All Night Long

by Candace Schuler

  "What would you like to hear?" Matt asked a few moments later. "Rod Stewart, Unplugged? Frank Sinatra, The Columbia Years? Or Willie Nelson's Greatest Hits?"

  Susannah lifted two delicate demitasse cups down from the cupboard. She dropped a brown sugar cube into each one. "You choose," she said and pressed the start button on the espresso machine. It rumbled and thumped and hissed noisily, finally spewing forth a stream of thick rich coffee into the waiting cups. When the cups were full and she finally turned the machine off, her ears were filled with the sound of Ol' Blue Eyes crooning love songs from the Big Band era. Great. "Lemon peel?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the music.

  "Sounds good," Matt said.

  Susannah took that to be a reference to the lemon peel and not the music swirling through the room. She gave the tiny piece of lemon a deft twist and dropped it into his cup. Placing it on a tray next to her own, she took a quick breath, picked up the tray and sailed into the living area with as much aplomb as she could muster.

  "Here, let me help you with that," Matt said, standing up to take the tray from her as she rounded the corner of the sofa.

  Some of her aplomb abruptly faded away. While she'd been busy preparing the espresso, he'd been busy making himself right at home. He'd switched on the gas fireplace so that firelight flickered cheerily off the marble mantel and struck flashing shards of light off the leopard's rhinestone choker. He'd found the brandy and placed two oversize snifters side-by-side on the pale pink lacquered surface of her coffee table, with two fingers of amber liquid in each. He'd located the dimmer switch that controlled the frosted sconces and turned down the lights to a soft glow against the amethyst walls.

  He'd also found the time to take off his suit coat and tie, leaving her to stare at a broad chest and shoulders that looked at least a yard wide under the soft white cotton of his custom-made shirt. The hands that reached out for her tray were strong and tanned, bared to the white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

  Do men do that on purpose? she wondered peevishly. Do they all know what the sight of a pair of strong, hair-dusted forearms does to a woman's resolve? I'll bet he opened those top two buttons on his shirt on purpose, too, she decided, just to show off that tempting wedge of chest hair.

  "I'm going to punch the next man who dares accuse women of using their sex appeal to get what they want," she muttered as Matt put the tray on the coffee table and sat down.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "Beg pardon?" he said, glancing up at her from the sofa. Somehow, just sitting there like that, looking up at her, he managed to appear innocently adorable and dangerously, irresistibly sexy at the same time.

  Susannah decided that she absolutely had to assert herself before things got out of hand. Or more out of hand than they already were. What on earth had she been thinking of to let him come in for coffee?

  "I meant what I said about nothing happening between us tonight," she said firmly, letting her gaze sweep over the cozy little scene he had set. "I'm not about to let myself be seduced." No matter how sexy and adorable and irresistible you are.

  "And I meant what I said about knowing nothing was going to happen tonight," Matt said, pretending affront that she would doubt him. "I have no intention of seducing you." He broke eye contact, deliberately letting his gaze make the same sweep hers had before bringing it back to her again. "Although I did kind of hope we might indulge in some heavy necking," he said, laughing out loud when her mouth fell open. "Relax, Susannah." He reached out and grabbed her hand. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

  Oh, that's a comfort, she thought, as she bounced down on the cushy sofa beside him.

  He picked up one of the cups of espresso on the tray and handed it to her. She took it with an automatic murmur of thanks, eyeing him warily despite his promise.

  His lips turned up in a wicked grin. "I also promise I won't make love to you tonight, even if you beg me."

  * * *

  She almost begged him.

  They had finished the espresso and were sipping on the brandy when he leaned over and kissed her. It started out as a gentle kiss, meant to be teasing and playful. But they both caught fire the instant their lips touched and the kiss went from playful to heated in a heartbeat.

  Matt put his free hand on the back of her head to bring her closer, to taste her more deeply, to hold her mouth pressed to his as he experimented with the limited pressures and angles possible to them as they sat there on the sofa, knowing they could go no further while they both held brandy snifters. It went on for long, endless, frustrating minutes. Hot, sweet kisses that made him ache like a teenager in the back seat of his father's car, until, finally, he could take no more and raised his head with a ragged sigh.

