by Karen Anders
“No.”
“What?”
“I don’t have jeans. I don’t teach in them. I need to promote a professional image to get tenure. I want to be taken seriously, so no jeans.”
“Okay, no jeans. Let’s go.”
“Are we driving to the opening? I’m not keen about leaving my dad’s car….”
“Such a worrywart. We’re not going to the opening just yet and, no, we’re taking a cab.”
“If we’re not going to the opening, where are we going?”
“Shopping.”
“Shopping?” He sighed. “Fine. It’s your world. I’ll play in it a little bit longer. But I draw the line at black jackets with chains on them.”
“I’m not going to dress you like a biker, for Pete’s sake, Matt.”
Once in the store, Bridget searched through the trendy T-shirts on a stack in the front. When she came across a silky one made out of chest-hugging material, she handed it to Matt.
He held it up. “It’s hot pink, Bridget.”
“It’s not hot pink. It’s raspberry. Geez, Matt, lighten up a little. No one knows you at the club. Why don’t you enjoy yourself and step outside the stereotypical professor image for one night. Let your wild man come out.”
He rolled his eyes and followed her as she made her way to the jeans rack. She went through them very quickly until she got to a pair by designer Richard Lawrence. Perfect. Classy. She turned to hand the jeans to him, but he was busy looking through the jackets.
“This is nice.” He was fingering a black blazer.
Bridget took the jacket out of his hands. “It’s cashmere and it’ll be perfect with the T-shirt. Aren’t you getting hip with the New York glam?”
He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Oh, you are funny. Where are the dressing rooms?”
“In the back.”
She tagged along behind him and he disappeared through a door. While she was waiting, she saw another pair of jeans that might work better. She turned the knob on the door. “Matt, try these on, too.”
Her mouth went immediately dry. Matt had pulled on the jeans, but hadn’t had a chance to button them and his chest was quite gorgeous and bare. She was close to him, so close she could feel the heat of his body. His warm smile called to her, she stepped forward and the door closed behind her. Pure, undisguised sexual energy crackled between them, a rare and irresistible chemistry that intensified with each moment that passed.
No words were spoken—none were needed—as she lifted a hand and curled her fingers around the nape of his neck. She pulled his lips to hers and kissed him deeply, avidly. His mouth was equally hot and eager, his tongue bold and greedy, consuming her with rich, unadulterated pleasure.
His fingers fluttered along her shoulders. The next thing she knew, her halter top slid down her chest, the metal rings rasping over the taut peaks of her breasts. She moaned softly against his mouth.
He pulled back, his dark eyes caressing every part of her. Her hands swept over the broad expanse of his chest, and she plied his nipples with her thumbs, then strummed her fingers downward to his taut belly. His entire body jerked in response. He slanted his mouth across hers again with a rough growl, his tongue thrusting deep as he pushed her against the dressing room wall.
His free hand roamed up her spine, splaying against the middle of her back and forcing her body to arch into him and her breasts to rub against his chest.
Their bodies were locked tight as he scattered soft, damp, biting kisses along her throat and over the upper slopes of her straining breasts. He circled his tongue around one rigid nipple, blew a hot stream of breath across the peak, then did the same to the other. He lapped at her slowly, licked the taut tips teasingly and nibbled until the madness was too much to bear. Getting one hand free, she grabbed a handful of hair and pressed his parted lips to one aching, tingling crest in silent demand. He obeyed, taking as much of her breast as he could inside the wet warmth of his mouth.
He sucked, and she felt that tugging pulling sensation all the way down to her sex. Reaching down she cupped him in her hand.
“Are you doing okay in there?” A masculine voice said from outside the dressing-room door.
“Damn,” Matt whispered shakily.
He looked dazed. Stunned. “We’re doing fine,” Bridget said, trying not to laugh.
“Got the right size?”
She covered her mouth as their eyes met. Matt’s were full of mirth, a lopsided grin on his lips. It took all Bridget had not to groan in frustration. The truth was, Matt felt like exactly the right size and she wanted to experience what she held in her hand up close and personal.
The situation wasn’t lost on him as he stared into her eyes.
“Give us a minute. We’re almost done,” Matt shouted.
They separated and she could see Matt close his eyes with a sigh of relief as the guy walked away.
Bridget reached down and grabbed the ends of her halter and secured it behind her neck. She wondered if Matt had a clue how incredible he looked. She doubted he much cared. Which made him all the sexier to her. Earthy, natural. Raw and showing a crazy side to him she’d never seen.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “You’d better get dressed before we lose complete control. Yowza, Dr. Fox. You’re the dangerous one.”
MATT HELD OUT HIS HAND for Bridget, assisting her from the cab, his stomach clenching at all the reporters. Bridget placed her strappy gold sandal on the curb and emerged from the cab in front of Rags. Camera flashes momentarily blinded him as she automatically posed for the camera.
Another cab pulled up and the cameras swung away from Bridget.“Is it usually like this?” he asked, thinking that his world was staid and calm compared to this—groups of photographers, journalists and fashionistas milling around, yelling at people as they got out of cabs.
