Seducing Sullivan

by Julie Elizabeth Leto

  He whistled long and low, sending his warm breath skittering over her skin. “I like knowing how much you want me.”

  She leaned back, her eyebrows raised in semishock. True or not, the admission sounded entirely too confident. “Didn’t I warn you about getting too cocky?”

  Tightening his hold, he pressed his lips against her temple. “Yes, but that’s what you do to me. If you’d shown me ten years ago that you wanted me, we might never have been apart.”

  She laughed skeptically, then kissed him playfully on the chin. Cocky or not, he did have her nerve endings crackling with more electricity than a power plant. The sensation, invigorating and addictive, spurred instant forgiveness for his bravado.

  “You know that’s not true,” she said. “If I’d showed you then how much I wanted you, we would have slept together a few times in the back seat of your Mustang, and the magic would have died an uneventful death. I would have become just another one of your conquests.”

  His shoulders tensed and his spine stiffened before he pushed her gently away. Without his body heat, she shivered.

  “Let’s go.” He stepped toward the door, his voice soft, accompanied by a teasing smile. “We don’t want to be late, do we?”

  She grabbed her purse and followed. “I don’t care if we go or not.” Standing inches from him, she felt a chasm building that left her chilled and confused. She hadn’t said anything insulting. She had spoken the hard truth—one he obviously didn’t want to face. And she thought she’d been the only one to romanticize the past.

  He took her hand and placed a weightless kiss on her palm.

  “I want to escort you the way I should have done prom night. With a little patience. And a lot more style. I’m a changed man, angel. At least, I could be, with you at my side.” He entwined her arm in his and led her out of the suite.

  She smiled, not knowing what else to do or say. Jack’s changing—truly changing—hadn’t been a factor in her weekend fling. Yet the more time she spent with him, the more she witnessed the scope of his transformation.

  He wasn’t a hormone-driven kid anymore, interested only in sex and turning his back on love.

  He was a man. Complicated. Charming. Terrifying.

  Sexy as hell.

  They didn’t speak when they entered the elevator, and luckily, former classmates joined them and filled the strained silence with chatter. Angela turned aside when she caught the naughty glimmer in Jack’s eyes and silently chastised herself for entertaining the erotic thoughts his lusty expression inspired. Until that moment, Fatal Attraction had been one of her least favorite movies.

  As they exited, Jack leaned in and whispered, “Maybe we ought to take the stairs on the way back. Elevators do weird things to people.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not opposed to weird, are you?”

  His chuckle disappeared beneath the music blaring from the bandstand. A hostess escorted them to their table, seating them with Mike Nichols, his wife, Jeanette, Sammy Dugan and his date. Angela ordered a glass of Zinfandel and tried to ignore the raised eyebrows and sidelong glances around the table when Jack nonchalantly laid his hand over hers.

  “So,” Jeanette said, after a generous gulp of her vodka martini, “Mike tells me you two were an item back in school. Things heating up again?”

  Angela answered by grinning, swallowing a mouthful of wine and fighting the urge to pull her hand from Jack’s grasp. But she didn’t. Not because she didn’t want to look like a trapped fox but because she liked the warm pressure of his touch.

  Jack fielded the question with practiced finesse. “How can I resist a woman like Angela? She’ll probably just break my heart again.” He punctuated his compliment by raising her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

  Obviously impressed, Jeanette turned her attention to her husband, chastised him for not being romantic, then told them how her hapless husband had proposed. Angela laughed in all the appropriate places, as did Jack, but her mind barely registered the details of the story. She doubted his did, either.

  Smoldering, his gaze met and held hers. His stare stroked her with longing, perused her with desire and set her heart to fluttering so that only looking away and swallowing more wine kept her from dragging him straight to that elevator.

  Just before the main course, Sammy excused himself to play emcee. He took a microphone from the bandleader, thanked the reunion committee for their efforts and invited former teachers to stand and receive applause.

