Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  * * *

  WITH THE FIRST brush of his lips, Lyddie knew she’d made the right choice. Yes, she was nervous. Yes, she still couldn’t believe she was actually going to climb into that gorgeous bed with this gorgeous man. But with that first taste she knew it would be okay.

  She leaned into him, reveling in the feel of his hard chest pressing against her. His lips teased hers and she arched up higher, sliding her hand across the stubble on his chin. He was rough and firm and hot, totally and completely male, everything she’d been missing in her life for too, too long.

  Long-forgotten hunger flared within her. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss, her lips and hands demanding that he keep pace. For a second he matched her, nipping at her lower lip, sliding his palm higher up her rib cage until it rested one agonizing fraction of an inch below her breast. Then he abruptly broke away, his heart slamming against her.

  “Lyddie? Are you—”

  She cradled his face with both hands. “J.T., listen. You’ve been really patient and considerate and all that jazz. But the time for that is over.”

  Way past over.

  “Don’t hold back now. Don’t worry about me. I want this and I want it strong and fast and soon.” She took a deep breath and let her hand slide down his stomach, aiming for the hem of his shirt. “Real soon,” she whispered as she made a beeline for that mouth.

  His lips closed over hers, meeting her heat and kicking it up a notch with his own. He finally, finally cradled her breast, satisfying one hunger while starting a new one. She pushed against his palm and moaned into his mouth and gave deep and abundant thanks that she had found the one man in a million who could follow directions.

  She tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin. But instead of helping he pulled her in closer, stymieing her efforts but—oh, yes!—sliding his own hand beneath her loose cotton blouse. She knew she’d chosen the right clothes the moment his palm glided across her back and curled around, teasing the side of her breast. The damned bra was still in the way but she thought she could handle it a few more seconds...until his finger slipped beneath the lace and she jolted against him.

  But she still couldn’t get his shirt untucked.

  She tore her mouth from his. “This is not working.”

  “What?”

  “Wait.” She pushed herself off his lap, stood, then reseated herself, straddling him this time. She’d planned to say something light and funny but it was lost to the sudden exquisite pressure exactly where she needed it most.

  Damn, but she had missed this.

  She gripped his shoulders and bowed her head into his chest and breathed deeply, knowing she was close to falling off the edge, desperate to make this last. She’d waited this long. She could hold on a bit longer.

  At least she hoped so.

  “Permission to speak?”

  Laughter welled up and overflowed. She drew in another breath, deeper, steadier, and drew back just enough to see the smile playing on his lips.

  “Surely I’m not that bad.”

  “Bad isn’t the word I’d use to describe you right now.”

  “Oh?” Feeling a bit more in control, she dared to inch forward, finally able to tug at the shirt. “Never wear this again. The color is good on you, but it’s too frustrating. What word would you use right now?”

  Her fingers finally hit flesh. His stomach was smooth and firm to her touch. She tilted closer once more, resting her forehead against his heart.

  “I think the word I’d choose is wanton. Or maybe irresistible.” His hands began an exploration of their own, gliding up her ribs toward the hooks of her bra.

  Her hunger jumped up another notch. Or twelve.

  She reached higher, searching, not even knowing what she needed until she brushed crisp chest hairs. The feel of them curling around her fingertips made her suck in a deep breath, filling her with his musky-woodsy scent.

  Male.

  He was undeniably, overwhelmingly male, made to fit her, to fill her. He was everything she’d needed for so long, the biggest chance she’d ever take. And in the morning the only thing she would regret was the hours she would have to pass until she could fill herself again.

  She sought his lips, opening her mouth in a desperate need to drink him in. She needed more. Everything he could give her, beginning with the feel of his skin against hers.

  She pulled back, whispering words between the butterfly kisses she dropped on the corners of his mouth.

  “Want to play a game?”

  He unhooked her bra. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Okay. Here’s the rules.” She grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head. Not that he was fighting. “First one to get the other naked wins.”

  “You always play dirty?” He sounded a little choked. Lyddie wasn’t sure if it was because his lips were in her hair or because she was nuzzling his neck, but when his hands slipped under the loose bra and surrounded her breasts, she realized she didn’t care.

  “Tell me this isn’t a new blouse.”

  She had an idea where this was going. “Ancient,” she lied.

  “Any sentimental value?”

  “Only if you rip it off me.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were psychic.”

  He tugged. She raised her arms. He pushed the fabric toward her elbows. She gave a moment’s thanks that the setting sun had reduced the light to mere shadows, then his lips closed over her breast. She rolled her head back in the cocoon of blouse still surrounding her, arms trapped upright, whimpering at the rough scrape of tongue across aching, puckered flesh.

  “J.T.!”

  “Mmm?”

  “Get this off me!”

  “Sorry.” He moved to the other side, swirling his tongue in a slow spiral from chest to nipple. “I’m busy.”

