by Lori Foster
She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around his back and letting her breasts flatten against his chest. Could he tell that her nipples were tightly beaded inside her barely there bra? That she wished there was no clothing between them, so she could rub against him properly?
He was so warm and solid in all the right places. She couldn’t resist running her hands up and down the smooth line of his back, letting her nails rake lightly along the fabric of his shirt.
He groaned again—a sentiment she wholeheartedly agreed with—and tugged her closer. If they weren’t careful, they were going to end up making love right here, right now, on his sofa like a couple of horny teenagers.
A shiver of excitement raced through her. Maybe they should. It had been longer than she cared to admit since she’d kissed a man like this. Longer still since she’d slept with one. And even then, she hadn’t felt the overwhelming attraction, the need, the out-of-control passion that she did with Dean.
So what could it hurt to go a little wild? Throw caution to the wind and take what she wanted. Or better yet, let what she wanted take her.
She was just thinking about leaning back in the age-old signal to take me, big boy, when tiny little pinpricks stabbed her in the thigh. She gasped, which Dean took as an invitation to kiss her harder, deeper.
Then the pain came again and her gasp turned into a laugh. She pulled away, regretting the need to do so, but knowing they weren’t going to get much further until somebody—three little somebodies—got their fair share of attention.
“Sorry,” she apologized, panting from lack of oxygen. Before the claws could come out again, she lifted the little black no-longer-sleeping kitten from her lap to her chest, using her free hand to rub at the stinging spot on her leg. “I think someone got jealous.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice rough and his breathing not much steadier than hers. He plucked up the other two kittens and rearranged them on his lap. “Can’t say I blame him.”
She smiled, casting him a sideways glance. “Maybe if we distract them, they’ll leave us alone a while longer.”
His eyes narrowed, filling with heat. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
Her stomach did a fish-out-of-water flop. She knew exactly what he was asking—did she want him to kiss her again? Kiss her and touch her and go oh-so-much further.
And she was stunned by how quickly the answer came to her—without a shred of doubt or hesitation. It was enough to make her want to throw herself back into his arms. Only their three tiny charges, pacing and meowing around on their laps, kept her from doing just that.
Licking her lips, she tried not to appear too eager as she said, “I would if you would.”
The flash of his teeth and hitch of his chest as he inhaled a deep breath dissipated any lingering doubts she might have had. His voice, when he spoke, was thick and gravelly, and raised gooseflesh along her arms and other bits of exposed skin.
“Oh, yeah.”
But he didn’t launch himself at her any more than she had at him. They were showing amazing restraint, she thought with amused irony. Instead, he scooped up the kittens, one in each hand, leaving the third for her as he climbed to his feet.
“Why don’t you run over to your place and let the dogs out? I’ll take care of these little monsters and get lunch started.”
Lunch. And a potty break for Murphy and Lola. He was being...extremely patient and infinitely thoughtful.
Any other man would have been all over her once he knew she was a sure thing. A trio of mewling kittens with very sharp nails wouldn’t have stopped him. Neither would a couple of puppies with full bladders or her not-yet-but-soon-to-be growling stomach.
All of that, stacked on top of what she already knew about him—or was learning in a rather short amount of time—simply ratcheted her opinion of him even higher.
Suddenly she was the impatient one. She was the one who wanted to ignore the kittens and her own pets next door, forget about lunch and jump his bones.
Of course, she wouldn’t. Just as she was learning about Dean, she was too darn responsible. She also didn’t want him to think she was crazy or a nympho or something. She didn’t make a habit of sleeping with guys she’d gone out with a handful of times, let alone one she’d just formally met and spent a total of eighteen to twenty-four hours with.
Pushing up from the sofa, she handed off the last kitten to his care. “All right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Take your time.”
She raised a brow, wondering if he’d lost interest so quickly.
With a lopsided smile and a wink that sent a blast of heat straight to her solar plexus, he said, “Good things come to those who wait.”
Given how she was feeling, things had better be more than just good. She didn’t want to wait five seconds, let alone however long it would take them to do what he was suggesting. When they finally got down to business, it had better be flipping fantastic. Or else.
Fighting not to let him see her inner frustration or the scowl straining to stamp itself on her face, she sighed, heading for the door. With luck, Murphy and Lola would make quick work of tinkling and not beg her for extra attention so she could get back here and do her best to talk Dean out of lunch...and straight into bed.
* * *
Dean had always considered himself a patient man. He could fiddle with an engine for hours, not quite sure what the problem was, but happy to wait it out, poke around until the trouble revealed itself. He enjoyed crosswords and Sudoku and jigsaw puzzles, working on one for days, sometimes weeks, searching for just the right word or number or piece to fit here or there.
But at the moment, he was so jumpy, it felt as though his skin was going to fly right off his bones. It took every ounce of calm he had to get the kittens occupied, then move around the kitchen collecting the items he would need to prepare a lunch for two.
He wanted to feed Erica. Woo her a little, show her he wasn’t some Neanderthal interested in just a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.
