Going All the Way (Mills & Boon Temptation)

by Tanya Michaels

  Hell.

  He stared into her eyes. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

  She bit her lip, her face flushed the same rosy pink as the bra he’d love to slide off of her. Though she didn’t answer, the tightness of her hold on him was encouraging.

  “To touch you?” He traced his index finger in a slow circle around one silk-covered nipple. Maybe he wasn’t playing fair, but he was playing to win. They were fantastic together—he just had to persuade her of that.

  “I, um…” She swallowed convulsively. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

  It wasn’t the room. It was all her. He reached behind her and cupped his hand under the ice-maker, then lifted a crescent-shaped cube to the back of her neck. Catching a handful of honey-blond curls and twisting them up off her nape, he drew the ice down over her skin. “Better?”

  Not even the frigid droplets of water dripping between his fingers could quell the heat spreading in his body. Only Serena could put out that fire. He trailed a wet, shivery path across the top of her shoulder and down over her collarbone. She trembled, her eyes closing as her head tilted back. Tracing the rapidly melting piece of ice back and forth over the slopes of her small, perfect breasts, he fumbled one-handed with the clasp at her back. He’d seen her in his imagination a hundred times since August, but that only intensified his need for the reality.

  The bra fluttered to the floor, but he didn’t touch her immediately. He made them both wait, drawing a cold, slippery, straight line down her flat abdomen. Then, he changed direction, traveling up the column of her throat, dipping the ice across her parted lips. He pitched what was left of the cube into the sink behind them and bent to kiss away the cold.

  She whimpered into his mouth, meshing her hands in his hair, and sucked on his tongue, greedy for him in a way that decimated his self-control. All he wanted in the world was to bury himself inside her. He settled temporarily for stroking his thumbs over her hard nipples in quick, insistent caresses as he kissed her neck.

  Shifting her weight for balance, she bent her right leg up around his hip. Serena’s flexibility was enough to make a grown man weep with joy. Cupping her backside, he pressed her closer as they kissed. He couldn’t stop himself from moving against her, and she ground her own hips to meet his. As he reached for the zipper on her pants, he realized she was tugging at his clothes, too. He didn’t have the remaining strength and coordination to support them both and explore her with the thoroughness he desired. Shrugging out of his shirt, he pulled her down to the smooth, cool surface of the linoleum floor with him.

  Her capris remained on, but were loose around her waist as she lay on her side. With one arm around her, he nudged her to her back, finally in a position to lavish her breasts with hungry attention. He sucked on one engorged tip, then switched sides as he slid a hand down inside the silky confines of her panties. And then into the hot silky confines of her.

  She was so wet. He brushed his fingers against her damp, swollen flesh, easily moving in and out of her, and the intimate knowledge of just how aroused she was spurred him to a more frantic pace. Before he fully comprehended what was happening, her soft, breathy murmurs became a wordless cry and she stiffened against his hand, her body bucking with small, silent ripples.

  He’d had no idea she was so close. The intensity of her reaction was a marvel—making him feel powerful and humble and protective. He hugged her to him, partly to give her a moment to catch her breath, partly to express some of the wordless emotion that had swelled inside him.

  She buried her face into his bare chest. “That…I don’t normally—It’s been a while.”

  Hypocritically pleased as he was by the fact she hadn’t done this any time recently, his male pride was still a little pricked by her reasoning. Her exploding in his arms was not due to a dry spell, dammit, it was the chemistry between them. The perfect way to prove that would be to bring her to a second orgasm now, when she could no longer claim a sex-starved body.

  But she didn’t give him that chance. She was already scooting away, her gaze darting around the kitchen, most likely seeking her discarded shirt. Damn, damn, damn.

  “Serena.” Short of imploring her to change her mind, he wasn’t sure what to say. Not to mention his body was aroused to such a frustrating degree he was having a hard time speaking. Pun intended.

