Accusingly, he demanded, “What's going on with you, Heather?”
“You tell me,” she whispered. “What’s going on with me?” Her bottom lip trembled, and her pretty pink tongue slid over the delicate skin.
A rush of adrenaline shot through his veins. A small part of his mind, a far off piece, said he would be sorry if he acted on his desire. The rest of him simply didn’t give a damn. Without a conscious decision to do so, his hand laced through her hair, the other sliding to her lower back, molding her closer. And then he kissed her. First a soft drag of his lips against hers—that he told himself would be it, the end. He’d pull away, he’d stop himself from going too far.
She moaned at the contact, her fingers laced behind his neck, her chest pressing into his, and "too far" was not even close to "far enough." His tongue pressed past her teeth, stroking hers with a deep, hungry caress. The taste of her flooded his mouth, his body, and it was his turn to moan. He pulled her closer, molded her tighter against him, drinking her in, with the thirst of a man who’d waited a decade for water.
And with every passing second, he promised himself just one more second, just one…more…second. And another--one more second. She tasted so sweet, so perfect, he couldn't seem to remember anything but the moment. He wanted her naked, beneath him, those long legs wrapped around his waist. It would be so easy with only a few pieces of lace between them. Heather. Heather…
Shit.
What in the hell was he doing? He had to stop kissing her. Now. So why was he still kissing her? He tore his mouth from hers, pressing his hands to her arms, and setting her back from him. “I'm sorry, Heather. God. I’m so sorry. I don't know what came over me. This was a mistake. My mistake. I take full blame.”
Her expression flooded with hurt a second before she turned away from him and snatched the robe from the ground, keeping her back to him as she slipped her arms inside and tied the sash.
Brad scrubbed his jaw. Damn, he was doing nothing but screwing up here. “Heather--”
She barely glanced over her shoulder. “I think you should go, Brad.”
“No, I--”
“Please,” she said. “Please go.”
He’d never felt so helpless in his life as he did in that moment. He’d hurt her. He’d said and done all the wrong things. He didn’t know how to fix it–and all he could manage to think of doing was pulling her into his arms and stripping that damn robe right back off of her.
“I’ll call you later,” he finally said. “We’ll talk. We’ll make this right.” He had to make this right. He had to make sure he didn’t lose her over a damn kiss, over his weakness, his mistake. But she didn’t turn around, she didn’t speak, and damn it, he wanted to go to her, wanted to fix everything he’d just broken. But he knew when to retreat and regroup, and he knew he wasn’t thinking straight.
With effort, he forced himself to turn away from her, and rushed toward the door. Running away. He never ran away. But as the hot Dallas night air rushed over him, he knew that was a lie. He’d been running from his feelings for Heather for far too long, and they’d caught up with him.
Chapter Five
Near nine on Friday evening, Heather walked toward her car behind her boutique. Nearly a week had passed since she’d melted in Brad’s arms only to have him call her a "mistake." Since Heather had ignored his calls, and had both prayed he wouldn’t show up at the store again–and prayed he would. She was conflicted like that where he was concerned. Conflicted and hurt, and for most of the week, right back under her non-orgasmic rock, trying to pretend she didn’t have needs or wants. She’d refused future "man hunting" excursions despite Brenda’s protests, though she’d secretly decided sexier lingerie and higher heels were new indulgences she planned to maintain. Tonight, she was going to indulge as well. In a pizza and an entire bag of chocolate she’d bought at lunch. She hit the clicker to her car and reached for her door.
“Not so fast.” The all-too-familiar masculine voice of Brad came from her left, a moment before his big body was framing hers from behind. “We never had that talk we were supposed to have.”
Her heart thundered in her ears. “I don’t want to talk or I would have returned your phone calls.”
Silence–a second, and then another, but he didn’t let her go. In fact, there was a subtle shift of his body around hers. Or maybe she wanted there to be, maybe she wanted all kinds of things he’d call "mistakes."
“I hurt you,” he said, his voice soft, raspy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt you.”
Her lashes lowered, her breath thick in her chest. He wasn’t holding her out of attraction and lust. He was holding her because he didn’t want to lose her, because she mattered to him. Just as he did to her. She didn’t want to lose him over the other night, over sex. “I know. I do. I know.” She turned in his arms, but she didn’t miss the way he held her close, refusing to allow her escape, had she wished one. And she should, but she didn’t. “I think the circumstances…well…”
“Yeah,” he said. “The circumstances.” He slid a finger down a strand of her hair. “Do you want to go grab a pizza?”
Pizza with him, rather than alone, pretending nothing had ever happened. “Actually,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I have a date.”
Silence fell between them–a second, two. He opened her car door. “Have a good time.” No questions about who she was going out with, no demand to know details, as she would normally expect from him. Not only were they not okay, they weren’t even in the ballpark of okay.
***
The phone calls had stopped. In the week leading up to the wedding that they would both attend, Heather’s phone had not rung one time–at least, not by way of Brad. Anticipation and nerves over seeing him again had made the week miserable.
Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, Heather inspected her reflection, pleased that her outfit—the pale green strapless dress, the color of her eyes, with a nice slit that showed lots of leg, and sexy diamond-studded sandals—had come together looking like the sophisticated, sexy package she’d hoped for. Even her hair, worn long, rather than neatly pinned on her head, as such an occasion would normally have seemed to merit—it hung straight and sleek, brushing her bare shoulders but for the spaghetti straps, covering her skin in a demure, subtle way.
Satisfied she was ready for the evening wedding, she glanced at her bedside table and the clock that read 6:15 p.m. Any second now, a car would arrive, compliments of the groom’s father who owned a limo service. This way, no matter how much anyone drank, they were getting home safely. A knock sounded on her door, and she grabbed her small silver shoulder purse, and rushed toward the door.
Not more than a minute later, the driver held the door of the black sleek limo. She climbed inside, and to her total, complete shock, found herself face to face with Brad, who, in a light grey suit and a blue tie that matched his eyes, looked like sin itself. Her breath hitched, the sound thankfully captured by the slamming door that left them alone, a solid panel separating them from the front of the car.
“You look amazing,” he said, his eyes half veiled, his expression unreadable.
Amazing. He’d not only said she looked amazing, he’d said it while holding her gaze, in the back of a car where he’d intentionally chosen to be alone with her. Silently, she warned herself not to let her imagination run wild. She tried to laugh, to tease him as she normally would. “And you look like an attorney forced to go to a wedding.” A really hot attorney every woman at the wedding will be pining for. “I didn't know we were sharing a ride.”
“I volunteered to share as long as I was sharing with you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I guess that’s one way to get us past the awkwardness of…well, you know.”
“Awkward has nothing to do with it,” he said. “All day today, I listened to Brenda talk about "man-hunting," and how certain she was you’d join her once you got a glass of champagne down you. Then, you climb into the c
ar, wearing a dress that says she’s right.” He grabbed her and pulled her across the seat, next to him.
Heather gasped, her hand flattening on his chest for balance, her body twisted around to face his. His hand slid into her hair, his lips hovering just above hers. “And then I realized that we weren’t going to forget that kiss we shared, so I might as well volunteer to be your little wedding adventure.”
“Might as well?” she demanded, appalled at his choice of words.
His mouth came down on hers, hot and demanding–no gentleness to it–just hunger and fire. The strokes of his tongue deepened, the masculine heat of his body next to hers, consumed. His hand slid to her leg and pulled it over his lap, his palm creeping up her thigh.
Heather grabbed his hand, tore her mouth from his. “Brad. What are you doing? What are we doing?”
Before she knew what was happening, he was on the floor, his hands on her thighs. “We’re having that hot wedding fantasy Brenda said you wanted.” He inched her dress upward.
She covered his hands with her own. Confusion rippled through her. She wanted him, wanted this, but she didn’t want this to be all there was between them. Already, they hadn’t spoken in a week. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but okay. It worked. I don’t want a wedding fantasy.”
He kissed her knee, his hands pressing her skirt the rest of the way up her legs, until her thigh-highs were showing. “I do.”
She stiffened and sat straight up. “Brad...”
“Shh.” His hand pressed to her stomach, easing her back against the seat. He kissed her other knee, then a bit higher than her knee. “Open for me.”
“No, I--” He opened her legs, his palms climbing instantly up their length.
“What if we arrive at the wedding?” She gasped as his thumbs slid over the silk of her panties, then sucked in a breath, as they moved beneath. “What if people find us like this, and--”
“I told the driver to drive around the block when we arrive until I tell him otherwise.” His lips brushed her leg, his fingers caressing the seam of her body. “I didn’t want to rush this.”
“We shouldn’t do this.”
As if defying her words, he lowered his head, his breath warm on the most intimate part of her, his eyes meeting hers. “I should have done this a long time ago.” His mouth closed down on her.
Chapter Six
He knew he’d acted without thought for what the future held, without thought of the consequences, but with Heather open wide for him, melting into his mouth, he really didn’t give a damn.
“Brad,” she panted. The softly spoken, erotically charged way she said his name shot pleasure right to his groin, his balls tight, his cock pulsing and thick. But it was her pleasure, her soft moan, that drove him absolutely wild. Just as hearing his sister talk about finding a man for Heather to get her "hot and bothered" by the end of the wedding had driven him wild. He’d sworn that his intention of sharing the limo ride was to talk to Heather, to find out what was really going on with her. That the reason he’d told the driver to drive around the block until he told him otherwise was fear that they’d be fighting.
Then Heather had climbed into the car with him, her familiar jasmine scent igniting his senses, looking like a brunette goddess, and the façade of a world where they had never kissed, where he had never felt her soft curves pressed intimately against him, slid away. Now he was operating with the single-minded purpose of pleasuring Heather.