  Susannah stared up at him, her soft brown eyes liquid and warm with wanting, her lips wet and shiny from his. "More," she murmured, as heedless and greedy as a child in a candy store. "Kiss me again, Matt."

  It was the way she said his name, all soft and breathy and aching with need, that cracked his resolve. He pulled just far enough away from her to take the brandy snifters and put them on the coffee table. And then he cupped his big hands on either side of her head, cradling it, tilting it back, and took her mouth with his. His lips plucked at hers, sliding over them, wetting and warming them, teasing them, until, helplessly, she opened her mouth as wide as he wanted and invited him in. He took unhurried, undisputed possession. His tongue plunged between her lips, a welcome invader, thoroughly plundering her sweetness, asking to be plundered in return. Susannah obliged him eagerly and they engaged in a heated duel, sharing the dark flavor of espresso, the tang of lemon, the heady taste of brandy warmed by passion's intemperate flames.

  They nibbled and nipped, licked and sucked, changing angles and pressures, pulling apart to taste each other's cheeks and chins, ears and eyelids and the soft underside of a jaw, then coming together again in a kiss deeper than the one before.

  His hands tangled in her wayward curls, freeing them to fall in glorious disarray over her shoulders. Her fingers threaded through his silky blond hair, holding him to her when he pressed his lips to her throat in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

  "This is madness," she whispered raggedly, pulling him closer.

  "Insanity," he agreed with a low growl as he lifted his hands to her nape, seeking the tab of the long zipper that ran down the back of her dress.

  She bowed her head against his wide chest and reached up with one hand, brushing her hair aside to make it easier to find.

  Neither one of them gave a thought to her misgivings or his promise as he slid the tab down to her waist.

  He moved his hands back up the open V and grasped the loosened bodice of the dress. She straightened as he drew it forward, allowing him to bare her throat and shoulders and the soft swell of her breasts, barely contained in a purple satin demi-bra trimmed with black lace. The straps were halfway down her arms, caught by his fingers as he pulled the bodice of her dress down.

  Matt sucked in his breath at her delicate beauty. He leaned down and, very softly, pressed a kiss into the top of her cleavage.

  Susannah whimpered. "Absolute madness," she moaned.

  The words sobered him.

  If he pulled the dress the rest of the way down, if he took off her bra and bared her breasts, there would be no stopping him. Not that she would ask him to stop. Not now. Not with her heart pounding and her body trembling, and passion wreaking havoc on her better judgment. She wouldn't even remember the promise he'd made her until later, when the passion had cooled and she'd had time to consider what she'd done in the searing heat of the moment. He told himself that Susannah was a fair woman, an honest woman, and she wouldn't blame him for what they'd both done.

  But she might regret it.

  And, damn it, he'd promised.

  Matt closed his eyes and his hands clenched on the fabric of her dress, hard, as he fought not to pull it the rest of the way down.

  "Matt?" she said
uncertainly, her voice trembling almost as much as her body.

  He shook his head. "Give me a minute," he rasped. "Just one minute." He took a deep breath and pulled the dress back into place on her shoulders. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done but he made good on his promise.

  He just hoped she appreciated it.

  She took a deep steadying breath, and then another, struggling to bring her rampaging emotions under control. She wanted to scream and beg, to demand that he finish what they had started. She eased herself away from him, instead. "Thank you," she whispered.

  He was just pulling up the zipper on her dress when they heard the downstairs door creak open.

  "Are you expecting visitors?"

  Susannah frowned. "No, I—"

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Suse?" a voice called softly. "You awake up there?"

  Susannah's hands flew to her hair. "Oh, goodness, it's Heather."

  "Heather?"

  "Heather Lloyd. She's staying with me for a while, in the efficiency apartment downstairs."

  A light knock reverberated through the room. "Suse?"

