“You’re learning fast,” Adam said.
“Do you mean you liked that? Kissing me?”
“Yes, I mean I liked that. Kissing you.”
He liked it. Hope and nerves and some weird kind of heat made her stomach clench. “So…what next? Should I…?” Her hands went again to her top button, hovered there.
Adam shook his head. “Not yet.” He pointed to the bed. “Sit,” he said.
Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the bed. She saw him glance down once—a quick, darting glance—to where her hands were clasped on her lap. She looked down, saw her knuckles were white. Nerves. Stupid, stupid nerves. She wriggled her fingers, lightning fast, forcing her hands to relax. Look now, she urged him silently, no problem here.
But he’d moved on, and was walking to her wardrobe. “Now, there’s nothing exactly wrong with the navy blue suit—businesslike, classic lines—very much a suit for a control freak.”
He gave her an assessing look. She forced herself to look calmly back. Even though this was agonizing.
“But I can think of sexier garments,” he continued. “Especially for a meeting that is supposed to end with us in bed.”
“I just wasn’t anticipating that we would be spending so much time clothed.”
“Sex is not all about being naked, Lane,” Adam said, and opened the wardrobe doors.
Lane was off the bed in seconds, hurrying over. “What are you doing?”
“Now this,” he said, unerringly going straight for the newly hung pink silk dress—of course! “is more like it.”
She stood there, frozen.
He smiled at her. “Okay. Now let’s get your clothes off.”
“I’ve never worn that,” she said.
“I know—the tags are still attached,” he said, and promptly snapped them off.
She reached for the hanger, but Adam didn’t move his hand, so her fingers ended up covering his. Adam gazed into her eyes with such focused intensity that Lane—horribly, awkwardly shy—found herself holding her breath.
Then, leaning down, Adam kissed her again. Slowly, letting his mouth linger. When he drew back, he slid his tongue across his lips, like he was tasting her still. That intense look was still in his eyes: dark, a little frightening.
Oh. Wow. Third kiss. Still incapacitating. What had they been talking about? Clothes? Yes, clothes. She looked at the hanger in her hand. His hand was still there, too. Under hers. Dark and rough and large.
“I want to see you in this, Lane.”
Giving herself a mental shake, Lane moved a few paces away. That was better. She could think more clearly, away from him. But now what? He wasn’t making any move to leave the room. Should she go into the bathroom to change? Or strip off in front of him? Her mouth went dry at the mere thought…. But of course he would be expecting her to strip off in front of him. He was supposed to see her naked or they’d get nowhere. And maybe if she stripped, full frontal, right now, it would prompt him to get on with the job. Then the worst would be over and she could start to relax. Maybe she could even start to regain some control over her galloping nerves, with the unbearable waiting at an end.
She risked a quick glance at his face, hoping for a hint of what he expected. Caught that predatory gleam in his black eyes.
And headed for the bathroom.
* * *
Adam breathed a quick sigh of relief. He’d thought for a moment she was going to strip right there in front of him. And he had a sinking feeling it would have been all-over-red-rover in approximately two seconds if she’d chosen that option.
Whew.
Had he thought she couldn’t manage a “come hither” look? Because the way she’d gazed up at him after that kiss was hot hot hot. Hot.
But…she was nowhere near begging. He was closer to begging than she was. (And didn’t that just suck?) He hadn’t even had the mental capacity to drum up a nice, neat lesson about kissing that would make his loss of control bearable. Something like…hell, he couldn’t think of anything. He focused again. Nope. Nothing. He’d just wanted to kiss her. No reason.
His heart thumped uncomfortably. She was just a few steps away, stripping. He could have her. Now, right now, if he wanted. She expected him to. Wanted him to. All he had to do was open that unlocked door and she could be his. Just like that. No flirtation, no get-to-know-you conversation, no foreplay. He could—
No. He could not. He’d chosen his path. He would stick to it. She would have to beg him first. Beg. Beg, dammit!
