The Perfect Solution

by Day Leclaire

  Explanations scalded her tongue, but none of them seemed appropriate. Flynn didn’t say anything, either. He planted a hand under her elbow and practically marched her down the walkway toward the house. They reached the bottom of the porch steps and Jane slowed, unwilling to allow the evening to end on such a sour note.

  Turning, she broke into speech. “I really am sorry.”

  He gave an easy shrug. “Forget it.”

  She twisted her hands together. “You don’t understand and I’d like to explain.”

  “Okay.” He folded his arms across an impossibly broad chest, drawing his shirt tight enough to reveal the delicious definition of muscles. “Give it your best shot.”

  Jane looked hastily away. “I don’t often get the chance to experiment on someone.”

  “I suspect you take the opportunity on a regular basis. Isn’t that part of the problem?”

  She bowed her head. “Yes,” she whispered. “People around here aren’t too happy about that.”

  Flynn released his breath in a gusty sigh. Aw, hell. Why’d she have to go and show him that pale white—incredibly vulnerable—expanse of neck? “Maybe if you treated them like people instead of lab rats, they’d be more friendly.”

  “That’s what Milton the bartender said.”

  His gaze softened. “But you didn’t listen, did you?”

  She shook her head, knocking her glasses askew. “No.”

  “Because your experiments are more important than people’s feelings.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

  It struck him as criminal that a woman so brilliant, a woman gifted with such potential, couldn’t comprehend the most basic facts of human nature. It was a damn shame, especially since she hid quite a few fine qualities beneath the starchiness of her lab coat.

  “I don’t mean to hurt people,” she confessed.

  “Don’t you understand, Jane?” He cupped her chin and tilted her face, forcing her to look at him. “You don’t see them as people. That’s your whole problem. All you see is how they fit into your current project.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Frustration edged her voice. “There are occasions when I need test subjects.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “And the town of Salmon Bay is chock-full of them, is that it?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered.

  “What about friends? Or don’t they matter to you?”

  She pulled free of his grasp. “My work fulfills me. It provides everything I need.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes!”

  He caught hold of her again, drawing her close, inhaling her delicious scent. “So you don’t need friends. But what about a lover, Jane? Or don’t you need that, either?”

  She was so close he felt her slight tremor. His last question had hit and hit hard. He heard the desperate give and take of her breath, the hitch that warned of emotions on the brink. With that one question, he’d vanquished the scientist and revealed the woman—a woman as appealing as any he’d ever held.

  Gently, he plucked her glasses from the tip of her nose, followed by the pair perched on top of her head. He tossed them both to the grass. They bounced into the garden, winking at him from beneath a hydrangea bush. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides and her purse slipped from her shoulder. It thudded on one of the decorative—and unfortunately, jagged—rocks lining the walkway. There was a faint tinkling of glass.

  “Oops,” he murmured.

  “I think I broke my perfume.”

  Sure enough, the most enticing of scents drifted upward and enclosed them in a cloud of sweetness. “It’s unusual. Your perfume, I mean. I was going to say something earlier.” His mouth twisted. “For some reason, I got distracted.”

  “Thank you. I’ve had unusual success with this particular scent.”

  He fought to think, a near impossibility given the circumstances. “Success?”

  Her hands fluttered in the darkness, finding the front of his shirt and smoothing the crisp cotton. “Success with the perfume formulation.”

  “You...?” Her soft touch threatened to drive him insane. “You created it?”

  “It’s what I do. Didn’t I mention that?”

  “Lab work. Experiments. Rats. Weird questions. Damn weird questions. That’s all you mentioned.”

  “Oh.” She moistened her lips and he followed the movement with hungry eyes. “Well, I create perfumes. Very special perfumes.”

  There was a question he needed to pose, a logical progression to their conversation. But he was damned if he could come up with what he should be asking. All he could think about was taking that mouth with his and discovering if it tasted as delicious as it looked. He lowered his head, giving her ample time to pull away. Then he surrendered to the need that had been steadily growing from the first moment he’d seen her.

