Not in Her Wildest Dreams

by Dani Collins

She raised her brows. “‘Til I was twenty-two, if you must know. Will you promise me you won’t fire Lyle without talking to me first?”

  “Twenty-two? Really? Has Seattle got a large population of gay men? Because I can’t believe no one made a play sooner than that.” He’d lost some of his implacable hardness, was holding his cup in loose fingers and his eyelids were at a considering half-mast.

  “I have a healthy respect for the consequences of lust.”

  He lifted his brows, a prompt for her to continue.

  She set the screws inside the overturned switch plate so they’d be less likely to roll away again and said with some reluctance, “I watched Dad destroy his relationships because he follows wherever his urges take him. Britta wound up pregnant and married, stuck here because she gave in to her hormones. She kicked Lyle out because he cheated, and he really wanted to be with Zack, but couldn’t seem to help himself with Tina.” She shrugged. “Heck, when I got carried away with you, it turned out pretty awful. It makes a girl wary. So, about Lyle?”

  “Is that what you meant last night, when you said it was a bad idea? You’re scared of your own sexual feelings? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “No.” This was not what she’d come here to talk about. Flutters of caution started up in the depths of her abdomen. She eyed the door.

  He noticed and a bemused smile lit his expression.

  “What?” She scowled.

  “Nothing.” He set his hips against his sturdy cherrywood table, his coffee mug making a soft thunk as he placed it where he wouldn’t knock it over. “Just that you wouldn’t be looking to escape if there wasn’t something making you nervous.”

  All her flee instincts went on red alert. “I have a lot of work to get back to. That box of paperwork needs sorting, for starters. So if we could agree on Lyle?”

  “Chicken,” he mocked, amused, darned close to smug. “Come here,” he invited, spacing his feet wide so there was room for her between his legs.

  The little flutters in her tummy grew into swirls and eddies of stronger currents. She hugged herself and stayed where she was.

  “Just for a minute.” He leaned forward and plucked at the hem of her T-shirt, cajoling her to move closer.

  “I’m telling you, I know better.” But she let him draw her two reluctant steps forward. Idiot. No sense of self-preservation at all. At least she’d brushed her teeth.

  He splayed his fingers out so the heat of his palms rested on the outsides of her thighs, his fingertips extended below the edge of her shorts, making her bare skin tingle.

  He was leaning forward, eye-to-eye with her, and he shifted his hands to apply the tiniest bit of pressure to the back of her legs, an invitation to step closer. She didn’t, and his hands settled more warmly against the backs of her thighs, the ‘U’ of his thumbs and forefingers shaping the bottom curves of her buttocks.

  Sensation raced inward, stabbing a sharp point between her thighs and spreading heat upward through her ribcage, tightening her nipples so they hurt.

  She could smell him, warm and male, coffee and laundry soap and a woodsy deodorant. Heady and enthralling.

  “You know,” he murmured, “whenever I think about getting another chance with you, you’re still a virgin, but I am oh-so-much better equipped to deal with that.”

  Amused, breathless, she said, “And this does it for you?”

  “Every night since I’ve been back in town.”

  She tried to shake her head, but when he applied pressure to her legs again, more insistent this time, she moved closer, so her stomach grazed the rippled fly of his shorts.

  She held her breath as he slid his hands up, over her hips, trailing the backs of his bent knuckles along the sides of her breasts, watching the path his hands took.

  “So this feels wrong?” he asked. “Forbidden? ‘Cause I can work with that.”

  Her throat grew thick and her voice refused to show up.

  He splayed his hands over her ribs, pulling her T-shirt taut so her breasts and nipples were profiled by the soft cotton. They both stared at the evidence of her growing arousal.

  His one hand went behind her back, knotting the fabric in his fist between her shoulder blades. The pressure unbalanced her. She had to take one more step, pressing herself into the notch of his thighs. He hugged her with the strength of his legs, and steadied her with the bar of his forearm behind her while he raised his other hand to oh so carefully draw his fingertip across the jut of her nipple.