He couldn’t stand still a moment longer. He walked around the room once. Dragged his hands over his head. Ended up in front of the wardrobe, and restlessly started shifting hangers around in there. Thank God, something he could concentrate on while she got changed. He laughed softly as looked at the first four hangers—four suits in varying shades of gray. The next six hangers—white blouses. What a horrible selection! Horrible. He repeated that word in his head. Then he said it out loud. Trying to drown out the muted sound of clothes being removed in the bathroom just three steps away. “Horrible,” he tried again, as the very faint rustling connected straight to his groin.
He closed the wardrobe doors sharply. Damn! How long did it take a woman to get out of one outfit and into another?
He paced the room again, forcing himself to notice the almost Spartan furnishings. Pale carpet on the floor. Plain cream walls. No paintings, no knickknacks. Chunky, boring furniture. Bed. Bedside tables, one per side—one with an alarm clock, which told him Lane slept on the right side of the bed. A dressing table with one bottle of perfume, one brush, a very small jewelry box, and one of those perpetually changing electronic photo frames. He recognized Sarah in one of the shots—so tiny, blonde and pretty, nobody would believe they’d come from the same parents. There was another girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed, beautiful and confident—Erica, he guessed. A woman he assumed was Lane’s mother standing with a young guy who looked like a male version of Mum.
He heard the bathroom door open—at last—and turned to face Lane.
She was holding the dress against her chest. “Sorry that took so long but it’s the zipper. I’ve been trying to get it up but it’s stuck.” She turned her back to him. “You’re going to have to help me,” she said, with an awkward half shrug.
Holy mother of God. Her skin was milk-white. She had her fiery hair pulled out of the way. Was she doing this on purpose? The old “please zip me” routine he’d seen more times than he could count? If so, she might have chosen a sexier bra than the basic, flesh colored model she was wearing.
But even if she was forcing his hand, did he care? Adam found himself stepping forward, slipping his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against him. Okay, clearly he did not care.
One hand moved up to cup the fullness of her breast through the silk. He heard the catch in her breath. Felt the instinctive stiffening of her body. She held still, so still, for a long moment, and then he found her nipple through the fabric of the dress and her bra, circled his fingers there, pinched gently, and her head lolled back, languid against his shoulder.
He kissed behind her ear. Licked there. Kissed again. God, you feel so good. Her nipple was hard, sharp. What would it look like? Pink, pebbled. Almost without realizing he was doing it, he pushed the silk off her shoulders. She was bared to the waist, where the dress caught, held there by the half-closed zipper. His hand slid inside the cup of her bra, molding the flesh, feeling the nipple as he stroked, smoothed. His mouth was against her neck and he was breathing like a marathon runner on the homestretch.
He needed more. His other hand moved downward, slipping over the flatness of her belly, then lower, lower, resting on top of the delicate silk. He tried to envisage what was hidden beneath. What would it look like? Feel like?
Surely she could feel him, prodding her backside with his almost painful hard-on. He longed to slip between her legs, rub against her, feel her around him. He could do it, if he wanted. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he str
ained not to.
He heard Lane whimper as he hitched the skirt of her dress up. Up, up. He nudged her legs apart and edged the dress higher until his fingers could play over her panties. “Oh,” she breathed out, as he snagged a finger underneath the elastic. He could feel the heat, the moisture. She shivered and he felt it through his whole body. She gasped as his fingers slid back and forth, so close, so close, as the fingers of his other hand rolled her nipple.
He groaned into her ear and she shuddered, whispered his name, and his hands went completely still.
Where the dart of sanity came from, Adam didn’t know, but it arrived just in time. Mind battling body every inch of the way, he moved his hands, resting them at her waist until he was enough in command of himself to turn her around to face him.
Her face was pink, her eyes startled, her lips parted as though she needed the space between them to breathe.
“W-what lesson was that?” she asked, swallowing.