  But along with the receding passion in her dazed expression, he saw confusion and vulnerability. The last thing he’d wanted was to upset her—he’d only been trying to convince her there was something between them. Something potent.

  The tiny frown lines puckering her forehead sliced across his heart. She looked lost. He clenched his fists at his sides to keep himself from reaching for her again.

  “I’m sorry.” Her words were almost a sob as she clutched her shirt to her front. “That was incredibly selfish of me. I shouldn’t have allowed things to get so carried away when I never intended to let them…I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

  “It’s not that you owe me anything, Serena. I enjoyed that as much as you did.” He gritted his teeth against the discomfort of uneased need. “All right, maybe not as much, but I touched you because I wanted to. And because it was what you wanted.” For reasons he still didn’t get, she was reluctant to admit it.

  She zipped her pants as she rose, then shrugged into her shirt. He wondered if it was pathetically simple-minded of him that for the rest of the day he’d be thinking about the fact she had no bra on underneath.

  He stood, too. “Help me understand this. If you didn’t want me, I could accept that with no problem. But—”

  “Could you really?” Ducking away from his gaze, she poured a glass of juice. “You always go after what you want. And you tend to get it.”

  He was both successful and determined, but he didn’t bully people. And he didn’t see what this had to do with them. “Don’t tell me this is your way of helping me build character through rejection or something.”

  “Of course not.” She scowled in his direction. “It’s my way of prot—We’re a bad match.”

  When he would have pointed out recent experience indicated otherwise, she cut him off with a warning glare.

  “Okay,” she relented. “In bed we’re a pretty good fit.”

  In the most literal sense. She’d been exquisite around him. David bit back a groan at the erotic memory.

  “But you’ve been part of my life for years, and I don’t want to lose you.” A very real vulnerability underlined her words, softening his ire.

  Sex didn’t have to mean loss. Sex was a good thing.

  Unable to resist touching her for just a moment, he brushed his palm over her cheek. “I don’t want that, either. But I don’t see why—”

  “Take a look around you! You grew up in a mansion and have relatives on Capitol Hill. I live in a converted school outside Little Five Points. My best friends are an unemployed artist and a yoga instructor, and I buy my formal-wear at a vintage dress shop.”

  Was that all?

  He was so relieved he almost laughed. “So? We aren’t exactly living in Victorian times. The classes are allowed to intermingle freely now.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Nice. I tell you how I’m feeling, and you make light of my valid concerns.”

  Whoops.

  He’d already pushed too hard with that kiss-spun-wildly-out-of-control, and he didn’t want to alienate her completely. If money was what was bothering her, though, surely he could make her see it wasn’t an issue.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Serena. I only meant it’s not a problem.” He’d always been aware of the advantages of being a Savannah Grant—a little overly aware, as evidenced by his zeal to succeed on his own capabilities—but he didn’t judge people who were from a different background.

  “Really? Because in case you hadn’t noticed, the women you date tend to be polished blondes with trust funds.”

  Well, that was true. But he couldn’t believe his bohemian friend was the one hung up
on material issues. At a loss, he fell back on the years’ long habit of joking with her. “You’re blond. The rest we can work around.”

  “I don’t want to work around it. I don’t want this,” she added, gesturing between the two of them with her hand.

  The hell she didn’t.

  His immediate reaction was so vehement that it startled him. Was she right about him being too used to getting his way? No, that had nothing to do with his annoyance. He’d never had this kind of connection with another woman, and what bothered him was knowing she felt it, too, yet was dismissing it.

  “Serena—”

  She balled up a hand on her hip. “You were right about my not owing you anything. I don’t have to justify this decision to you.”

  He expelled his breath in an angry gust and tried to recall the definition of finesse.

  “No, you don’t,” he agreed slowly. “I guess I was just hoping you’d changed your mind about that night being a mistake.”

  “I haven’t.” Her near-whisper was apologetic. “But if you’ve changed your mind about wanting me to apartment-hunt with you today, I’d understand.”