  Angela tried to be politely attentive, but Jack had scooted nearer to her and draped his arm possessively across the back of her chair. His body heat warmed her, and the scent of his cologne made her crave a juicy bite of orange.

  “And now I’d like to open nominations from the floor for the winner of our most unusual job award,” Sammy announced, snapping Angela’s attention to him as a spotlight flared from the corner.

  “Should I nominate you?” Jack asked.

  “Me? I’m in marketing. So are a dozen other people.” She eyed him warily, suspicious of his motives—particularly when she caught the roguish glimmer dancing in his green eyes.

  “I wasn’t talking about that job. I thought I might nominate you for the job you’re doing on me this weekend. How should I phrase it? Professional temptress? What about ache-maker?”

  “Jack,” she chastised, feeling herself redden in a blush only he could see. “I’ll nominate you for a few awards, too, if you’re not careful.”

  “Like what? Most likely to make a fool of himself in front of his ex-girlfriend?”

  The audience, laughing and applauding, voted by clapping for the winner, an on-air personality for a home shopping network.

  “You’ve never been a fool in my eyes, Jack. Now or then.”

  Jack grabbed his iced tea and took a deep swallow. “That just shows how little you know about me.”

  Angela slid her wineglass nearer, letting his comment die under Sammy’s voice.

  “Next up, let’s hear nominations for the person who traveled the farthest to see us all again.”

  Angela considered Jack for this category, since he’d come from an assignment in Dublin, but she thought better of it when sharp bitterness darkened Jack’s expression. She wondered about his comment but never for a moment considered asking him to explain. Casual lovers didn’t talk of such things. They flirted. They bantered. They spoke in hushed tones about pleasures of the body, not secrets of the soul.

  “Maybe they’ll vote for the most changed person,” she said once the crease in his forehead softened.

  “Would you win, or would I?”

  She sipped her wine as the crowd chose a former classmate who lived in Zaire. “I haven’t changed so much.”

  Jack chuckled and shook his head. “You’re kidding, right?” Amused disbelief erased the last of his seriousness, and his delight irked her. She frowned.

  “I meant that as a compliment, angel. Every change you’ve made has been for the better. You shouldn’t have one regret.”

  That just shows how little you know about me, her mind echoed. She snapped the napkin on her lap free of nonexistent crumbs. “I could say the same to you.”

  His grin lit his eyes. “Then let’s call it a toss-up.” He kissed her sweetly on the cheek as the lights went up and the server arrived with their meal.

  After dinner, the band played tunes, some fast, some slow, from their senior year. With only the first few notes, Angela recognized their song, a sultry ballad about lost and found love. She tried to involve herself in a conversation, pick at the last remnants of her dessert—anything to keep Jack from asking her to dance. Her memories had become raw wounds. Dancing would salt them with a decade’s unshed tears.

  Yet she couldn’t resist. When he stood, moved her chair and touched her shoulder, she choked back a sob and took his hand.

  Surrounded by a burgeoning mass of dancers, Angela slid her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. For an
instant, she wondered if Jack meant to dance at all, since he held her still and unmoving. Then he took her right hand in his left, pressing it against his chest as they swayed.

  Immediately, Jack regretted asking her to dance. The scent of her skin mingling with her perfume mocked him. Her warmth teased him. Her shivering grabbed him at the center of his heart. This woman held entirely too much power over his responses, his thoughts, his memories. And yet, he couldn’t resist her any more than he could a muted sunset or an ethereal shaft of sunlight making halos out of branches and leaves. Those images he captured with his camera. Angela he’d capture with his touch.

  The idea had struck him earlier, as he’d decided that resisting Angela was futile. He could turn her plan against her. She’d come to the reunion for a weekend of indulgence, to enjoy what she’d missed on prom night, thanks to his petty jealousy. He hadn’t missed the irony that they’d been seated with Sammy Dugan—the boy he’d been jealous of all those years ago.

  But tonight would be different. Very different.