  So was she. Busy holding on to the edge he seemed determined to push her over, busy trying to tug at the blouse with arms she could no longer move, busy falling deeper and deeper into the need and the heat and the delight that was J.T.

  “Argh!” She gripped fabric and wriggled, desperate to both free herself and wrap herself around him. But her brain had been fogged by the mouth nibbling at her nipple. She forgot that wriggling would only increase the contact in other places. Lower places. Places that demanded immediate attention as she worked to get herself unclothed and unfettered.

  “J.T., please...”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You win.”

  “What’s that?” He arched upright, torturing her, daring her to hold on. She couldn’t see anything but the deep peach of her blouse but knew that he was smiling.

  “You win. I played dirty, you played dirtier and I don’t care. I need you now before I—”

  The words were smothered by her blouse as he yanked it over her head. She gasped for breath, then gasped again as he stood, sliding her against him as her feet slipped to the floor, guiding her backward to the bed. They tumbled down, reaching, searching, shoving at waistbands and zippers and elastic.

  “Thank God this place is small,” she murmured against his neck as she pushed at his shorts.

  “Now you know why we called it the honeymoon cottage.” He stood again, and in an instant was naked before her. She wanted to take a moment to peer through the deepening shadows and look at him, really look, but then his hands were at her waist and he was fighting with the button on her stupid, stupid skirt. She reached to help him. His lips locked over hers. Fingers collided, meshed, flew in separate directions—his to weave through her hair, hers to fumble with the button until it popped free. She tugged at the zipper and his mouth slid lower, breathing a heated line from her neck to the valley between her breasts, then lower still until he rested over her navel and blew a shot of pure desire that erupted out through her extremities
.

  “The skirt’s ready,” she said, struggling for breath.

  “Me, too.”

  He gripped. Pulled. This time, mercifully, there were no games. He yanked the fabric down past her feet before returning for her panties. His erection brushed her thigh and she had to breathe, breathe, willing herself to wait, begging him to hurry.

  “Just one more thing,” he whispered, reaching toward the nightstand. She heard the rip of foil and gave frantic thanks that she wasn’t going to have to wait much longer.

  He kneeled on the bed and braced himself over her, one hand on either side of her head, dipping down for one kiss, two, while she pushed her legs against the thighs straddling her, hungering for him to take the hint before she had to beg.

  “Lydia.” Her name echoed hoarsely beside her ear. “Lyddie, open your eyes and look at me.”

  When had she closed them? She opened, searching the darkness to see him gazing down at her. No smiles. No joking. Just a mirror of her hunger and desire mixed with a desperate search for control.

  “Last chance. You’re sure?”

  Something like wonder fluttered in her heart.

  “Positive.”

  His eyes closed and a tiny sigh escaped his lips. “Thank God.”

  At last he shifted, lifting first one knee, then the other, to settle between hers. Her hips rose to meet him. He brushed against her, searching, then thrusting, filling and stretching her, pushing away the doubt and the fear and leaving only him. Only J.T.

  And he was so much more than enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  J.T. LET HIS HEAD DROP against Lyddie’s shoulder and hoped to hell he could remember how to breathe.

  It wasn’t exertion that had knocked the wind out of him—hell, no. It was the fist to the gut that hit him when he realized that right now, with Lyddie lying beneath him and the sound of her final gasp still echoing within him, with her hair on his arms and her softness beneath him and her vanilla perfume surrounding him, he was the most complete he’d been in a long, long time. Maybe forever.

  If he weren’t so utterly content, he would have been scared silly.

  “J.T.?” Her voice had a breathy quality that went straight through him. Still too blown away to put words together, he settled for licking her neck.

  She giggled and squirmed, sending dozens of energizing aftershocks through his body. It wasn’t much but it gave him the strength to untangle himself and slide onto the bed beside her.

  “Too heavy, right?”

  “No. I was just going to say thanks.”

  He closed his eyes, let the wonder of her words sink in, opened them and searched for her face in the darkness. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  Silence.

  He ached to hold her, to pull her close and pillow her head on his chest, but something made him hesitate. He didn’t know why. He’d never had a problem being tender after sex. True, he wasn’t much on pillow talk, but he liked the way it felt to hold the woman who’d just held him deep inside her.

  But this, this was different. This was Lyddie. She was the one setting the pace here. And if he felt like he’d just been sucked into something ten times stronger than he’d expected, he could only guess what she was feeling.

  He hadn’t given a moment’s thought to Glenn until this moment, and he was willing to bet she hadn’t, either. But now, in the quiet moments after, he was willing to bet she was thinking. And probably missing.

  This might not be the best time to remind her she was in bed with someone new.

  On the other hand, if she were having second thoughts, she could probably use a friend. They might have crossed that line, but there was no law that said he couldn’t hop back and forth as needed.