  Her expression was so forlorn, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hug her or shake her.

  “Is that really what you think of me? I just got finished agreeing our friendship is important to me.” He sent her a reproachful glare. “I didn’t stop valuing your opinion just because you don’t feel like having sex.”

  “Oh.” Biting her lip, she shrank into herself, looking both relieved and embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  He nodded, needing to get out of this apartment and away from the temptation of touching her again. “Let’s just have our breakfast, and go see what we can find out there.”

  “Deal. And…maybe you could put your shirt back on now?”

  He hid a grin at the wistful peek she stole in his direction. She might not want to be interested, but she was. He could work with that.

  THE BUCKHEAD CONDO was okay, but the amenities were sub par, and David was developing a strong dislike for the property agent showing them the place. The woman with the tightly buttoned suit and even tighter bun had given Serena a rather condescending smile earlier, following her disapproving double take at Serena’s avant-garde shirt. David hadn’t even realized until seeing the woman’s pinched expression that several of the people drawn onto the pale purple cotton were nude. They blended into the sea of portraits.

  Besides, he’d been far more fixated on the naked form beneath the shirt, though he’d tried to rein in his lust to put Serena at ease. She’d been stiff and tense when they first drove away from her place—why the hell hadn’t he stuck to his slow and steady plan?—but she’d gradually relaxed to her usual self over the last couple of hours. Still, as he’d listened to Realtors chirping on about ceiling fans and furnished washers and dryers, he kept coming back to Serena’s earlier anxiety. It floored him that a woman with her gusto and unconventionality could be so wary of taking a chance on—

  “Mr. Grant?” The bun-woman was speaking to him, her tone resolute as she tried to close the deal. “As you can see, this unit is top-notch. I doubt it will be on the market long. Would you like to take a few more minutes to look around while I start up the paperwork?”

  “Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said pleasantly. “This one’s not quite what I’m looking for.”

  The woman sniffed and spluttered her disbelief as he and Serena showed themselves to the door.

  “So what were your objections?” Serena asked as they crossed the parking lot. The spring breeze billowed her shirt, then flattened it for a moment to the body he was trying so hard not to think about. “David? You didn’t like it, right?”

  What was not to like?

  The apartment, idiot.

  He forced himself to focus. “The space was okay, but there are zero perks to living here and the parking’s lousy. Why, did you think I should’ve considered it?”

  “Uh-uh. Lousy natural light, negative energy. I hated it, I’m just trying to get a feel for what specifics matter to you.” She buckled her seatbelt. “I got a bad vibe off the place.”

  He laughed. “A vibe? Tell me that’s not how you’re going to help me decide where to invest my hard-earned money. What about real-estate appreciation and property resale values?”

  “Resale?” She blinked at him. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been a little, um, distracted today. You aren’t planning to rent?”

  “No. You didn’t hear me talking to bun-lady about that?”

  “I tried to be wherever she wasn’t. Talk about negative energy.”

  Well, they agreed on that. “I realize not everyone can afford to buy a place, but since I can, why throw money down the drain every month?”

  He worked long hours and didn’t want to tack on additional time for a commute to a home outside the city. But that didn’t mean he wanted to pay an exorbitant rent with nothing to show for it. Judging by the way Serena was staring at him and shaking her head in disbelief, his luxurious housing budget wasn’t helping allay her concerns about their disparate statuses. Did she honestly think that the cost of monthly rent was a reason not to explore what simmered between them? Hell, she’d tolerated the obnoxious wandering artist and his many quirks.

  David had seen her date all kinds of guys, and he found it somewhat bewildering she wouldn’t at least give him a chance. Had she e-mailed any of those guys for moral support when her father had called after all these years to say he was dating someone new and wanted Serena to meet her? Did those other guys know that her guilty secret her junior year of college was a serious “Days of Our Lives” addiction? Did they know which pair of turquoise teardrops were her “lucky earrings,” that she made the worst coffee known to mankind but an incredible stuffed eggplant dish he’d been reluctant to try and had fully expected to hate?