  She gasped at the sensation, so intense from such a light touch.

  “Scared?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Terrified.” She was. Her heart was pounding and her brain kept telling her she really ought to leave. Or finish talking about whatever they’d been talking about. Or something.

  He slid down an inch so she could feel his erection against her mound while he ran his hand up and down her side, gently shaping her breast and gliding away, lifting her arm and bringing her hand to his shoulder.

  She brought the other one up, dug her fingernails into the bare skin at the top of his spine, grazed her hands across his beautifully developed shoulders, thinking she ought to stop this, but lust—oh, yes it was pure lust—hazed her thoughts. She began to rationalize allowing this.

  Which was the real source of her fear: that she wouldn’t make a lucid decision, but would let unfettered desire take her where it would. She was already sinking into him, tilting her head so he could nuzzle her neck, boneless. Shameless.

  She closed her eyes, told herself it was just a little necking and she’d stop him in a minute, then he gently pinched her nipple. Automatically using the leverage of her hips to put space between their chests, she found pressure where she needed it most. She wriggled into the vee of his thighs, moaning softly.

  “Too much?” he asked in a gruff voice, fingers still playing, his thighs relaxing so she could roll her hips freely.

  She made a noise of negation against his throat, left a tiny love bite when he pinched her again.

  He twisted her so her head fell against his shoulder and her mouth was angled just right for his kiss, then he played the front of her body like an instrument, fingers skimming and drawing sweet notes of sensation so she arched, taut and needy.

  Cupping his head in both hands, she kissed him with blatant enjoyment, taking her fill because things were getting wild fast and she needed to leave, but she just wanted a good drink.

  His tongue felt really good stroking hers, and she liked his touch on her breasts. The way he rubbed her stomach was a surprising turn on and—she sucked in her stomach as she felt his hand climb beneath her T-shirt.

  She shouldn’t let him, she knew she shouldn’t, but oh that felt good. Her skin was cool from the morning air, his hand hot, branding her and making her nipple prickle with excitement.

  Blind passion swamped her. She needed to feel his skin.

  Him. Needed him.

  She yanked to lift his shirt from the press of their bodies.

  He helped her, then it was gone. She could see and smell and taste.

  And feel.

  They paused once in the hall, when he pressed her against the wall. He said, “Slow down,” but she had the thick heat of him in her hands, his open fly rough against the back of her hand.

  His hands moved to tug at her shorts.

  They scattered their clothing on the floor beside the bed. She lowered onto a cool cloud of blue as he covered her with hot skin and flexing muscle. The weight of a fiercely aroused man pinned her to the bed, delicious in a way she’d been missing since leaving her husband. She loved the feel of a man on her like this. Rough hair, no give, demanding hands, one going behind her knee while he slid down from sucking her breast to lick her stomach.

  God, she was on fire. “No, I need you in me. Now.”

  He made a guttural, angry sound and slid up. In. She was so wet, there was no resistance, only delicious hard heat filling her.

  Finally. She arched, groan
ing with abject passion, letting him know unreservedly that this was good, so good.

  His chest heaved with huge breaths. His cheekbones were flushed, his eyes glassy. Carefully, he withdrew.

  She panicked, clawed at him, lost him. “Don’t stop.”

  “You’re making me insane,” he muttered, leaning away to yank open a drawer in the headboard. Then he pressed her into the puffy duvet once more.

  He tore open the condom with his teeth. They both fumbled with it, then it was on and he was entering her again, thrusting deep, really meaning it this time.

  She wrapped her legs around him, dug her fingernails into his scalp, and drew rough, growling sounds from him as they writhed and strove for more, deeper, harder. She was caught in the streaking train of acute pleasure, so close to losing it, so close, searching for that perfect sensation. There. There.

  Her world exploded.