  He raised up on one elbow and realized they hadn’t bothered pulling back the comforter. Who was he kidding? They were lucky they’d made it to the bed.

  The night was growing darker by the minute, but he didn’t need light to guide his hand to her face. He pushed back soft strands of her hair, surreptitiously checking for tears. So far, so good.

  “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair loose.”

  She turned toward his touch. Her lips brushed his palm. “I’ve always been on duty.”

  “This is pretty unusual for you, isn’t it?”

  “I told you, there hasn’t been—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. I said that wrong. I meant, being off duty is unusual for you.” He traced her mouth in the gloom, letting his fingers memorize her shape, her feel. “You’re always working or with the kids. There’s not much time for Lyddie, is there?”

  “I... Well, no.”

  “And when you did get some time, you chose to spend it with me.”

  “That wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

  The slightly jealous male in him preened.

  “It wasn’t the worst favor I’ve ever done for a friend, either.” He shifted closer, daring to ease his way back to her.

  “Is that what we are now? The whole friends-with-benefits thing?”

  “Let me think. We make each other laugh. That’s important in friends.”

  “We can talk to each other.” She turned toward him, pillowing her head on her hands.

  “We’ve been honest with each other. We trust each other.”

  “We do, don’t we? I never thought of it that way.”

  He ran one hand slowly down her side, shoulder to ribs to hip, learning the silky curves that hunger had forced him to skim past the first time around. She was softer than he’d expected. A shiver ran through her. He thought about yanking the blanket over them, but then she shifted in his direction and he realized it wasn’t the temperature making her react.

  “So I guess we’re friends.” His hand rested on the rise of her hip but he kept a steady distance as he leaned forward to brush her lips with his own. Hands and mouth were the only points of contact, yet still he was as aware as if they’d been pressed flush against each other.

  She sighed. The muscles beneath his hand tensed, as if she were stretching, then settled back into softness. He stroked her with his thumb, slow and light, giving her time to breathe, to decide what should happen next.

  “J.T.?”

  “What?”

  “Does your definition of friendship always include licking?”

  He kissed her forehead—still light, though he had to admit that with the aroma of raw sex still scenting his every breath, “keeping it light” was getting harder by the moment.

  And that wasn’t the only thing.

  “Licking is a new one. But it beats the hell out of tossing the old pigskin around.”

  One hand crept from beneath her head to follow the dip of his lips, just as he had done to her. His breath caught somewhere in the middle of his chest.

  “Lyddie.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Two things.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  All ears? More like, all he ever wanted, needed or would wish for. For the rest of his ever-loving life.

  “First one. Remember how I said that you could change your mind at any point? That still goes. If you want to do something else with your nights, or take a break, whatever, just say the word. You’re still calling the shots.”

  “Okay. Next time, I want music.”

  “What?” His ability to think was temporarily derailed by the combination of her closeness, her request and the fact that she’d said right away there would be a next time.

  God, he should have come home years ago.

  “Music, huh? Anything special?”

  “Donna Summer. Disco.” She ran a finger down his cheek, returning to play her thumb back and forth across his lips. “I kind
of liked that sofa thing. It brought out my inner lap dancer. But dancers need music.”

  First thing in the morning, he was downloading every Donna Summer and Bee Gees song he could find.

  She inched closer. “What was the second thing?”

  “The second thing—uh, right...” It was something important, he knew that, but Lyddie was rubbing her cheek against his chin, like a cat against a door, and his center of concentration was rapidly moving south.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Rub against my jaw.”

  “Oh.” She stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

  “God, no. Just wondering.”

  “It— I—” A tiny sigh echoed between them. “It’s so masculine. The roughness, I mean. I missed it.”

  His hands slid around her waist. “That reminds me of the second thing I need to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh.” She giggled just a bit. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been a screamer, but you don’t need to—”

  “No, not that. I mean here.” He tapped her chest, drawing on every bit of strength he’d ever had to refrain from letting his hand slide back to the swell of her breast. “Any regrets?”

  Again there was silence. She stayed quiet for so long that he worried he’d pushed too far, but she never even flinched within his embrace, so he held his breath and stroked her hair—the only touch he would allow himself—and waited.

  “I will always miss Glenn.” Her voice was small but steady in the darkness. “I’ll never understand why he chose to face off against that guy. There are a million regrets around him, and a million things I’ll never understand, and I will always, always wish we hadn’t lost him.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, I know that’s not what you were asking. But I want you to know. I loved him. I still do. It’s different now, but it’s still there. Always will be.”

  In that moment, he knew that he could never tell her about Glenn and the fire. No matter what happened or didn’t happen between them, he would stay silent.

  “But as for this—this wild version of friendship we’ve found—believe me, I have no regrets whatsoever.”