by Tawna Fenske
“What do you think?” she asked again. She held up two garments—dresses, he thought, made of something shimmery and expensive, though he couldn’t have named the colors or styles if someone tortured him.
Mac swallowed. “I think they’re stunning.”
“Mac?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
She tucked one finger under his chin and lifted to raise the direction of his gaze.
“About the dresses. What do you think about the dresses, not my tits.”
Mac tore his eyes from them and cocked his head. “To be fair, the tits are in my closet. It only seems appropriate I should admire them.”
Kelli laughed, but made no move to cover up. “Well we are engaged,” she said. “And we are having dinner tomorrow with your business associate. You should get to help pick the dress. Do you think chartreuse or aubergine?”
“I have no idea what you just said.” He looked at the dresses for the first time, noticing she’d picked out something green and one in a dark purple. “I don’t think that bra matches either dress.”
“Well, they are strapless dresses,” Kelli pointed out, holding them up for his inspection.
Mac nodded, and Kelli thrust them into his hands, forcing them to close around the hangers instead of around those gorgeous breasts cupped in satin and lace. He remembered what they’d felt like in his hands when he’d teased her in the car, and he ached to touch them again.
“I think the only way to try on these dresses is for me to remove my bra,” Kelli said. “Care to help me?”
Mac swallowed hard, thinking this was probably a very bad idea. Why was that again?
It was one thing to tease her when he was in charge of the situation, but Kelli was calling the shots now. The lack of control unsettled him.
It also excited him.
She turned, baring her back and the flimsy clasp of the bra so enticingly close, Mac could almost touch her. Then he was touching her, dropping the dresses in a puddle at his feet as he reached for the bra clasp. He flicked it open and pushed aside the lacy straps, his palms sliding around to cup her as his thumbs slid over her nipples. She was so warm, so sweet, so unbelievably soft—
“Oh, no you don’t,” Kelli scolded, stepping away and turning to face him. She angled her arm so it covered her breasts, but just barely. “We’re choosing dresses, remember?”
“Right. Dresses.” Mac nodded and Kelli gave him a smile. There was something different about it. Something not even remotely angelic. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. She was all devil now, her eyes flashing with mischief as she held those beautiful breasts just out of reach.
“I think you should turn around,” she said.
“What?”
“We aren’t married, you know. I don’t think it’s right for you to go staring at my bare breasts.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He took a step toward her.
She took a step back and shook her head. “Turn around.”
Mac blinked, not sure if she was serious or not. She stared right back, her expression equal parts teasing and scolding. He waited a few beats for her to drop her arm, to tell him she was just teasing.
God, it was hot in this closet.
“I’m waiting,” she said. “You wanted a sweet, demure, innocent bride who wouldn’t give you any trouble, right?”
“What?”
“A modest bride is a happy bride,” Kelli chirped. “I read that in a wedding planning guide from 1958.”
“Did Anna give it to you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it too late to fire her?”
She grinned. “Turn around, Mac.”
Sensing she wasn’t going to be showing him her breasts anytime soon, he grumbled something unintelligible and turned around. He was facing the closet door now, staring out into the bedroom with its dark wood furniture and modern art and that big, sprawling, massive bed where he’d sincerely love to toss Kelli and fuck her senseless.
“What do you think?” she purred, her lips so close to his ear that he jumped. How the hell had she crept up on him?
He started to turn, but her hands cupped his shoulders, holding him in place. That’s when he noticed what was pressed warmly low against his bare back. Those naked, soft breasts pushed against him, teasing and warm against his spine. She moved with slow deliberateness, grazing the hollow of his back with her nipples. He could feel them firm on his flesh, and he groaned aloud. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration that he couldn’t touch her, or pleasure that she was touching him. Did it matter?
She brushed her breasts from one side of his back to the other, still teasing. Heat and friction made her nipples skitter slightly, flesh on flesh, softness against hardness. He ached to touch her. To see her.
But at least he could feel her. Her breasts moved against him, pressing upward, moving in slow circles. Her nipples were hard and tight against the columns of muscle running up each side of his spine.
“I like your freckles,” she breathed, planting a soft kiss on one shoulder blade. “I wouldn’t have pictured you as a man with freckles. You hide things well.”
She laughed then, and brushed one fingertip over the front of his trousers. He groaned, and she laughed again. “Well, maybe not all things.”
She went back to teasing him, hands on his shoulders, breasts moving soft and lush against his back. He felt her eyelashes tickle his flesh as she planted another kiss on his left shoulder blade, then the right.
It dawned on Mac this was as much a tease for her as it was for him. Her hands slid away from his shoulders, and he tried to turn, to seize control of the situation. She stopped him, palms pressing hard against his shoulder blades, breasts pushed firmly into the small of his back.
“Not so fast,” she whispered. “I’m just testing this out.”
“Testing what out?”
“How it would feel to be braless. See, I didn’t pack a strapless bra, so I need to make sure this is an acceptable way to spend the evening in mixed company.”