  He kissed her, taking a bone-deep pleasure in tasting the most luscious mouth he’d ever sealed with his. He’d half expected her to cut the kiss off mid-liplock. Instead, she opened to him, her tongue slipping home with delightful aggression. If he thought her smile and laughter wreaked havoc, it was nothing compared to the rich flavor of her. Lemony tea mingled with champagne, her breath warm and delicious and ripe for plundering.

  Desire slammed through him. He molded her closer, binding them together, struggling to take it slowly, to give her a simple if thorough kiss before going on his way. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Just one simple kiss and he’d leave. One more.

  Okay, maybe two.

  “Flynn?”

  “Don’t talk. Kiss.”

  “I have to ask you something.”

  “Later.”

  “No, really.” She pulled back ever so slightly, a tiny frown puckering her brow. The streetlights radiated across the planes of her face. The soft glow emphasized the high cheekbones and ripe, full mouth, and turned her eyes to ebony. “I have to know. Why are you kissing me?”

  “What?”

  “Kissing me. Why are you doing it?”

  Desire cooled. “Why the hell do you think?”

  Her hands curled into his shirt and clung. “I don’t know. I swear I don’t. Is it... Is it irresistible? Is it because you can’t help yourself?”

  “More questions, Jane?”

  She bowed her head, exposing the nape of her neck again. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. Thrusting his hands deep into her hair, he scattered the clips holding it in place. To his amazement, tight curls corkscrewed around her face and down her back. Her hair was thick and long, far more so than he’d have guessed. Loose, it enhanced the delicacy of her features. A breeze caught in the ringlets, whipping them in a wild disorder contrary to her nature. Or at least, contrary to the nature she chose to reveal.

  “Well, well,” he breathed. “Would you look at this.”

  She lifted a self-conscious hand to her hair. “It’s curly.”

  “Incredible.” He filled his hands to overflowing. “Why the hell do you slick it back when you could have...” He allowed her curls to filter through his fingers, a disordered tumble of sheer femininity.

  She made a small sound of disgust. “It gets in my way when I work. It could compromise my experiments or cause an accident.” She poked his chest with her index finger. “I once knew a woman who melted her hair because she didn’t take proper precautions. It never did grow back right. It took the curl right out.” Her brow wrinkled. “Or did it put the curl in? I never could get that story straight.”

  He groaned in exasperation. “Fine. Tie it up when you’re working. But leave it down when you’re not in the lab.” He nuzzled the silken curls. “You don’t need to be a scientist all the time, do you?”

  “You don’t understand—”

  He scooped her close and she broke off, her breath coming in tiny, urgent gasps. He took it as a good sign. “There’s something between us, isn’t there?” he demanded. “Do you still wonder why I kissed
you?”

  “I had to be sure.”

  “Feeling insecure?”

  “It’s just that you’re... And I’m...” Her hand released his shirt long enough to flutter through the air. “Oh, hell, Flynn. I needed to make sure you wanted to kiss me. That you weren’t doing it just because that’s how you always end your dates.” Her brows lowered. “Even the bad ones.”

  “Honey, I’ve been wanting to try out your lips since we first met.”

  He tucked her close once more, taking her mouth in another gentle kiss. But at the first touch, the desire he’d felt earlier shot out of control. With a groan, he cupped her neatly rounded backside and lifted her against him. And then he stroked into her mouth, deep and slow and thorough. This was crazy. Insane. They stood on the sidewalk in front of her house, and all he could think about was unbuttoning her dress and finally putting to rest the most important question of the evening....

  Cotton or silk, panty hose or garters.

  She squirmed, her breasts flattening against his chest. “I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Her arms formed a stranglehold around his neck. “No, I mean, I really shouldn’t be feeling like this. It’s okay for you. Expected, perhaps. But I’m supposed to keep an analytical distance.”