  ~ * ~

  More.

  The thought came from the primal center of his brain, the first coherent word his empty mind was able to produce as orgasm faded into aftershocks. It was a wonder he had the capacity to breathe. If he and Paige had gotten this far fifteen years ago, no way would he have left town.

  Her breaths were still jagged and she trembled beneath him, eyes closed, lips parted and glossy, her skin as damp as his. Tiny quakes interrupted the rapid rise and fall of her beautiful breasts, a particularly acute one tightening her around him so he clenched his teeth and sank his weight down onto her again. Wanting deeper.

  Wanting more.

  Christ, he hadn’t shown any finesse at all. He’d acted like some kind of caveman. He might have left bruises.

  “D’I hurt you?” He pressed his still numb lips to the red mark on her shoulder.

  At the same time, his front door opened, and his mother called, “Sterling?”

  Paige scrambled from beneath him like a cat fighting a bath.

  “It’s okay,” he insisted, barely speaking, holding up a staying hand as he staggered off the bed, discarded the condom, and reached for his sweatpants. “Don’t come down,” he called to his mother as he yanked them up his legs. “I was just getting into the shower.”

  “Don’t let her see me. Please,” Paige whispered, reaching past him for her shorts on the floor. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, catching her arm.

  “I’m fine.” His mother had heard his question. She was coming down the hall. “Everyone was asking what happened to you last night.”

  Paige bit her lip, anxious horror reflected in her pleading eyes as she clutched her T-shirt to her chest.

  Sterling, still tying the drawstring on his pants, headed his mother off in the hall, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.

  “We didn’t know what to say.” She wore full make-up and smelled like she’d just come from having her hair permed. “I had your father drive by here on our way home, but the lights were off.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  He glanced at the red welts of passionate scratches. “The...thing fell on me,” he mumbled. “That’s why I need a shower, to clean it. Has Dad seen the crack in the front steps? Is he here?” He basically shoved her toward the front door and through it.

  “No. I want an answer about last night, Sterling.”

  “Someone searched Paige’s car. She was scared to go home alone so I took her.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” She touched the pearls at her throat, sounding weird, but he didn’t deconstruct it, too anxious to get rid of her.

  He slapped the screen door closed behind them.

  “You took her to her home?” she clarified.

  “That’s right.” It was cool outside, killing the last of his sex buzz, drying his sweat.

  His mother wasn’t looking him in the eye, too busy glaring at his chest.

  It was obvious, of course, what he’d been up to. Sexual satisfaction had to be steaming from his pores.

  Her gaze went to the driveway, noted the absence of a second car, came back to his. Her mouth puckered with disdain. “I expect better of you.”

  “I expect you to knock.”

  Her keys jangled as she jerked them from her purse. “We’ll talk about this later.” She headed for her car.

  No, we won’t. But he didn’t stick around to argue. He went back to the bedroom, but Paige was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  What had she been thinking? God, she was such a Fogarty. Paige berated herself the rest of the day. She never should have kissed him. Never should have gone over there.

  She felt so stupid. Like the virgin who fell for the player. Casual sex was not her thing at all. She was smarter. More disciplined. She had self-respect, damn it.

  Although she liked sex. A lot. She’d been missing it and that was the reason she’d been such a pushover, she told herself. She’d definitely go with that, and reminded herself that they were consenting adults, no crimes had been committed. It had happened, it had been a one-off thing, and they could just pretend it hadn’t happened.

  She snorted as she dried off after a vigorous shower. Yeah, he’d probably go along with pretending nothing had happened. What did she think? That he would start behaving possessively? Want to date her?

  She could just imagine what his mother would think of that.

  She sighed, depressed. Despite her shower, she could still smell him on her skin. The memory of his touch, intimate and knowing, was so visceral, her breaths shortened and her blood heated.

  If any part of her had thought having sex, finishing what they’d started so long ago, would actually exorcise him from her system, she was wrong. Now she knew how good he made her feel and her stupid, horny, Fogarty libido wanted more.