“Pretty much. You get used to it. Asking fashion models to be part of the opening night clientele is common practice in the nightclub business, hopefully garnering instant success. Sex sells everything.”
They walked forward and the doorman eyed them both. “Name?”
“Bridget Cole.”
He shuffled through the names and said, “Go ahead.”
Matt felt rooted to the spot. Why did he agree to this? He felt totally out of his element.
“That’s such a hot shirt,” a girl with pink hair said as she passed him.
Matt gaped until Bridget took his hand and pulled him forward. “Come on, Matt.”
On the way to one of the tables, a man passed Bridget, stopped and came back. “Bridge, honey,” he said, giving her one of those hugs that socialites had perfected over the years. “I’m going to St. Barts this weekend, want to come with?”
“I can’t, Seth.”
“We’ll miss you.” He walked away as he said it, his eyes going to another woman and he said, “Tanya, honey. St. Barts this weekend?”
“Do you come with to St. Barts, usually?”
“It’s a blast when I can go. Seth is harmless, but selfish. Once I went on his private jet and he didn’t want to fly me back on time. I had to rebook a commercial and that was a nightmare.”
“I bet.”
“Aunt Ida met him when we were in Paris and I took her to a nightclub there. She thought he was shallow.”
“That’s great that you bring your aunt with you when you travel.”
“It’s too bad she has limited time. She has to work around her schedule at the hospital.”
Several people called out Bridget’s name and she got pulled in different directions, leaving Matt suddenly on his own. He retreated to the bar, ordered a beer and people-watched. He saw Bridget talking to an elegantly dressed woman near one of the tables full of rowdy people trying to get Bridget’s attention. A thought hit him while he watched her network. Bridget needed a job and he needed his fabric marketed. This would work for both of them. He was also swayed by the fact that she was in dire straits. She didn’t come right out and sa
y it, but he suspected her troubles were deeper and more overwhelming than she mentioned.
Bridget worked her way through the crowd to him.
“Sorry about that.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Maggie Winterbourne. She’s a designer I’d give my eyeteeth to work with. A little networking, now a little dancing.” She slipped her arm through his, frowning when he didn’t budge.
“I’m not really good at dancing,” Matt said, his gaze darting to the wall of moving, gyrating humanity in front of him.
“You don’t have to be good at it.”
She pulled him out to the dance floor, and he moved to the music, while people around him bumped into him in a general frenzy of motion.
After a few minutes he got into it more. Watching Bridget move to the beat of the music inspired him.
Hours later they hailed a cab back to her apartment. She kicked off the gold sandals and dropped her purse and keys on a small table in the foyer. She walked into the kitchen and went to the fridge and grabbed a mineral water. “You want one?”
Matt took in the beautiful loft as he followed Bridget from the foyer through the living quarters. Everything was open except the two bedrooms. Her bare feet flexed on bamboo floors in a kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances, deep wood cabinets and granite countertops.
He nodded, she lobbed the bottle at him and he caught it deftly.
She went into the living room and sat down on her red couch, pushing a button to open the blinds and reveal a view of adjoining buildings and a glimpse of the sky.
“Did you have a good time?”
“It was interesting.”
“And you were a really good sport. Thanks for going with me.”
“So this is the loft you had to give up?”
“Yes, isn’t it gorgeous? I let the promise of the lucrative Richard Lawrence contract seduce me into buying. That old adage is true. Don’t count your chickens until they hatch.”
“You certainly aren’t afraid of risk, Bridget.”
“Nope.” They clinked bottles. “Some people would call that reckless.”
He gestured to the wall behind her, a collage of her magazine covers. Many of the covers he recognized from the days after she’d won the National Pageant. How stupid was he to think he could ever get involved with her as more than a friend. But after that hot and heavy make-out session in the dressing room, how could he resist.
“Quite impressive. Seems too personal to leave here for a tenant.”
“I’m proud of them.” She shrugged, her eyes going unerringly to his mouth. “Besides, the new tenant is a fashion editor, she won’t care. She’ll think they’re artwork.”
“I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw you with Maggie Winterbourne. How about you do something with my fabric?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems perfect to me. You need a job. I need someone to market it and with you being in the fashion biz, you have contacts.”
“I don’t know, Matt. I could start working again next week, then where would you be?”
“The same place I am now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not offering me charity.”
“No. You’re in a position to help me. I’ll name you CEO and with you taking care of the details and putting a public face on the company, I could stay out of it completely.”
“So, that’s your motivation for not wanting to market it yourself.”
“I’m not naive. That fabric is more suited to lingerie and women’s clothes than anything else. I don’t want to be associated with that kind of thing. Keep my identity a secret.” Matt decided that having Bridget as his figurehead was a no-lose proposition. He could make his invention useful without ever blowing his serious-scientist cover and help her in the process.
“Why would you want to do that? You should be proud of your accomplishments.”
“In addition to the fact that I need to protect my reputation as a serious scientist, I’m up for that tenure track position. I would rather my research on copolymers speak for me instead of my invention of a cloth that is used in making baby-doll nightgowns.”