  He chuckled. “Give it up, sweetheart. You can’t be a scientist all the time. Every once in a while you have to let the woman out of the lab.”

  She eased back. Confusion haunted her expression, underscoring some private, internal debate. He could guess what it concerned. Barstow and this damn experiment of hers. No doubt she had a rule against mixing pleasure with lab rats.

  She swept her lips with her tongue. Her eyes widened and she jerked her gaze upward to fasten on his mouth. In that instant he knew he had her. “I can taste you,” she murmured in surprised delight.

  “And?”

  “Nice. Very nice.”

  He hooked a finger in the front of her dress and gave a little tug. “Then come closer, honey, and stop being such a stranger.”

  Jane resisted, but the top button slipped free, exposing the hollow of her throat. Just that innocent bit of pale skin nearly unmanned him. He swore beneath his breath. How was that possible? He’d made love to more women than he could count. Hell, he’d turned down more women than he could count. But what he’d felt about those others bore no comparison to what he felt for Jane.

  He gave another experimental tug at her dress, a more determined one, and she slammed full-tilt into him. Her enthusiasm caught him by surprise. He tripped over the same rock that had broken her perfume and stumbled onto the lawn. His heel hit the dew-slicked grass and he went down as if he’d been poleaxed.

  “Flynn!” She tumbled into his arms, her elbow finding his gut with distressing accuracy.

  His breath escaped in a pained grunt. “Right here.”

  “Oh, no. Flynn? Are you all right?” She wriggled around a bit, which didn’t help him regain his breath any. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not yet, but I figure it’s only a matter of time.”

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be a bit of a klutz—”

  Laughter rumbled through him and he cushioned her more firmly against his chest, buried beneath gray cotton and blond-streaked curls. “How is this your fault, when I’m the one who tried to rip your buttons off?”

  “I hadn’t quite thought of it in that way.” She wriggled around some more and his laugh turned to a groan. “You are hurt!”

  “Yeah, honey. It hurts bad.”

  “Oh, dear.” She leveled herself upward, straining more of her buttons.

  Unable to resist, he plucked one more free. A hint of lace appeared in the deepening vee of her neckline. Using his knees, he gently eased her legs apart so she straddled him. Gray cotton billowed protectively around them. Hell, maybe he’d find out what she wore under her dress, after all. Then he’d give her a simple good-night kiss and go on his way.

  “If you’d just let me get up, I could—”

  He managed another realistic grimace. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t. Where do you hurt?”

  His groan turned to laughter and back to a groan again. “Jane, honey, as tempted as I am by that line, I’d be a total heel if I took this any further. Right now, I’m just a bit of a heel. Give me any more cause and I’m afraid I’ll be forced to go into full-blown heeldom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Now, I know Mick did a number on you. But even you can’t ride a man who’s spreadeagled in the grass, with your buttons half-undone—my fault, I confess—and your dress hiked to your thighs, and be naive enough to ask where it hurts.”

  Jane was smart, he’d give her that. It didn’t take more than five short seconds for comprehension to dawn in those forest-dark eyes of hers. Any other woman would have either hit him where it would live long in his memory of least-favorite moments. Or she’d offer a sultry, knowing look and take that hurt to new and delightful heights. He braced himself, half expecting Jane to inflict the least pleasurable of the two options. Instead, she proved that he’d filled his arms with a woman far different from any who’d gone before.

  She glanced carefully around and then reached for the next button binding her dress together. One by one the buttons loosened until she’d popped open every last one of them.

  Lace. Hell. And silk. And... No! He couldn’t believe his innocent little scientist was a garter woman. Hot damn.

  “There. Does that make the hurt better?”

  “Not even close.”

