“Here it is,” he said ten minutes later when he topped the stairs and walked to where she waited in the bathroom doorway. “This should work.” He held up a long, winding silver pipe as he started inside.
“Wait,” she cried as he moved past her.
“What's wrong?” He stopped and turned toward her.
“Nothing.” And then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Chapter Ten
Beau wasn't sure what freaked him out the most:
The fact that Xandra Farrel was kissing him.
Or the fact that Xandra Farrel was kissing him.
Her soft, full lips covered his. Her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders. She canted her head and licked the seam of his mouth.
Instinct kicked in and he opened up before he could think better of it. Her tongue dipped inside and touched his, and his initial panic faded in a wave of hunger. He'd been on the wagon for too many months now, contenting himself with a few fantasies in the dead of night when the stress and worry overwhelmed him. But it wasn't enough to satisfy him completely. He needed something more, something real.
This.
The snake slid from his hand and clattered to the floor. He leaned into her, pressing her up against the bathroom wall. His hands slid around her waist. His fingers pressed into the lush curve of her bottom, drinking in the warmth of her body that seeped through the thin material of her shorts. The tile of the wall was cool against the back of his hands, but it did little to soothe the heat that rushed through him.
A soft moan vibrated from her mouth as she curled her hands up around his neck, her fingers insistent at the base of his skull. Her legs shifted slightly apart, cradling the hard-on that throbbed beneath the fly of his jeans.
Suddenly he didn't need to focus nearly as much as he needed to explore the cavern of her mouth and tangle his tongue with hers and see if she tasted half as sweet as he remembered.
As hot.
As wet.
He pulled her even closer and deepened the kiss, drinking her in like a man starved for water after a heavy duty workout. But he couldn't get enough of her. She wasn't close enough and so he held her tighter. He couldn't taste enough and so he kissed her even deeper, longer. His heart pounded and his nerves buzzed and his fingers itched to slip beneath the waistband of her shorts and feel her flesh against his own.
“God, you taste so good. I want to eat you up,” he gasped against her lips.
His mouth covered hers again as his hands slid around to plunge beneath the hem of her shirt. He cupped her lace-covered breasts. Her nipple jutted through in one spot and rasped the center of his palm.
She moaned into his mouth and her body arched. Her hard, hot nipple pressed forward, greedy for more.
Sex.
The wild and wicked kind that made him want to take her right now up against the bathroom wall. No time to shed their clothes. Just her with her shorts tossed aside and him with his pants down around his ankles and water rushing from the toilet—
The thought stalled as the sound of splashing water pierced the haze of lust that surrounded him.
He tore his lips from hers and his eyes popped open.
“What's wrong—” she started, but the words died as her gaze followed his.
Water flowed over the sides of the toilet and spread across the tile floor.
He let go of her and reached for the silver knob behind the toilet base. Turning off the water, he retrieved the snake and turned his full attention to the toilet.
Not her.
Or the fact that she still leaned against the wall, her chest jutted forward as if his hands were still warm on her breasts, his palm feeling up her nipple. Her eyes were still at half mast, as if she were slightly dazed by the intensity of what had just happened.
Surprised even.
He ignored the thought and fed the snake down the toilet drain. A few minutes later, he'd fished out a sopping wet roll of toilet paper.
A full roll.
So much for the surprised look. It was just an act, like everything else. The past few moments rushed at him. The determined look in her eyes as he'd reached the bathroom threshold. The way she'd hauled him close and touched her lips to his without so much as a thought for the stopped-up plumbing.
“Do you normally use an entire roll of toilet paper when you make a trip to the bathroom?”
She pushed away from the wall and gave him an innocent look. “Why, it must have fallen in.”
“That or someone stuffed it in.”
“You mean like sabotage?” She shrugged and avoided his gaze when he turned accusing eyes on her. “I guess maybe it's possible, but what reason would someone have for wanting to mess up my plumbing?” When he started to answer, she held up her hands. “All right, all right. I confess. I've never been a very good liar.” Her gaze met his. “I wanted to get you inside the house. I wanted to kiss you.”
“And the breaker switch?”
“I threw it myself.”
“And the light in the refrigerator?”
“I unscrewed the bulb.”
“And the garbage disposal? Don't tell me you shoved your stocking down there on purpose.”
“Are you kidding? Those are from Saks and damned hard to come by in that color. That's why I was hand washing them in the sink. It must have slid down the disposal when I pulled the plug to let the soap out. Thanks again for getting it to work.”
“You're welcome.” He eyed her. “I think.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“That I don't have a problem fixing things. I do have a problem kissing you.”
“You didn't seem to have much of a problem.”
“The problem isn't the kissing itself, but the kissing of you. You're a client.”
“And?”
“And I don't mix business with pleasure.”
She smiled. “So leave your tool belt at the door, I'll stop breaking things, and we can get back to the pleasure part.”
“It's not that simple. I'm committed.”
The smile faded. “Don't tell me you're married?”
