by Trish Jensen
All of her passion and desire vanished, replaced by utter mortification. Kit must not have registered her suddenly stiff body, because he was still grasping her hips and rocking into her, muttering harsh sex words into her neck.
“Stop!” Sherry cried, kicking him in the rear with the heel of her pump.
Kit straightened and stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. As if she’d lost her mind. Perhaps she had.
“We have company,” she whispered, trying desperately to get her jacket back up to her shoulders, and to cover the wet circle overtop her left breast.
Kit glanced toward the door, then back at Sherry, his desire replaced by irritation. “What company?”
“Behind us, you idiot!”
He looked up. “So what? They can’t see or hear us.”
“That’s not the point!” She finally succeeded in straightening her jacket, then pushed him back and hopped off the table, tugging her skirt lower. “I can’t believe this.” She glared self-righteously and pointed at him. “It won’t work. So don’t try it again.”
With that she snapped shut her briefcase and yanked it off the table. “I’ve heard enough. If you still decide to use Tiffany as your spokesmodel, you’re on your own. I’ve done all I can do to convince you it’s a mistake.”
“Sherry, wait,” he said, following right behind her as she marched to the door and started fumbling with the lock.
“Leave me alone!” she demanded, finally winning the war with the deadbolt. Striding down the hall toward the front door, she ignored Kit’s attempts to stop her. She had to get away from this place, this man.
The director of the facility emerged from a room carrying a coffee mug and stopped as she saw the two of them leaving. “Sherry?”
Grinding to a halt, Sherry managed a polite smile on her face. “Sorry, Gail, I have to go. You did a fantastic job, as usual. I’ll look forward to getting the video and the tabulated results of the questionnaires tomorrow.”
She checked her watch. “Oops, I’m late! How about if you escort Mr. Fleming back to the observation room?” She fluttered her fingers. “Toodles.” Before either of them could respond, she sailed right by a gaping Gail and hightailed it to the front door and freedom.
The parking lot seemed darker than usual tonight, full of ominous shadows. Sherry swallowed a sudden wave of apprehension as she crossed to her car, digging into her briefcase for a much needed candy bar.
She didn’t see the pothole in front of her. Not until the heel of her shoe landed in it and stuck. Off balance, she dropped her briefcase, let out a squawk, and promptly fell forward.
Pain shot up her right leg from her ankle and she cried out again. Gravel embedded itself in her palms and her knees, but she barely noticed. Not when her ankle was throbbing in agonizing bursts.
She whimpered as she tried to push to her feet. She failed, and instead twisted and landed ignominiously on her rump.
“Sherry, my God, are you all right?”
Oh, great. Just great. She couldn’t even humiliate herself privately. “I’m fine,” she said, then proved herself a liar by mewling when she tested her ankle.
“You are not fine,” Kit said, hunkering down beside her. “Come on, let’s get you to a hospital.”
“No!” she nearly shouted. Taking a deep breath she lowered her voice. “Please, if you’d just help me to my car.”
The concern etched on his face was rather endearing. “Just sit still a moment and let me check. What’d you hurt?”
She pointed at her ankle. “I think I just twisted it a little.” She brushed gravel from her knees, noting that her stockings were ruined. “Help me up, please, Kit”
He helped her up all right. Straight into his arms.
She wiggled. “Put me down!”
“No,” he said, bending to grab her briefcase.
If her ankle didn’t hurt so much, she might have enjoyed being held in his strong embrace, might have appreciated the heat from his body and the wonderful scent of his aftershave. As it was, she let out another little whimper and rested her head on his chest. His heartbeat, strong and true, against her ear.
When she heard the sound of a car door opening, she raised her head and opened her eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked. “This is your car.”
“I’m driving you to the emergency room.”
“No way! Listen, it’s already feeling better.”
“Right,” he said, stuffing her into the passenger seat.
She tried to scramble out of the car, but he blocked her with his body. “I’m taking you, sweetheart,” he said. “You can’t drive with a hurt ankle.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Unfortunately, Kit was right. She didn’t think she could stand to depress the gas pedal. “Okay, fine,” she conceded. “But take me home, not to a hospital, all right?”
He glared at her for a moment. “Fine. I’ll take you home.”
He sprinted around the front of the car, and Sherry marveled that at a time like this, she could still take a moment to appreciate the way the man moved. He was way too sexy for her peace of mind.