  Angela shifted, turning her hand in his, reminding him that dancing required movement. He complied, listening to the tempo and moving accordingly. But the gentle pressure of her hand in his, the smooth, scented skin of her bare neck and shoulders, the sexy way her hips rocked beneath his hand destroyed his timing. He stopped, captured her gaze with his, then smiled.

  The blatant desire in her hazel eyes matched his. Without a word, he led her off the crowded dance floor and out of the ballroom. If not for the elderly couple occupying the elevator when they got on, they might not have made it to her room.

  The minute the door of her suite closed behind them, she was in his arms, pressed to him so that nothing separated them but their clothes. Jack sought to rectify that immediately. He shrugged out of his jacket, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and lowered the zipper on the back of her dress.

  Stepping back, he held her still. As if his gaze was a camera, he snapped a shot. Her hair cascaded in wanton curls, caressing the curves of her bare shoulders. Her lips were slightly swollen from their recent kiss, and her eyes glittered with unharnessed desire. His heart lurched at the idea that this could be their last night together—if she had her way.

  Which she wouldn’t.

  “You are so beautiful. No one held a candle to you tonight. No one.”

  She lowered her arms, allowing her bodice to slip down and reveal a black, strapless merry widow.

  He groaned appreciatively. Her attention to sensual detail fired him. His groin tightened.

  Wordlessly, she bit the thumb of her right glove and tugged the material loose until it slid off her arm.

  “Tonight is all we have left. Let’s not waste a minute.”

  Jack pushed the dress over her hips until it pooled at her feet. Now wasn’t the time to point out her misconception. He’d let her believe this was their last night together if that made her happy. Only he needed to know he’d developed a craving for her that couldn’t be satisfied in a weekend. Only he needed to know he planned to make love to her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t have the power to leave. She removed the other glove, dropping it on the floor just inside her bedroom door. He followed, stopping on the threshold to watch her climb onto the bed with the grace of a lioness. He tore away his shirt and pants, then rested beside her.

  He grabbed her wrists and trapped them above her head. Kissing a path from her mouth to the breasts straining above the lacy trim of her lingerie, he inhaled her spiced scent and felt his mind whirl.

  He licked her nipple when her labored breathing brought her breast to his mouth. Shifting his weight and leaving one hand securely around her wrists, he tugged the merry widow down and laved her until the velvety nub puckered tight.

  Angela closed her eyes, releasing her mind and body to his control. His breath and lips and tongue fanned her need for him like dry air to a lit match. He cupped her breasts, kissing them, kneading them, making her experience every sensation to the fullest—from whisper soft to biting rough.

  He released her wrists, needing both hands to lift her forward and undo the tiny hooks tracing her spine. She thrust her hands into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers, savoring the taste of his power and the scent of his desire.

  Flinging her lingerie aside, he sat back, moving his hands down her rib cage until he clasped the edge of her panties. Easing down on the bed, he inched the material away. She closed her eyes again, unable to watch his hungry eyes as they feasted on her so boldly.

  His weight lifted from the bed just as he snapped the panties from her ankle.

  “Open your eyes, Angela.”

  His command was impossible to ignore. Her gaze locked with his, and she employed all her will to restrain the urge to grab the bedspread and cover herself. Never had anyone looked at her with such uncontrolled longing.

  “You’re so perfect.”

  His assessment sapped her breath. “You’re so far away.”

  When he grabbed the edge of his briefs, she glanced aside.

  “Angela.” Her name was a reprimand.

  She returned her attention to him, biting her bottom lip as he slid the cotton down, revealing himself fully.

  “I’m so ready for you.”

  His announcement was unnecessary but succeeded in heightening the anticipation flowing through her. When he bent forward to kiss her toes, a tiny gasp escaped her lips. As he traced a moist path around her ankle, over her calf, beneath her kneecap, inside her lower thigh, she thought she’d scream.

  “Are you as ready for me?”