Oh, he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and cart her straight off to his bedroom, but something about that didn’t seem right. Not after knowing her for very long and being pretty sure he was interested in more than simply a one-night stand.
He couldn’t say why he felt that way about her after such a short acquaintance, only that he’d been enjoying himself immensely since walking into her town house last night—emergency situation notwithstanding. He liked her smile and her laugh and the lilt of her voice. He wanted to stroke her hair and strip her clothes off to see what was under those casual cotton pieces. And he admired her love of animals. Her compassion and kindness and willingness to help, even if it was past midnight on a dark and stormy night with a virtual stranger knocking on her door.
As much as he’d like to drag her to the floor and screw her brains out, an even bigger part of him wanted to show her what kind of person he was. Romance her, seduce her, make love to her instead of having plain-old blow-off-steam sex.
Even if nothing more came of it, if they went back to being merely neighbors, he didn’t want things to be uncomfortable between them. He wanted her to be able to say, Well, at least our time together was enjoyable, not, That selfish, ignorant, horny bastard.
It wasn’t easy taking the high road. Not when he was hard as a steel pipe just from what he considered a fairly innocent kiss.
They’d meshed lips and tongues and pressed against each other like Kraft Singles, but didn’t do anything beyond a bit of petting.
Had he ever gotten so revved up so fast? He couldn’t remember it, if he had. And now he got to mince around the kitchen like Julia Child. He only hoped he could remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing, since the recipe for “boiled water” temporarily escaped him.
He had the water on and the chicke
n in a pan to sear when Erica reappeared. Sooner than he’d been expecting. She was smiling and slightly out of breath, as though she’d run the dogs instead of taking them for a leisurely walk.
“Something smells good,” she remarked, though he thought she was just being nice, since there was hardly enough going on yet for scents to start mingling. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He moved to the counter and popped the lid on a jar of sauce. “You could put that in a sauce pan and start it heating.”
“All right.”
The kitchens in their two homes were nearly identical, but the space wasn’t large. As they moved around doing this and that, they bumped into each other, brushed against one another, reached for the same utensils at the same time.
At first, they chuckled when it happened, stepped back awkwardly to let the other pass. But the longer it went on, the less funny it became. And the stovetop wasn’t the only thing generating second-degree heat.
Dean’s gut began to clench until all he wanted to do was drop his spatula and grab Erica instead. Press her back against the refrigerator or the cupboards or the sink. Lay her down on the floor or across the dining room table and finish what they’d started earlier.
He swallowed hard, cursing his impatience and raging libido. The least she deserved after all the trouble he’d put her through was a nice meal, not to be accosted while she was stirring Alfredo sauce.
Doing his best to shake off his savage urges, he reached to turn the chicken before it burned only to bump into her yet again. This time, his forearm brushed the front of her shirt, across her breasts, and she sucked in a breath.
He opened his mouth to apologize—when he touched her breasts, he wanted it to be intentional; he wanted her to feel it down to her toenails and know he meant it. Then realized he didn’t know what to say. Sorry I grazed your boob? Sorry I accidentally copped a feel? Sorry I’m trying to be a gentleman and can’t do a hell of a lot more right this minute?
He started to clear his throat only to hear Erica do the same. Sliding his attention up to her eyes, he found her staring at him, lips twisted to one side as though deep in thought.
“Dean?”
“Mmm-hmm?” His gaze slipped back down, and he couldn’t seem to look away from her mouth.
“Do you think lunch would be ruined if we turned it off for a bit?”
A beat passed before her words sank in. His brows knit and he returned his attention to her eyes instead of that luscious, bubble-gum-pink mouth. And he was still so distracted, he couldn’t form a coherent response.
The best he managed was “Huh?”
She licked her lips, gaze darting away for a second before flicking back. “The chicken. Would it be ruined if we turned the heat off for a bit and maybe came back to it later?”
Dean considered himself a smart man. Not Einstein smart, but not Tweedledee, Tweedledum, either. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t quite make sense of what Erica was asking. Or rather, why she was asking such a peculiar question?
“Why would we want to do that?” he asked.
Her eyes widened a millimeter or two and a soft blush spread across her cheeks. “Well, unless you’ve changed your mind, I was thinking that I’m not really hungry anymore.” Her tongue darted out to lick those lips again as her voice dropped to a near whisper. “At least not for food.”
For a second, Dean thought he might actually black out. He’d never lost consciousness before, not even the time he’d misjudged the height of a car he had up on the lift and cracked his skull so hard he saw stars. Now, though, a wave of heat that felt like a river of molten lava washed over him, and his head began to spin. His chest grew so tight he could barely breathe as desire, blatant sexual awareness and carnal need ripped through him.
He’d wanted this almost from the very beginning, had been nearly obsessed with it all day. What he hadn’t expected was for Erica to be the one to bring it up again. Not just bring it up, but practically hand him an engraved invitation. Especially after he’d been trying so hard to be good and patient and uncavemannish.