  Susannah jumped up from the sofa. "Yes, I'm up," she called. "You can come in."

  The door opened to reveal a slender teenager dressed in the height of grunge street fashion: torn jeans, baggy faded sweater hanging down from beneath a worn and studded leather jacket, heavy, black motorcycle boots and short blond hair that looked as if she'd styled it herself with pinking shears. She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene. "Oh, jeez, Suse. I didn't know you had company." She started to back out the door. "I'll go."

  "No, it's all right," Susannah said brightly. "Matt was just leaving." She scooped his jacket and tie off the sofa as she spoke and handed them to him without looking at him, trying to pretend her cheeks weren't blazing red. "Weren't you, Matt?"

  "Looks like it," Matt said, standing up to slip into his jacket. He wadded up the tie and put it in his pocket, then reached out and caught Susannah's chin in his hand, turning her face up to his. "We'll finish this later," he said in a low voice, his eyes intense and predatory as they stared down into hers. "And that's another promise you can count on."

  Heather stepped back as he approached the door, watching him warily out of shadowed green eyes. "I don't suppose you want me to, like, call you a taxi or something?" she said hopefully.

  Matt paused to look down at her. "No, thanks," he said lightly, realizing she wasn't more than sixteen, if that. What had a kid her age been doing out so late? "My car's parked right outside."

  Heather grimaced and hunched her shoulders in protective reflex action. "It wouldn't happen to a navy-blue Lincoln Continental, would it?"

  "Yes." Matt nodded slowly, sensing he was about to hear something he wouldn't like. "Why?"

  The girl lifted her chin defiantly, causing the multiple earrings dangling from each of her delicate earlobes to sway against one another. "I, like, put an illegal-parking sticker on your windshield," she said, her posture daring him to do something about it.

  Chapter 5

  "Your juvenile delinquent owes me fifteen dollars," Matt informed Susannah over the telephone the next afternoon. Actually, it had cost him a good bit more than that since the You Are Parked Here Illegally sticker she'd slapped on his windshield had had to be thoroughly saturated with a special solvent before the carwash attendant could scrape it off. He'd decided to give her a discount for good intentions—apparently Susannah had been having problems with people parking in her driveway and blocking her in—and for showing a modicum of good sense. At least she hadn't stuck the damn thing on the driver's side and blocked his view. Besides, if he charged her any more than fifteen dollars, Susannah would probably end up paying for it. And it wasn't Susannah who needed to learn a lesson.

  "Heather's really sorry about what she did to your car," she assured him.

  Matt snorted in disbelief. The girl had been anything but apologetic last night. She'd acted as if the whole thing was his fault for having parked in Susannah's driveway in the first place.

  "No, really," Susannah said. "She is. And I know she won't do it again. To anyone. Not after that lecture you gave her."

  Matt smiled in grim satisfaction. The grubby little vandal had gone white when he'd pointed out that some gun-wielding hothead might take exception to having his property defaced and take his displeasure out on the house or its inhabitants. He could only hope he'd given her something to think about the next time she was tempted to try some stupid stunt.

  "I found a dozen or so of those illegal parking stickers in the trash can by my desk this morning," Susannah said, knowing the silent act of contrition was as close as Heather would get to apologizing. In the world Heather had run away from, admitting fault meant admitting weakness and admitting weakness got you slapped down—or worse. Susannah didn't blame the girl one little bit for her lack of trust and openness.

  "Have you arranged that date for my mother yet?" Matt asked, suddenly tired of the subject of Heather Lloyd. He dealt with people like her all day—troubled, in trouble and just plain Trouble.

  "I've talked to Mr. Elliott," Susannah said. "Even after I explained your excessive need for subterfuge—" she couldn't resist the gentle dig "—he was still very interested in meeting her. He said she sounds like a, and I quote, lovely, refined gentlewoman, unquote. I told him I'd check with you and get back to him about the date and time."

  "How about this Saturday night at seven-thirty?"

  "Saturday night?"