Adam thought quickly, not about to tell her that he’d simply lost control of himself. “I’m showing you what you can expect from me over the next three months. Which is…the unexpected. All the best sexual relationships have an element of surprise. And I guess you could call that Lesson Number Four.”
Lane frowned as she looked up at him. “So,” she said slowly, “you mean that being…impulsive can…um…be a…turn-on?”
She almost swallowed the words “turn-on.” She seemed to find them so difficult to say. It was curiously charming. Not that he was interested in being charmed. “That’s right,” he said, and promptly—almost roughly—pulled the bodice of her dress back into place.
He turned her quickly and reefed up the zipper until it jammed. Dammit. Well, the stuck zipper hadn’t been a ruse. As he should have known. She just didn’t have those moves.
He maneuvered the zipper, trying to free it, his fingers touching that pale, soft skin. You can have her, take her, do it, his subconscious urged, as he fought almost desperately with the zip.
“And if I do something like that to you…you know, when you don’t expect it…you won’t mind?” she asked, as the zip finally closed.
Oh, Lord. Lane, sliding her hands inside his underwear. Adam felt his body leap at the thought. It wasn’t supposed to work this way. He was supposed to be the one arousing her until she couldn’t control herself.
“At the moment, it’s better for me to take the lead.” His voice sounded like some weird, half-strangled thing, but he didn’t see there was much he could do about that. “But later, yeah, sure.”
She turned to face him. So serious. “You’ll tell me, though, if you don’t like what I do. Or if I’m making a fool of myself. I can’t learn otherwise.”
“You want me to score your performance?” he asked.
“I have no objection to being scored if it helps me in the long run.”
She ran her hands down the front of the dress. Her cheeks were still flushed but otherwise there was no sign that he’d just had his fingers inside her panties.
He was staring. He knew he was. Couldn’t seem to help it.
“I won’t be crushed by criticism from a teacher,” she added, sounding defensive. “If I knew it all, why would I hire you?”
“All right, then,” he said shortly. “Score two out of ten for fashion—and you only get the two because of the dress you’ve got on now.”
Lane nodded stiffly. “Actually, Sarah and Erica—my housemate—picked this out today. I guess that means I get zero.”
The inference wasn’t lost on Adam. She’d gone shopping for a dress to wear for him! “Which is why you and I have a date next Saturday. We’re going shopping for some clothes that might actually appeal to a man.”
She frowned. “It seems like a waste of lesson time. I can shop on my own.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not judging by the contents of your wardrobe.”
“With Sarah and Erica, then.”
“Maybe…but one dress? Is that all you bought today?”
“I bought two.”
“You need more than two. And I know what men want to see women in, remember?”
“I—I guess so. And would that translate to…to all men?”
Adam paused, processing that. “Do you have a particular man in mind, Lane? A picture to show me, maybe?”
“I don’t have a picture.”
“But there is someone.” Another pause, during which Lane said nothing. Adam found that he had gritted his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. So there was a man waiting. Big deal. So what? “Well, whoever he is, I can almost guarantee that navy or gray suits, white shirts, and tragic nana shoes aren’t going to do the trick. So…will you accept my help, in the spirit of our agreement?”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose.”
“But I’ll see you before then—two night minimum, right?”
“Right. So…when?”
“Such eagerness!” Adam laughed softly. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
He saw the flash of frustration in her eyes, which she quickly masked as she took another deep breath. He wondered what was coming.
“Adam, when are you intending to get to the…you know…consummation?”
He had to give her points for directness. “Lane, we’ve known each other for less than a week. Tonight, I had one hand on your breast and the other between your legs. You don’t think that’s progress?”
Ah, the blush. “Well…if you put it like that…”
“Yes, let’s both put it like that. Cards on the table, straight up, tell it like it is—as befits a businesslike contractual arrangement. When the time is right, I will be all over you like a sugar addict on cake, eating you up.”