Mac closed his eyes as she stroked herself over his spine and down. He pictured her bending her knees as she dipped low, her breasts moving just above his belt.
“I don’t know about mixed company, but it works great here,” he murmured.
She slid her hands down, moving to cup his ass. Her palms moved against him, fingers massaging—a surgeon’s skilled fingers—and Mac gave another strangled moan as her nipples trailed over the heated patch of skin above his pants.
Pants that felt entirely too tight at the moment.
He could feel his erection straining against the fabric. The caveman inside him commanded him to just turn around and take her. It would be so easy, and he knew she’d come willingly.
The rest of him ached to see what she planned to do.
He had his answer in an instant as her hands slid away from his ass and moved to the front of his pants. His back was still to her, so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could feel her. Her fingers found the buckle of his belt and unfastened it. Then she moved to his fly, fingertips grazing his belly as she flicked the button open and moved to the zipper. She slid it down with aching slowness, her movements deliberate, certain.
Her hands moved to his hips, pushing the fabric down over them. The pants fell easily, linen pooling at his bare feet. She moved to the waistband of his boxer briefs, her fingers teasing as they slid beneath the elastic.
Christ, he should just turn around and have her. Bend her over the bench where he sat to put on his shoes. Take charge of the situation. Part of him screamed to seize control, to call the shots the way he always did. But there was something thrilling about giving it up, if only for a moment. Letting a woman have her fun with him.
“Mmm,” she whispered against his back as she pushed his boxer briefs down over his hips. They fell onto the pants, a pile of warm fabric at his feet. He started to kick them away, but Kelli pressed one high-heeled shoe onto the pile, trapping him in place w
ith his own clothes.
“Stay still,” she whispered, nipping lightly at the top of his butt.
He groaned and tried to turn again, to see her at least. She held him firmly by the waist.
“Nice try,” she whispered, rising up again and skimming her breasts over his back. Her breath was warm on the side of his ribcage. “No touching before the wedding.”
“This isn’t touching?” he ground out.
“Not yet,” she murmured. “But this is.”
Her fingertips grazed the tip of his cock. Then she wrapped one hand around him, her palm hot and soft against him.
“Fuck,” Mac choked out, gripping the doorframe for balance.
“Definitely not,” she whispered, gripping him tighter as she began to stroke him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
She caressed him slowly, her hands skilled and applying just the right amount of pressure. She moved up, down, up again, fingertips soft and firm all at once.
“Holy God,” he gasped as she stroked her hand in a slow, rhythmic, tease. Her breasts pressed soft against his back as her fingers moved deftly over his shaft. “Whatever kind of girl you are, I hope you never change.”
She laughed and stroked more firmly, one hand gliding over him while the other moved lower to knead his balls. She teased slowly at first, her rhythm building gradually as Mac’s breath came faster.
Her grip was tighter now, but still fluid. He’d never been handled this way before, forced to stand completely still while someone else touched and teased and all he could do was grip the doorframe and hope to God he got to repay the favor.
He felt himself throbbing in her hand and gritted his teeth, certain he was on the brink of falling down or passing out or losing it completely.
“Kelli,” he growled.
“Hmm?” she breathed against his back.
“You’d better stop now.”
“Or what?”
“Or one of two things will happen.” He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure as his fingers dug hard into the doorframe. “Either we’ll have another article of clothing to dry clean, or I’m going to turn around and—”
“Sir?”
They both froze. Kelli’s hand held him tight, unmoving. Her breath was hot and fast against his back.
“Sir? Are you in there?”
Brian. Fuck, Mac thought. I left the goddamn door wide open.
Mac swallowed. “Yes?”
“I have the car ready, sir. The dinner reservation you asked for is at seven.”
Mac closed his eyes. Dammit. He’d completely forgotten.
“Dinner?” Kelli whispered, fingers still twined around his shaft.
“It was a surprise,” he whispered back. “Since I didn’t get to take you out your first night.”
“How romantic.”
“Besides, it’s good for Zapata’s people to see us out in public.”
“Of course.”
Mac took a deep breath. “Coming!”
Behind him, Kelli laughed. “Not anymore.” She laughed again, her breasts moving pleasantly. Mac lost a few more brain cells.
She squeezed him once more, softly, before letting go. Then she stepped back. Mac felt her absence in the chill of his bare skin.
“On second thought,” he whispered, “We could just skip dinner and—”
“No way, José,” she said, putting a palm against his back to keep him from turning around. He heard a rustle of clothing, and felt disappointed she was getting dressed.
“It’s only a major arms deal,” he said. “Just a few million bucks and some dead civilians, but really—”
“The moment’s gone, Mac,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Stall Brian for ten minutes while I put on some lipstick and a dress.”
“Without underwear?” he asked hopefully.
She swatted him on the shoulder, then gave him a gentle push toward the door. “You’ll just have to wonder, won’t you?”