  "The campaign's hosting a fundraiser at the Mark Hopkins. I have to make a speech and shake a few hands but it shouldn't be too bad. And the kitchens at the Mark are excellent," he said enticingly. "So you know the food will be good."

  "Well, I'll check with Mr. Elliott." She doodled a question mark on her yellow pad. "Will he need a tuxedo or would a business suit be okay?"

  "Tuxedo," Matt said. "And if he doesn't have one, tell him I'll spring for the rental as part of the deal."

  "How about tickets?"

  "Both you and Elliott will come as my guests, naturally."

  "Me?" Susannah's heart suddenly started fluttering in her chest. She tried to calm it with flippancy. "I don't recall anything about my appearance at some stuffy political fundraiser being part of the deal."

  "New deal," Matt said. "I need you there to introduce Elliott to my mother."

  "You didn't need me to introduce her to the last three candidates."

  "And looked what happened."

  Susannah thought about that for all of two seconds. "All right, I'll call him right now and get back to you."

  She tried to tell herself her eagerness had nothing to do with Matt—and failed miserably. Her eagerness had everything to do with Matt. She'd never in her life actually wanted to go to a political fundraiser.

  "I'm due in court in a few minutes but you can leave a message on my voice mail or on the machine at the condo." He gave her the number. "Got that?"

  "Mmm-hmm," she said and drew a heart around his home number.

  "Good. And, Susannah?"

  "Yes?" A ring of hearts began to take shape around his name.

  "Even if Elliott can't make it on Saturday, I still want you to go with me." Matt's voice lowered suggestively. "We have unfinished business to take care of."

  Susannah put her pencil down. "I hardly think a campaign fund-raiser is the place to take care of it," she said tartly, shocked at the way her heart had begun to thump against her chest.

  "Afterward," he promised.

  * * *

  "If Mr. Elliott calls back while I'm upstairs, give me a holler, would you, please?" Susannah said as she came hurrying out of her office half an hour later. "I have to check on something." Like whether she had anything decent to wear to a black-tie dinner in the Peacock Court at the Mark Hopkins.

  "One sec, Suse," Heather said, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm, like, on the phone."

  Susannah stopped in her tracks and act
ually focused on who was sitting at the receptionist's desk. Heather never came into the front office during business hours. All parties concerned had decided she'd scare the clients. So what was she doing answering the phone? Her telephone skills were practically nonexistent.

  "Yeah," Heather was saying into the receiver. "I'm, like, glad you're happy with the arrangement." She turned slightly away from Susannah as she spoke, lifting one shoulder as if to shield the conversation from her. "Yeah, I'll see you later. I gotta go now. 'Bye."

  "Who was that?" Susannah asked when Heather had cradled the receiver. She tried to make her voice casual and undemanding, knowing how touchy teenagers were about their privacy.

  "Nobody important." Heather shrugged. "Just a friend."

  Susannah nodded and let the subject drop. If Heather didn't want to confide in her, then she didn't. "How come you're here answering the phones?"

  "Helen went over to The Tea Cozy to, like, see what was taking Judy so long to, like, you know, check out the food 'n' stuff for your tea party. They'll be back in a coupl'a minutes."

  "That still doesn't tell me what you're doing in the office." Susannah gave her a searching look. "Why aren't you in school?" Part of the agreement that allowed the girl to live in Susannah's house included regular attendance at school. "Are you cutting classes?"

  "I'm on my lunch hour." Heather hunched her shoulders and shifted into offense. "I just, like, thought I'd come over and find out if the guy you were doin' the nasty with on the couch last night told you what the damages are yet, you know?"

  Susannah decided the only dignified thing to do was ignore the reference to last night's activities. "Fifteen dollars."

  Heather shrugged, as if it didn't make any difference to her one way or another. She dug into the pocket of her jeans, drawing out a handful of crumpled bills, and peeled off a ten and five ones. The remaining bills totaled less than six dollars, all she'd have until the weekend, when she could sell more of her jewelry creations to the tourists at Fisherman's Wharf. "Give it to him for me, will ya?"