He shook his head. “Not that kind of committed.”
“A girlfriend?”
“No.”
One eyebrow slid up. “A boyfriend?”
“Hell no. I'm committed to my business. I'm in the middle of a touchy transition. I don't want to do anything that might mess that up. I'm not in the market for a relationship.”
Relief washed her features. “Neither am I. This isn't about a relationship. It's about sex.”
“Right.”
“I'm serious. I don't want a relationship. I mean, I wouldn't mind having one eventually, if it met all three requirements of the Holy Commitment Trinity, but that's not what this is about. It's about you and me and sex.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I'm serious. I would never, ever even think of you as relationship potential. I settled for two out of three before and ended up wasting eight years of my life. I'm not going that route again, which means you're completely out of the running because you've already got one strike against you.”
“What strike?”
“You're really bad in—” she started before catching her bottom lip. “You're really bad around the house, as in good. I, however, am a total klutz when it comes to home improvement. We're totally mismatched, which kills us on requirement number one—common interests. So the only thing I would be remotely interested in with you is sex. No strings, no awkward morning after.”
“There's no such thing.” He grabbed his toolbox and headed for the door before he did something really stupid. Like take her up on her offer, press her up against the nearest wall, and give her another kiss like the one they'd just shared. And more…
A memory pushed into his head and he saw her face illuminated by the green dashboard lights. Her full, kiss-swollen lips. Her disappointed gaze.
He shook away the image. His refusal had nothing to do with tha
t night and everything to do with the fact that he had a job to do.
It's been a long time. You're not a kid anymore. Who's to say she'll get to you the way she did back then?
But she was already getting to him. Just looking at her turned him on. Hearing her voice sent a wash of desire through him. Smelling her sweet scent made his gut clench and his insides ache. Touching her had his hands tingling.
Even after all this time, he still wanted her in a bad way. The way he'd wanted her that night when he'd slid inside her and she'd crawled into his head and screwed things up for him but good.
He needed to concentrate on completing this project to the best of his ability. It wasn't just his livelihood on the line here. It was about his men. They were loyal, dedicated, and good. They deserved the security that came with working for a solid company rather than a fad.
He wasn't going to let anyone distract him from his goal. Especially Xandra Farrel.
Not ever again.
“There's no such thing as just sex. Not for a woman.” Okay, it sounded chauvinistic, but he was grasping here. He couldn't very well tell her that she turned him inside out. That would be like handing her a gun and telling her to shoot him. “You're all after one thing when it comes to men.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Some great tongue action?”
He frowned and did his best to ignore the lacy thong hanging on the hook behind her bathroom door. “Emotional intimacy. You don't just want to get busy. You want to get close. To cuddle. To talk.” He made a big show of shuddering. “No thank you. There's no such thing as temporary with any woman, especially one that gets under your skin and into your head and stays there no matter how much you try to push her out.” So much for not handing her the sun. “We're not going at it,” he rushed on, “so you can just stop all this. Keep your short-shorts and your sexy T-shirt and your lace thong to yourself.”
“What lace thong?”
He pointed to the scrap hanging on the silver hook. “Your red lace thong.”
“Oh, I don't actually wear that.” She cleared her throat. “Um, what I mean is, I don't just wear it. I practically live in it, except when I've got on one of my many others that are just as skimpy. And just as sexy.” She snatched up the thong and stuffed it into her pocket. “Look, I don't want a relationship any more than you do. I'm all about the physical.”
“Says you.”
“I'm serious. I'm a good-time girl. I'm all about having a good time right now.”
“While you want to have a good time right now, you'll be seeing the house and the kids and the SUV come morning.”
“For your information, I already have my own house and my own plan for children which, I can assure you, doesn't involve you, and I hate SUVs. I'm a BMW convertible kind of girl all the way. I really don't think of you like that. This isn't about commitment.”
Damned if the comment didn't bug him a hell of a lot more than it should have. “Sure.”
“Look, I ought to know what I want when it comes to men and it's definitely not you. At least not in the long-term sense. As for right now…” She smiled and his heart skipped a beat. “Why don't you kiss me?”
“I don't think that would be a good idea.”
“No, it would be a great idea. You're a really good kisser.” Her eyes twinkled with challenge. “Unless you're afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That you'll want more than a kiss, just the way I want more.”
“I don't want more.”
“Prove it. Kiss me. Just kiss me.”
“That's not a good idea.”
“Because you're not as immune to the whole idea as you want to be. You do want me.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don't. It's not about that. It's about the fact that you want something more than sex.”
“But if I didn't, you would do it, right?” She came up behind him. “If you were one hundred percent convinced that I didn't want a relationship with you—that I'm telling the truth—then we could have sex, right?”
“Sure,” he heard himself say. “And we could do it laying on top of the ten million dollars I'm going to win in tonight's lottery. And after that we could go outside and do it in the snow.”
“It doesn't snow in Houston, Texas.”