“I could use a job. Are you sure, Matt?” Bridget rose.
“I’m sure. Please do this for me.”
“I will, then. Thanks for the offer.”
He stood up and closed the distance between them. He could smell the sweet scent of woman and perfume that stirred his hormones and devastated his common sense. Reaching out he slipped his index finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up to his, the glow of need mirrored in her eyes, luring him. “I don’t think I can resist you anymore, Bridget.”
“You could try harder. I don’t want to be responsible for you getting hurt again.”
“I’ve tried. I want you,” Matt said.
“I want you, too.”
“It could get complicated.”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “Let’s not talk about that, Matt.”
“No promises, no problems?” Matt offered.
“And no strings. We can enjoy each other as long as it lasts.”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Yes, we should.”
“Do you think you can persuade me?”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, then cupped her jaw in his hand. “I’m a scientist.”
Her brow crinkled in confusion. “What does that have to do with sex?”
“Orgasms after all are just a biological reaction to stimulation.”
4
“WHAT…WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?” she sputtered, a laugh escaping her, totally changing the mood in the room.
“Biology is not funny, Bridget.”This only made her laugh harder and plunk down onto the couch.
Her laughter made him smile. The words came out of his mouth before he could engage the intelligent brain in his very thick head. “Orgasms are biological. Want me to prove it?”
Bridget sat up at this proclamation and stopped laughing. “And exactly what hypothesis would you offer to prove?”
“The main physical changes that occur during a sexual experience are a result of vasocongestion.”
“English please.”
“It means accumulation of blood in various parts of the body. Muscular tension increases and other changes occur throughout your body.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but in an experiment, doesn’t the scientist perform?”
Matt smiled and then grinned. Maybe biology was a laughing matter after all.
“As a scientist who’s very interested in experimenting on you, I can say I definitely can perform.”
“Talk, talk, talk. How about some action?”
He hesitated. He recognized the danger, but decided for once in his life he wasn’t going to plan this out. The bottom line was he wanted her. He wanted her bad. Common sense and logic paled in comparison to the heady sensation tingling through his body.
“Okay, I guess the subject has to be prepped,” Bridget said softly and she unhooked her halter, the rings jingling musically as she dropped it on the floor. She stood up and removed her tight black skirt. Matt swallowed hard. She was clad in nothing but a white transparent thong edged in pink lace.
She reached for his belt buckle and suddenly he had his hands around hers, capturing them.
She raised a brow and tipped her head back. He got caught in her eyes, the lush, artfully painted mouth, those beckoning lips. She possessed some kind of irresistible force that he couldn’t name as his thoughts just jumbled.
She was soft and warm and if he was a whimsical man, he might say that she was made for him, for the purpose of sharing the same air, the same space, two halves of a whole. But as a man of science, he realized that it wasn’t possible—and Matt did live in the physical world.
“Bedroom?” he whispered.
“Follow me.�
� She started walking toward the nearest closed door, but then backtracked for her purse. Once in the room, Matt pulled her into his arms.
“Before an orgasm, your body becomes increasingly excited,” he said. “Breathing, heart rate and blood pressure increase.” He kissed her creamy shoulder.
“Check,” she murmured.
“The pupils of the eyes dilate, the lips of the mouth darken and tingle.”
“Oh yes,” she breathed.
His hands framed the sides of her face, holding her still as his mouth took hers, open and hot. His silky tongue thrust and tangled with hers. He deepened the kiss, voracious and hungry, and she answered, sliding her body sensually against his in a rhythm that matched the thrust of his tongue.
Her ripe, full breasts begged for the touch of his fingers, the wet rasp of his tongue, the slow heat of his mouth. “The nipples become erect,” he said hoarsely. Her tight buds beckoned his mouth and he lowered his head and put his hot, wet mouth over one rigid nipple and sucked while his other hand fondled her other breast. His cock throbbed and ached.
“Matt,” she cried.
“The clitoris swells, becomes hard and exposed, just like my cock swells and hardens for you.”
Widening his stance so that his knees bracketed hers, he rolled his hips, grinding his rock-hard sex against the notch between her thighs.
Bridget moaned into his mouth. She dropped her purse and flattened her silky palms against his chest, sliding her hands down his taut abdomen to the waistband of his jeans. Releasing the snap and zipper, she pushed denim and cotton off his hips, freeing him. With a moan of pleasure, he jerked against the exquisite feel of her hand sliding around the base of his shaft, tightening as she stroked him.
He grasped her wrist, knowing that her stimulation would bring him to orgasm way too fast. He’d dreamed about having Bridget come against his mouth. He wasn’t going to be denied.
He pressed her back and she folded down onto the bed; he removed the thong.
Reaching over, she grabbed her purse and produced a fistful of condoms. He ripped one open and sheathed himself.
“This is one of my fantasies,” he murmured, his gaze coming to a halt at the crux of her thighs. “Having you beneath me so that I could touch you anywhere, do anything.”