  He hooked a finger in the front of her bra and pulled her down so her gray granny sack tented protectively around them and her taut wriggling body covered every inch of him. Then he plundered. Over and over until he was certain he’d gotten it right. He slipped his hands beneath their improvised tent. Starting at the top, he worked his way down. Well, for crying out loud. Who’d have thought such a crisp little lab coat could hide all these lush curves? To hell with stopping with one polite kiss. This called for serious investigation.

  He levered upward, dragging her along. She murmured a mild complaint, but he forced himself to ignore it. “Wrap yourself around me,” he ordered.

  She stared blankly for a moment, then caught on. She was quick, despite the handicap of being a scientist. And speed was a definite asset when it came to their current situation. Showing delightful dexterity, she locked her arms and legs around him and hung on. He staggered upward, tripped on her purse and almost crashed to the ground again. Snagging the strap, he made it to the porch steps before foundering.

  “You stopped kissing me,” she accused him.

  “Yeah, that happens when I need to breathe.”

  “Inside. We need to get inside.”

  He fought his way up the steps, one by one. “No, we need to get naked.”

  They sprawled across the porch. Somehow she’d lost most of her dress along the way and one shoe. For a prissy scientist, she sure as hell knew her way around passion. He grabbed the front doorknob, thanking every lucky star he possessed—which weren’t too damn plentiful—that she’d left it unlocked again. He shoved it open. Then, using every ounce of remaining strength, he hitched the strap of her purse over one shoulder, hitched his half-naked date over the other, caught a hunk of gray cotton between his teeth and dragged all his possessions over the threshold.

  He collapsed in the foyer, breathing hard. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her shoe lying drunkenly in the middle of the doormat. Screw it. He kicked the door closed and addressed himself to more important matters. Like ripping off her bra. Putting thought to action, he sprang her tightly caged breasts from their prison, filling his hands with them. They expressed their gratitude by pearling before his eyes.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  They were every bit as tempting as the pale skin at her nape and the hollow of her throat. But not quite as tempting as that mouth, or the dark green eyes that had grown slumbrous
with passion. She lay beneath him, her limbs flung outward, her mouth a glistening temptation, her breasts shimmering ever so slightly. He could take her right here in the foyer and she wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him. She was as unlocked and open to invasion as her house.

  He shook his head. The foyer was too painful and he wanted it to be good. Or at least comfortable. Hell, he’d settle for any surface that didn’t have splinters.

  “Cushions,” he explained concisely, heaving himself to his knees. “We need cushions.”

  “In the living room.”

  He almost thought he’d have to drag her down the hallway the same way he’d dragged her in here. But she surprised him. Showing an amazing amount of energy, she ripped his shirt open, spewing buttons in every direction. They pinged off the wall, off the door, off the floor and off his nose.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “We were working on cushions?” he prompted.

  She sat up, raining kisses across his belly, up the center of his chest to his chin. “Follow me.”

  “You’re still sitting on the floor and if I get down that low again, I won’t be mobile any time soon.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  She scrambled upward, her breasts swaying beneath the effort. For some reason her feet found it confusing to have one shoe on and one off. She flung out her arms, pinwheeling—a sight that would live long in his memory. Then she toppled over backward, landing hard on her backside. Flynn fought to suppress his laughter. It wasn’t too difficult, considering the painful ache gathering in his groin. Looked like he’d have to take charge if they were ever going to get down to pleasure.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  She pointed. Okay, he could do this. After all, his life depended on it. He grabbed her arm and heaved, pulling her upward again. Planting his shoulder in her belly, he lifted. Her pert little bottom wriggled close to his face. He gave it a friendly pat. Nice. Very nice. He gave it another friendlier pat. It wriggled even more. If he didn’t find those cushions soon, they’d end up on the floor again.

  Heading in the general direction she’d indicated, he found the living room. Good. No splinters, after all. There were cushions. Lots and lots of cushions. He dropped her to the couch and she bounced right off, fortunately taking a number of cushions with her. Thrusting curls from her face, she fixed him with a decidedly grumpy expression.