Her eyes widened. She cleared her throat and took a step back. Maybe she didn’t have quite as much bravado as she thought. Promising, Adam thought. This was very promising.
“I just…have a goal,” she said. “And I need to be ready in three months.”
“All right, let me have it. What’s the deal with three months? Party? Conference? Overseas trip? What?”
“Nothing like that. I just find it beneficial to set parameters, schedules, timetables. It keeps things on track. And I thought…I thought…three months…? Why? Isn’t that enough time?”
“It’s long enough.”
“Is it too long, then? Is there an abridged version?”
Crikey! “No, there is not an abridged version.” Adam said and ran a hand over his head. “Or any version.” He sighed as he looked at her. Then he stepped closer, took her chin in his hand to tilt her face up, and looked into her eyes. “So three months it is. And you’ll be ready for him, Lane. You’ll be so ready, you’ll be able to teach university-level Kama Sutra. Promise. Money back guarantee.”
“Good—because I will!” she said gamely. “Want my money back. If I’m not.”
Adam felt an almost overwhelming desire to laugh—but it was mixed with a desire to crowd her against the wall and shove himself inside her. Bam. There, is that what you paid me for? Done.
Instead, he leaned in, nose-to-nose, and hovered for a long moment before settling his mouth against hers in a long, sighing kiss. Slowly, slowly he drew back, stared into her eyes then released her chin. “Good night, Lane,” he said.
As soon as he was out of the house, however, he started wondering about the state of his mind, because in the space of one evening, he’d cycled through thinking Lane Davis was ball-breaking, aggravating, adorable, infuriating, sexy, charming, ridiculous, prudish, classy…and circling back to sexy.
He got into his jeep and just sat there, wondering…
Three months. One man in her sights. Hmm…
He wondered how Lane would be with a man who wasn’t on the payroll. Wondered who the mystery man was…if she’d really already chosen him.
Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Very suddenly. She’d better not be thinking of a rematch with DeWayne the Douchebag, or he’d have something to say about it. Not th
at it was any of his business but, seriously? Someone as bloody clueless as DeWayne the Douchebag, who clearly had not had the faintest idea what to do with a woman, should not be reaping the benefits of Adam’s expertise.
He shook his head. She couldn’t be that stupid. Surely not DeWayne.
So…who?
He hit the steering wheel hard. One, two, three, four.
None of your freaking business, Adam, that’s who!
And he wouldn’t even be bothering to think about it, if he wasn’t so…so…frustrated. Dammit!
He was itching to get her into bed. Could see her in her bed. In his bed. On the floor. The couch. In the back of his jeep. The urge to do her every which way was almost impossible to resist—but he’d set his path and he would stick to it.
But, God, it was torture.
Just as he thought he was getting it under control, she wrested the upper hand back, and she didn’t even know it. He’d almost broken tonight, almost hadn’t been able to disengage himself from her. And it was only week one. Was this tug of war going to go on for the whole three months? He wasn’t sure he could take it. Her pushing him to do what she was paying him for, his resisting.
He started the jeep and pulled out onto the road.
Consummation. He could hear her voice, in his head, saying that. Consu-bloody-mation. That seemed to be everything to her. But he’d vowed to himself to show her otherwise, and that’s what he was going to do. He was not going to get to “consummation” until she couldn’t pronounce “consummation” in that intellectual-professor way. Until she was breathing sex words, begging words, with her hands everywhere because she couldn’t help herself, because it was him she was with and she wanted him more than her next breath—not because she’d memorized that putting tab A in slot B worked best.
Adam tormented himself with images of Lane in various stages of sexual gratification for the entire drive home. Not comfortable.
At home he headed straight for his single malt, which did approximately nothing to take his mind off Lane. Hours later, he was still trying to figure out how he could push her, how he could get so tightly under her skin, she couldn’t think straight…while simultaneously trying to figure out what had happened to his own skin, which was showing signs of appalling fragility.
The Contract Page 5