“Now you're catching on.” His gaze collided with hers and he saw a flash of disappointment that made his chest ache and softened his voice. “Look, it's nothing personal. I just can't do this with you.”
“You mean you won't do it with me.” The disappointment faded into hurt and damned if he didn't have the sudden urge to reach out and pull her into his arms until the look disappeared.
Hurt? Why would she be the least bit hurt? He was the one who'd suffered the last time. He'd lost his scholarship because of her and had spent his college days working his ass off when he could have had a free ride.
“I can't, and I won't. You and me and sex…” He shook his head. “It's just not going to happen.”
“Maybe not now,” her voice followed him out. “But there's always tomorrow.”
Xandra watched Beau climb into his company van, rev the engine, and pull away from the curb. The hardwood floor was cool beneath her feet as she walked over to the sofa and powered up her laptop. She opened up her Perfect Daddy list and stared at the three entries she'd made.
She tried to think of another trait, but the only thing on her mind was Beau. And the way he'd kissed her. And touched her. And worked her into a frenzy.
Her heart still pounded and her skin still tingled and her nipples pressed tight against her bra.
She shifted in her seat, but it didn't ease the feeling between her legs. He'd turned her on. Beau Hollister had really and truly turned her on in a major way.
And then he'd stopped.
“Stubborn,” she muttered as her mind rushed back through the encounter not once, but twice.
Before she could stop herself, she closed the Perfect file and opened a new one. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed The Imperfect Daddy list.
While she wasn't sure what she wanted in a perfect daddy, she knew good and well after her encounter with Beau what she didn't want.
She spaced down and added her first entry.
Good-looking.
Okay, so she'd used that for number one on the other list, but the concept was totally different this time. An Imperfect Daddy was one who was good-looking in a bad way, because his hot, sexy looks made a woman want him even though said woman knew he wasn't the right man for procreation. Because of number two on the list: too damned stubborn. And number three: too suspicious. Imagine him thinking she wanted a relationship, of all things, and just because she was a woman. Which brought her to number four: chauvinistic. Not to mention five: gullible.
She reached into her pocket and retrieved the red thong. A party favor she'd saved from Skye's bachelorette party. If he'd been the least bit perceptive, he would have noticed the thing was a miniature version of a real one, not to mention there was the happy couple's name stamped in gold foil on the front, along with the wedding date.
Then again, it was a good thing he hadn't noticed that because the thong fit with the whole sexy image she wanted to portray.
She backspaced and deleted number five before closing the file and powering down the computer. Then she headed into the kitchen and stood in the open refrigerator doorway. Unfortunately the cold did little to cool her hot body. She would have to crawl inside the damned thing for that. She popped open a Diet Coke and took several long drinks before setting the can back inside and closing the door. Then she headed upstairs to trade her tight shorts for a pair of sweats, stretched out on her bed, and turned toward the drawer of vibrators she kept in her nightstand.
But for the first time, even one of her favorites—the Clitty Kitty—didn't ease the frustration swirling inside her. She had an orgasm, as usual, but when she came back down from the all-too brief high, there was no lingering feeling of satisfaction, no relax
ed muscles, no faint humming in her ears.
Nothing but Beau with his intense, hungry eyes and his purposeful lips, and an impatience that kept her tossing and turning all night long.
chapter Eleven
No, no, no,” Jacqueline Farrel pleaded as she stared at the video footage of her first batch of L.A. daters—single, successful, professional young women in search of viable matches for Holy Commitment Heaven. The footage had been filmed earlier that night as the women had embarked on their search, starting at a loud, crowded bar called the Crazy Chicken on Sunset Boulevard.
Jacqueline watched helplessly as a tall redhead—Jea-nine—committed one of the seven deadly sins when it came to men and relationships.
“You never, ever, let a man buy you the first drink. You might as well nail yourself to the cross and wait to be crucified.”
Always pay your own way, she scribbled in the number-one slot of her tip sheet. When a man pays, he expects something in return.
But if a woman pays, it establishes her strength and independence from the get-go. Otherwise, a man is liable to think he can manipulate her. That he can buy her a drink and she'll gladly give him her phone number. That he can splurge on dinner and she'll serve herself up as the dessert.
No self-respecting woman should ever let a man buy her anything that isn't related to a very special occasion—such as a birthday or Christmas. Even then, it should be something very modest so that the woman isn't made to feel indebted or guilty.
She'd just finished jotting down the advice when the doorbell rang.
The doorbell? It was midnight, for heaven's sake.
Jacqueline retrieved the mace she kept in her purse and walked to the front door. Her fingers tightened around the small cannister as she peered through the peephole to find an eye peering back at her.
She jumped back, her heart racing, and knocked over a small umbrella stand. She was about to bolt for the phone and dial 911 when she heard the deep, vibrant laughter coming from the other side of the door.
“Honey, it's me. Open up.”
“My name,” Jacqueline said as she set her mace aside, turned the deadbolt and hauled open the door, “is not honey.”
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