giving to the giver. Trapping her exploring hands, he took back control.
JOE APPROACHED THEIR lovemaking with the same intent focus he’d brought to the camp challenges.
Pip’s breath hitched as he explored her body, so good, so very good at giving her what she wanted. She realized he was using her breathing as a guide to what she liked—a swirl of tongue in her belly button, a teasing brush of his fingers, a graze of teeth on a sensitive nipple.
Closing her eyes, Pip surrendered to sensation.
With my body I thee worship.
The line came into her head, so perfect a description of what he was doing. Making her feel beautiful, desirable, female in a way she’d never experienced.
“Philippa.” The deep timbre of his voice, husky with desire, burned through her like a lick of flame. She shivered as he brought her to the brink of orgasm, only to pull back. Again and again.
They had all night.
Making love in a hotel room, with the occasional sound of muffled voices passing down the corridor, lent a delicious illicitness to their passion, freeing Pip to indulge every seductive fantasy.
They kicked off the covers and lay naked on top of the bed. Under her fingertips, Joe’s skin gave off a wonderful radiant heat that made her want to burrow into his body.
“Enough,” she finally gasped, and straddled him. As she began easing herself onto him, Joe’s expression, predatory and tender, made her stomach swoop. Emotions pulled at her and, confused, she closed her eyes.
A finger gently stroked her lashes. Instinctively, Pip opened her eyes again, only to fall into the shimmering intimacy of Joe’s gaze as he thrust upward and filled her.
Something fragile, tentative, came to life, a wonder.
No! She read a similar consternation in Joe’s eyes and moved on him, distracting them both.
He gripped her hips, lifting her up, drawin
g her down, and she got lost in the feel of him, his hands guiding her, his body driving her in the slow, sweet building of an orgasm, followed by the dark rush into nothing but sensation.
Afterward, they lay for a long time, fingers linked, not speaking, in that quiescent peace that followed sex. Finally, hunger drove Joe to order room service. Pip had shared an early Chinese takeout with Anita, and settled for peppermint tea to settle a slight indigestion.
Wearing Joe’s bathrobe, she curled up on the sofa, sipping her drink, and watched him demolish a steak. Dressed in jeans, and with his hair ruffled, he looked good enough to eat.
Pip yawned. “I should go home.” She picked up her clothes from the floor.
“Stay,” Joe invited, pushing his plate aside. “I’ll take you out to breakfast in lieu of dinner.”
“My brother Ben usually calls on Friday night.”
With a wicked grin, Joe stood and ditched his jeans. The bedside lamp shadowed the indents in the long planes of hard male muscle.
The carpet was soft under Pip’s bare feet as she padded back to bed. “But I guess he can ring back. Do you have any siblings?”
“No.” Joe loped across the room and joined her under the sheets, tugging at the tie of the robe she still wore. “I have an uncle only nine years older who’s more like a brother, but work commitments mean we don’t spend much time together.”
Pip relinquished the robe. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”
He shrugged. “All the males in our family are loners. It’s in our genes. Seems we’re not cut out for matrimony—on both sides of the family tree.” At camp he’d made brief mention of his grandparents’ clandestine affair. “Though thanks to you, I’m improving our legacy as fathers.”
The robe was a tight bundle in his hands. Gently, Pip took it from him. “If you keep tensing your shoulders every time you mention your relatives you’ll end up with a bull neck, which would be tragic.” Joe looked at her blankly. “I mean,” she continued, “you’ve already got the tough guy look going on. Don’t overplay it.”