“About a lot of things,” he muttered raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. He grabbed a shirt from its hanger and shrugged it over his shoulders as he stomped toward the door.
He got halfway down the hall before remembering to go back for his pants.
By the time he got to the car, he’d almost cooled off. Almost.
He punched his sister’s speed-dial number, grateful to have a few moments of quiet with no bodyguards or assistants or disturbingly sexy fake fiancées around to cloud his thoughts.
Sheri answered on the second ring. “Mac! I’m so glad to hear from you. How are things going?”
Mac adjusted his sunglasses and stared through the windshield at a phallic-looking cactus. “I asked for a Stepford wife and you sent me a goddamn hellcat.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Mac could picture Sheri biting down on her fist to keep from laughing. He felt his blood starting to boil, or maybe that was his libido still on a low simmer from Kelli’s teasing.
“It’s good to hear from you, too,” Sheri said primly.
“You knew damn well Kelli wasn’t sweet and demure and compliant and whatever else you tried to sell me. She’s your best friend, for crying out loud.”
“And she’s your sister’s best friend,” she retorted, her voice annoyingly smug and chipper. “You should have paid more attention.”
Mac gritted his teeth and raked his hand through his hair. “This is not what I asked for.”
“No? Well, I asked for a nanny and you sent a Marine.”
“A Marine you’re now engaged to marry, may I remind you? You’re welcome.”
“So are you, jerk.” She laughed. “You gave me the one thing I was damn sure I didn’t want but never knew I needed. I saw my chance to do the same for my control-freak big brother. You can thank me later.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “I have to run. Sam’s waiting in the car with the boys. I love you, you overbearing bastard.”
Before he could say anything else, she’d hung up on him. Mac sat there staring at the phone a moment, not sure whether to be pissed off at his sister, at Kelli, or himself.
He tore his gaze off the phallic cactus and saw Kelli floating toward the car in a shimmery yellow dress that hugged her curves. His heart lodged in his throat, and he gripped the phone in his fist, forgetting all about being pissed off.
Anger wasn’t what he was feeling. That wasn’t it at all.
And that scared the holy living shit out of him.
Chapter Six
“Are we being watched?” Kelli asked, taking a sip of wine as she tried to look inconspicuous studying the other patrons in the restaurant.
There was the middle-aged couple feeding each other bites of scampi and laughing with their heads bent close together. There was a table with five men in Bermuda shorts slapping each other on the back while repeatedly using the word balls, and it took Kelli a moment to realize they were discussing golf. She turned away and studied the gray-haired foursome enjoying a quiet dinner together at the table near the window.
Was one of them a spy for Zapata?
Mac cleared his throat and picked up the saltshaker. He inspected the bottom of it, then set it down and repeated the process with the pepper, the utensils, and the tiny vase of wildflowers on the table. She saw his hands moving under the table, and for a moment, thought he was reaching for her knee. Then she realized he was searching for something.
“Bugs?” she guessed, her stomach lurching a little at the thought of someone going to such lengths to eavesdrop.
“All clear,” he said, returning his hands to the top of the table and clasping them together. “But even if we’re not being recorded, we’re almost certainly being watched.”
“Well, then,” she said, sliding her hands toward his and moving her fingers over the tops of his knuckles. “We’d probably better look like we’re on intimate terms, shouldn’t we?”
Ma
c seemed to hesitate, then unclasped his hands and folded them around hers. “Easier to do now than two hours ago.”
Kelli felt some heat rush to her cheeks as she remembered the way she’d teased him. It had been good payback for his earlier tease in the car. She smiled and freed one hand, taking another sip of wine. “Between the emergency surgery, the carjacking, and our time spent in the closet, I haven’t had much time to study your info packet today.”
“Thank you for filling out the questionnaire last night,” he said. “We’ll both have time for review tomorrow before the dinner. That should be enough to make sure we’re covered.”
“Hopefully,” she said, returning her hands to his and savoring the feel of being engulfed in his large palms. “Do you really think those questionnaires are enough?”
He frowned, forming what looked like a permanent crease between his brows. Kelli was struck by a sudden urge to kiss that spot.
“Enough for what?” he asked.
“To seem like two people who know each other well enough to get married.”
He shrugged and glanced toward the kitchen where their waiter had disappeared five minutes ago with their dinner order. Kelli followed his gaze, wondering if he was assessing the possibility the waiter was a spy. What would it be like to constantly look over your shoulder like that? His urge to protect her was comforting, but also a little unnerving. Almost an obsession, though for the life of her she wasn’t sure what drove it.
“Let’s play a game,” she said.
Mac raised one eyebrow. “You’ll have to excuse me, I forgot my chessboard.”
“A get-to-know-you game,” she continued, ignoring the sarcasm. “I’m still of the opinion it’s the quirky little personality details that will make or break our story.”
“What sort of game did you have in mind?”
“How about this or that?”
“What or what?”