Her head rested against the seat now, tilted back, hiding her expression. Hiding. Like he’d hidden from his desire for her, and her for him if he was reading her right. He’d let her hide her face, let her do whatever she needed to do to let herself feel free enough to let this happen. But hide from him, from pleasure---no. Not anymore. They were beyond that now, to a place they’d always been destined to go, a place of no return. And he didn’t want to return, to go back to a moment when he couldn’t touch her, and kiss her.
He suckled her clit, pressing his fingers along the wet seam of her body, then slipping them inside her--caressing her and licking her. Enjoying every soft sound, every whimper she made. He could feel the tension building in her, driving her hips to rock against his fingers, his mouth. He slid his hand under her, around her pert little butt cheek, and lifted for better access, better pleasure. She arched with the action, her chin tilting down, her passion-filled eyes meeting his--silently begging him for more, for the release building inside her. He suckled her clit deeply, pumped his fingers against her motion. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, in what he assumed was an effort to hold back the moan that came anyway. A second later she tensed, another second and her body jerked. Another and hard spasms closed down around his fingers.
He licked and caressed her through the ride from the top of the cliff to the place where her hips settled back on the seat, and her breath whooshed from her lips in the midst of a gasp. She sat up, her cheeks flushed.
“We…I….” She buried her face in her hands.
Quickly, he took the opportunity to do the necessary righting of her panties and a few other discreet adjustments, before he eased her legs back together. “We did. And we should have a long time ago. And for the record, you are beautiful when you come.”
“Brad…” she whispered.
An intercom sounded. “It’s a quarter 'til the hour, Sir,” came the driver's voice, warning of the fast-approaching wedding as he’d been instructed.
“We’re ready,” Brad replied, and then refocused on Heather, her lips swollen from his kisses, her lipstick smudged. “I know we have to talk. And we will.” He grabbed her purse where it had been abandoned. “You might want to fix your lipstick, though, before we arrive. Otherwise, people are either going to think you’ve been having a wild encounter in the back of a limo or someone attacked you with a tube of lipstick.”
She sat there a moment, then as serious as if delivering the news, she said, “I guess that same someone attacked you with my lipstick too.”
It took him a moment and then he realized what she was saying, and he grinned. “I’m willing to claim the wild encounter in the back of the limo if you are.” Her eyes went wide, and he leaned in and kissed her, “I’m kidding. It’ll be our little secret.”
***
Our little secret. What did that even mean? The instant the limo stopped, Heather scooted to the door and shoved it open, darting out the door in flight, and ignoring Brad’s voice as he called after her. She’d gone from hiding to running and she knew it, but she needed to think, needed space to process what had just happened. Aside from an orgasm in the back of a limo, which Brad had given her as easily as he might flip a switch.
Oh and the part where he’d said he was going to be her hot wedding fantasy. She didn’t even know what to do with that. How was she supposed to pretend Brad had not spread her legs in the back of a limo and breathed life into a body thus far without one? Heather had never been so confused in her life. This was Brad she was dealing with. Brad who was supposed to be off limits. Yet, she’d wanted Brad forever it seemed, living with the taboo of those feelings. And nothing had changed in that department. She still wanted Brad.
Somehow though, she was certain she’d just lost him, and what if she’d lost Brenda with him? Just the idea tightened her chest. Heather and Brad were family and the siblings were close–so close—and she’d been close to them as well. Yet, somehow she knew that everything had changed with an orgasm. Everything had changed. Why had Brad done this? Why? But she knew. Brad thought he was protecting her, he thought he was giving her some safe escape that kept her from getting hurt. He was wrong. He was so wrong.
Heather entered the church, the sound of the music playing softly in the chapel filtering into her ears, offering her the relief of escape. Here, Brad couldn’t corner her, he couldn’t question her.
“Where have you been?” Brenda whispered urgently, clearly waiting inside the door for Heather and dressed in a navy-blue silk dress that contrasted wi
th her red hair brilliantly. “And wow–you look amazing.”
Amazing. Same thing Brad had said. Wow, was more like what she’d said–or thought–when that orgasm had hit her. “The driver was slow,” Heather said quickly, flustered by her own thoughts.
“Heather,” Brad said, rushing up behind them.
Heather barely managed to turn to him, looking at his shirt rather than his face, only to realize his shirt had a big red lipstick stain. Heather’s heart dropped to her feet. Brenda was going to figure things out. Brenda was going to know what was happening.
Brenda glanced at him and then Heather. “Oh good grief, tell me he didn’t corner you outside to lecture you. I’ll hurt him for you if he did.” Her brows dipped. “What’s on your shirt?”
“Excuse me,” the usher said. “It’s time to be seated.”
Oh, thank goodness. Heather grabbed Brenda’s arm, “Rebecca’s going to kill us if we hold up the wedding.” Thankfully, Brenda didn’t argue. And Heather rushed to her escape, down the aisle…at someone else’s wedding. At least her friend, Rebecca, was about to live a fantasy with a happy ending.
Pleasure With Purpose Page 3