  He spoke the question with his mouth hovering at the base of her thighs. His breath made her quiver. His hands eased her legs apart.

  “Jack, I…” She lost her voice when he dipped a finger inside her.

  “You’re so sweet and slick. How does this feel?”

  She couldn’t answer. Her senses focused on the intimate stroke of his fingers and the accompanying flicks of his tongue. Grasping his hair, she tried to pull him away, tried without conviction to deny herself the delicious ecstasy shooting through her every vein.

  “Jack, please,” she pleaded.

  “Please what? Please stop?”

  He pressed deeper. She cried out. Colors bold and bright sizzled behind her eyes, and she nearly bucked off the bed. He held her hips still and tongued her thoroughly.

  She managed to mutter only two words.

  “Don’t stop.”

  He chuckled and raised himself over her. “I don’t intend to stop, Angela. Not until dawn. Maybe not even then.”

  “GOOD MORNING.”

  Angela jumped, startled by Jack’s sleepy voice. She closed her suitcase and turned to find him leaning seductively across the bed. Okay, maybe he was just lying there, but he had a knack for making the simplest expression look very seductive.

  “Good morning to you. You sure do sleep soundly. I showered, dressed and packed, and you didn’t so much as snore.”

  “What can I say?” His eyes twinkled devilishly. “You wore me out, lady.”

  She turned away, despite the fact that the room’s dimness covered her blush.

  “Come here.”

  She zipped her suitcase, set it on the chair and grasped the handle like an anchor. She’d secretly hoped to gather her things and leave before he awoke, avoiding the morning-after scene she now faced. Though he’d fallen into a sleep resembling a coma around four o’clock, she’d spent the better part of what was left of the darkness staring out the sliding glass doors, reliving every delectable detail of their lovemaking—every kiss, every touch, every condom. Her body ached in places she never knew could ache.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She clutched the handle tighter. As morning dawned, she’d made a decision about Jack. She had to stick to her choice.

  She heard the rustle as he threw the sheets aside, the jingle of his pants as he eased them on, the soft padding of his feet against the carpet as he walked up behind her. She had ample ti
me to escape, but that meant turning around and staring into those consuming eyes.

  “Didn’t work, did it?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she swung around indignantly. “What are you talking about?”

  He ran his hand along her cheek and fought to contain his impertinent grin. “Your plan to have a weekend fling.”

  Grabbing her suitcase, she swung it around, causing him to jump back or be pummeled by its weight.

  “I hate to break the news, Sullivan, but my scheme worked like a charm.”

  She balanced the luggage against her hip and made her way to the other room. He didn’t follow, but leaned against the doorjamb while she dialed the front desk for a bellman. She counted the rings, trying to ignore the weight of his stare on her bare back. She cursed herself for not packing a few of her usual oversize T-shirts along with her intentionally skimpy wardrobe.

  After placing her request with the front desk, she dialed room service and ordered him breakfast. In his room.

  “There.” She grabbed her purse from the table and slung the strap over her shoulder. “You’d better dress and return to your room or you’ll miss your morning meal.”

  Jack shot forward and gathered her in his arms before she had time to react. His bare arms, still warm and scented with the fragrance of their lovemaking, ensnared her like a steel trap. “I’d much rather have you for breakfast.”

  “I bet you would.” Her sarcasm faltered under the strength of his embrace and the intensity of his hungry gaze. She could easily surrender and let him lead her to the bed—to give in to the throbbing ache he’d renewed in her with a simple touch. But she wouldn’t. The battle was won. The war was over.

  She braced her hands on his chest and tried to push away. “Jack, please.”

  He lifted his eyebrow, causing her to remember how she’d used those same words just the night before.

  “We both got what we wanted last night,” she insisted, forcing herself to meet his gaze straight on. “Our reunion is over and done with.”

  She hoped the dismissal would free her without further discussion. The determined set of his jaw and the gleam in his eyes told her she didn’t stand a chance.