  Serena fidgeted in her seat. “Thinking about what you want in a place?”

  “Not exactly.” More like what she wanted in a man. Why wasn’t he it? “But thank you for coming with me. I know I didn’t give you much notice, and you could’ve been doing other things today.”

  “Anything for a friend,” she said lightly.

  He knew this was true—Serena was both loyal and incredibly soft-hearted—but he also picked up on the understated emphasis she used on friend. She might as well have said “anything for someone I have no intention of sleeping with.” Maybe she didn’t, at the moment, but maybe his moving to Atlanta would give him the opportunity to change that.

  5

  AS SERENA unlocked her office Monday morning, she realized she was in serious need of a plan B. When she’d gone to dinner with David Friday evening, her game plan had been simply to resist him. Resist those gorgeous blue eyes and the way they focused on her when she was talking, resist his sexy grins and sexier kisses, resist her own body’s insistence that no man would ever make her burn like this again…Of course, not even twenty-four hours after he’d hit town, he’d been undressing her on her kitchen floor.

  So much for the “resist” approach.

  She sorted through the weekend mail that had been left in her box, but she kept seeing David’s face instead of the four-color brochure for a new company specializing in novelty ice sculptures. Plan B began to take shape—a buffer. She needed help, and she wasn’t above drafting some for the lunch she and David had scheduled for today.

  When he’d taken her home Saturday, no closer to finding an apartment than he had been that morning, she’d had excuses ready for why she couldn’t spend Sunday with him, too, but he hadn’t asked. Instead, he’d only wanted to know if she could spare a lunch hour to say goodbye on Monday before he left town early Tuesday. That had sounded safely platonic.

  But after spending all yesterday regretting that she hadn’t invited David in to finish what they’d started Saturday morning…Safe? Platonic? Hadn’t she ever heard the term nooner?

  Oh, yeah. No way was she going to lunch alone with h
im.

  Five minutes later, Natalie Harris, the answer to Serena’s problem, sashayed in the door, with a defiant look-at-me-I-don’t-need-a-man bounce in her step.

  Serena had witnessed Natalie post-breakup before. First came the grieving, which had probably included a crying jag and a DVD weekend full of rented tearjerkers. This was followed by her confident-woman, I’d-rather-be-single-anyway, denial. Then came the brunette’s man-killer rebound stage, in which she decided she did want men…as long as she could love ’em and leave ’em.

  After all that, there was usually a two-week period of actual emotional stability before she met her new future boyfriend and the cycle started over from the top (single-minded infatuation and practicing how his surname would sound hyphenated with hers).

  “Hey.” Natalie dropped a leopard-print handbag on her desk. It went well with her black short-sleeved sweater dress and the leopard-print scarf she’d tied sarong-style at her waist. “Have a nice weekend?”

  “Not bad.” Serena stood in the doorway of her office. “What about you? How’re you holding up?”

  “Great.” The receptionist was fairly convincing as she measured out coffee for the machine they kept in the corner. “I was finished crying by Friday night and took myself out shopping Saturday. Got a new purse.”

  “I noticed. Pretty spiffy.”

  “And some fabulous clothes on sale. They look great on me. Men will just have to watch me walk by and eat their hearts out.” Natalie tossed her head in a disdainful gesture, rippling her long dark hair. “Because I am not going down that path again. What do I need a guy for?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Serena said in the expected show of solidarity.

  “That’s right.” Natalie lifted the empty coffeepot in salute. “We are women. We are strong.”

  Well, they were women.

  And maybe Natalie was strong.

  But Serena and her fragile willpower made eggshells look indestructible.

  “What’s wrong?” Natalie asked, her hazel eyes narrowing as she studied her employer. “This is about Patrick, isn’t it? The shock has worn off and you’ve finally realized you’re alone. Oh, doll, you shoulda called me over the weekend. We could’ve shopped together.”