  ~ * ~

  Sterling was on the north side of the building Monday, discussing the sprinkler system with Quinn, when he caught sight of Paige across the yard, her gold-yellow dress snapping around her knees. Every male instinct he owned leapt up and took notice.

  She spotted them and hesitated.

  Quinn waved and she veered toward them, slowly picking her way across the yard.

  Sterling instantly felt like an ass. He hadn’t called. That wasn’t like him. He wasn’t a wham-bam, thanks-Ma’am guy. He was a dinner and flowers and call the next day gentleman.

  He’d been tied up with his parents, but that had been an excuse. He’d also been tied up internally, really stunned by how volatile they’d been. He never forgot a condom.

  And he hadn’t known what to say if he called. Thanks? Neither of them had planned to fall into bed. Getting involved with Paige wasn’t on his agenda. The opposite was. He was supposed to be showing some self-control and keeping their relationship professional-friendly. Not fuck-buddy work-buddy convenient.

  “Good morning,” she said as she got close enough. Color came into her cheeks and she skittered her gaze away before meeting his, looking to Quinn. “Where’s Lyle? I need to ask him something.”

  “I sent him home,” Sterling said, immediately getting the crinkly-brow, defensive scowl that annoyed him.

  “Why?” At least she was making eye contact.

  “No safety goggles.”

  “Couldn’t he borrow or purchase a pair from the supply room?” She swung that to Quinn.

  “Uh—”

  “You either come prepared to work or you don’t work,” Sterling said. It didn’t escape him that they were having the same argument they’d started before he’d hauled her into his bedroom and come hard and deep inside her.

  She swallowed, chin level, mouth belligerent. The paperwork she held fluttered in the breeze, making a crackling sound audible beneath the hum and grind of the equipment inside the building.

  “What did you want to see him about?” Sterling’s gaze went to the papers.

  She shoved them under her elbow. “I had some questions.”

  He settled his weight into the slouch of his hips.

  The wind dance
d her hair into her eyes. She tossed her head to knock it away.

  “So, um,” Quinn cleared his throat. “I’ll have the contractor quote on an extension to the sprinkler system?”

  “Right to the end of the building,” Sterling instructed, keeping his gaze on Paige, adding with clear enunciation, “Because the last thing I want to do is sink fifty thousand dollars into a company only to lose it because we’re not addressing safety concerns.” He raised his arm to point and give Quinn more instructions.

  “Subtle,” Paige muttered, checking out her shoes. “Get that from your mother?”

  He lowered his arm. “You said what?”

  She swiped at her cheek, trying to keep her hair from crawling across her eyes. “I thought your father wanted to wait until the buyout before doing any upgrades.”

  “I got tired of waiting so I put up my own money.”

  Her chin tucked into her neck with disbelief. “Was I suffering narcolepsy the day your father and I held that vote? Because I don’t recall being consulted.”

  Quinn shifted, obviously uncomfortable.

  Okay, screw further instructions. Sterling nodded at him and Quinn took off like a kid freed from chores.

  “I want the upgrades to happen so I’m making them happen.”

  “That’s nice. When did you decide to put up your own money?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “And you didn’t think to call me?” She looked away as soon as the words left her lips, mouth firming like she was sorry she’d said that.

  He felt another kick of guilt, which annoyed him for no reason he could grasp. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked around for someone doing something stupid so he could yell at them.

  “If you have something to say, say it,” he said, because the silence was thick with the herd of elephants standing on both their toes.

  She flinched and her shoulders went back. “I suppose your mother has been all over town with it?” Her gaze lodged like an arrow in his shoulder, her tone pointed and poisonous.

  His mother had made her opinion of the association known over Sunday dinner, but he’d been too busy arguing with his father to bite. She’d dropped it once he’d proposed investing his own money for the upgrade.