But she’d just punched a wooly mammoth-size hole through that, bringing his inner Og grunting to the surface.
Without a word, he reached over and cranked off all four burners. The pasta hadn’t gone in the water yet, so everything should be fine. And even if it wasn’t, he didn’t give a flying fuck.
Then he reached for her, grasping her by the elbows and yanking her toward him. He wasn’t gentle, but from Erica’s response, she didn’t need him to be.
Their lips crashed together, nearly chipping teeth. He drove her back until she bumped into the counter, then he spun them so he could take the brunt of the sharp edging instead.
Dishes clanged and chair legs scraped the floor as they walked in circles past the stove and refrigerator, aiming none too steadily for the hall that led to the bedroom.
From the corner of his eye, he scanned the area for tiny balls of fur that might get underfoot. Blinded by passion as he was, he didn’t want to step on one of them and end up with another animal emergency that would once again draw him and Erica apart. But they were still in the living room, happily playing, with plenty to keep them occupied—he hoped—until the two humans in the house had a chance to do a bit of romping and playing of their own.
Steering her toward the stairs, he refused to break the kiss. Oxygen was highly overrated. He could breathe later; for now, all he wanted was to keep tasting her, feeling her, then get her alone and naked so he could explore every inch of her luscious form.
When they reached the bottom step, her heels caught and they stumbled slightly. Dean caught her, angling her against the corner of the wall for a minute while he ravished her mouth.
Then he swept an arm behind her legs and scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way. He kicked the bedroom door closed with his heel, not releasing her until they reached the foot of the bed. Even then, he let her legs slide to the floor, but didn’t stop kissing her.
She moaned into his mouth, her hands running up his chest, flat and warm as they stroked through the fabric of his shirt. A shudder rocked through him, and he clutched her tighter, his own hands fumbled and tugged at her clothes.
He felt as if he was all thumbs, desperate to get her naked and beneath him without letting go of her mouth. But if she noticed, she didn’t say so. Instead, she followed his lead, tugging his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, then opening it from bottom to top, one button at a time.
It was excruciating...and arousing as hell.
She pushed the shirt off over his shoulders, her fingers burning his skin everywhere they touched. He dropped his arms only long enough to let the material drift to the floor. Then, with a groan, he dragged his lips from hers, yanking her pretty sunflower-yellow top up and over her head.
They were both breathing heavily as he tossed it aside. Her eyes were glazed. He suspected his were, too.
Her hair fell in a wavy mass around her face, and he couldn’t resist driving his fingers through the silky strands. He cupped the back of her head, drawing her forward for another kiss. As much as he wanted to devour her, he kept it gentle, trying to pace himself—not only for her, but for him. If he wasn’t careful, things would be over almost before they began.
Drawing away, he glanced down at her breasts. They were pushed up in all their C-cup glory by the white lace of her bra, pale mounds of magnificent flesh spilling above the scalloped edging.
How had he never noticed how beautiful she was before? Even from a distance, she should have knocked him on his ass. Clearly, he’d been walking around all this time with blinders on.
But now...oh, now, his eyes were wide-open and he was looking his fill. Lucky bastard.
She sucked in a breath as he ran his palms up the bare expanse of her midriff and cupped her breasts through t
he bra. That’s all he did, testing their shape and weight, letting his thumbs run over the lace covering her nipples.
Just that small touch had Erica moaning and Dean’s blood rushing in his ears.
Holding her gaze, he dropped his arms and reached for the front of his own pants. Maybe keeping his hands to himself for a minute would help him regain his equilibrium. And he had to admit, he liked watching the rise and fall of her chest while she soaked up his actions.
He popped the top button, then lowered the zipper, careful to avoid the painful bulge of his arousal. Pushing the denim down his legs, he toed off his boots and kicked the entire pile aside.
Standing there in nothing but his underwear, he waited. He itched to do the same to her, but wanted to know she was 100 percent on board, not just along for the ride. Plus, it was sexy as hell to watch a woman undress just for him.
Hands shaking, she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, doing a heart-stopping little shimmy to get them over her hips. Then she kicked out of them, just as he had, giving him a glimpse of her panties.
They were yellow, just like her top, which was nice. He was used to women wearing matching bra and panty sets, especially when they thought there was a chance they might be coming off. But seeing that Erica hadn’t matched her bra and panties, had him believing instead that she had dressed more as she would any other day, made him think she was comfortable with him. Comfortable enough, at least, not to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
His hands circling her waist, he trailed his fingers up the length of her spine, watching her coffee-brown eyes darken with growing passion. He unsnapped her bra, helping the straps over her shoulders until the garment fell away entirely. She dropped her arms and the bra became a distant memory, replaced by the unobstructed view of her perfect, mouthwatering breasts.
He shouldn’t be so distracted by them, but for a moment time stood still while he stared. They were round and firm, with pert little nipples just begging for his kiss.
He swallowed hard, instead hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and snaking them down her legs. He followed their path, drinking in every inch of her smooth, toned legs and the patch of sable curls at the juncture of her thighs.