What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she control herself when it came to Kit? Why did she forget everything but the man himself when he touched her?
She felt so confused. She didn’t understand the emotions inside her. She felt frightened. Not being able to control this growing attraction to Kit scared her to death. And she felt just a little piqued. Because he knew quite well how much he turned her on.
As they headed from Vienna to Falls Church, Kit seemed content to drive in silence, which was just as well. So many jumbled thoughts were bouncing through her head, she didn’t know if she’d be able to hold up her end of the conversation.
Kit would bet a good bit of his fortune that very few things fazed Sherry Spencer. Right now, she looked as if she’d just been walloped with a two-by-four. And he didn’t think it had a thing to do with her ankle.
“Sherry?” he finally said, as he watched her carefully. If her eyes got any bigger, they’d cover her whole face.
He pulled into the guest lot of her condo, and parked. Then he reached out to touch her. She flinched, pressing herself against the passenger door. Obviously he’d frightened her, but he didn’t know why. He’d expected outrage more than fright. He liked watching her outraged, and he knew right off that he did not like watching her frightened. “What’s wrong?” he finally asked. “Your ankle?”
She shook her head. “No. Well, yes, but that’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“This . . . this whole night has been a disaster.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly an ego booster. Kit decided to intentionally misunderstand. “Why? You won. Tiffany’s out.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was out of line tonight. But you have to admit, you participated.”
It took a moment for Sherry to respond, but she finally managed it. She punched at her seat belt until it released her. Reaching for the door handle, she glared at him. “You pushed me to it.”
He sighed, clamping his hand around her arm to keep her anchored in place. “Sherry, I’m a man. You’re a beautiful woman. I can’t help it that I’m attracted to you. At least I’m honest about it.”
“You want to control me.”
“I want to make love to you. If you equate that with control, that’s your problem, not mine. I want sex, Sherry. Plain, old-fashioned, sweaty, mind-blowing sex. With you.”
She stared at him, apparently turning his words over in her mind. “And exactly what would be the rules in this situation?”
Kit frowned. “The usual ones, of course.”
“I see. You mean the ones about”—she lifted her hand, ticking them off on her fingers—”no monogamy, no commitment, no talk of . . . feelings besides lust.”
“Right,” he said, pleased she remembered.
She smiled. “I’ve got one more t
o add to your list.”
Feeling magnanimous, he nodded. “Which is?”
“Take a hike,” she said, turning up her nose. “I’m not playing by your rules, you egomaniacal . . . man! So you can just take a real long hike.”
“Damn,” he muttered. He’d blown it. Honesty really didn’t work well with women. They preferred subterfuge. Why had he thought Sherry would be any different? Strangely disappointed that she was acting typically female, he decided to let it go, for now. He released her arm. “Stay put. I’m carrying you inside.”
“Not on your life,” she said, scrambling to get out.
By the time he’d rounded the car, she was leaning against it, her right ankle raised. When she looked up the moisture in her eyes glittered in the moonlight, and his heart gave an odd lurch.
“Would you . . . please help me inside, Kit?” she asked, her lips trembling.
He knew how much it cost her to have to request his help. “Of course.”
“Just lend me a shoulder, all right?” she said, taking a step.
“Stop that!” he barked, pitching forward. He took her briefcase from her, then swung her into his arms again.
She didn’t protest. In fact, she buried her head against his chest. “Sorry to be a bother.”
“No problem,” he answered her, amazed again at how tiny she felt. She couldn’t weigh more than five or ten pounds over a hundred.
Sherry looped her arms around his neck and squirmed to settle more comfortably in his embrace. He carried her into her building and down the hall quickly, wanting to get a look at her foot and decide whether he should drag her to the hospital anyway. At her door, he stopped. “Keys?”
“It’s not locked.”
Reflexively, Kit tightened his hold on her. “What do you mean, it’s not locked?”
She tipped back her head and looked up at him. “I couldn’t find my keys this morning, and I had an important appointment, so . . . I didn’t lock it.”
“Of all the dumb, idiotic—”
“Could you at least get me inside before you yell?”
Kit shoved open the door. Kicking it closed, he carried Sherry across the living room and laid her on the couch. He inhaled, filling instantly with longing. Her home smelled like her. Sweet yet wild. Full of innocent passion.
As gently as he could, he removed her shoes. Holding one up, he commented, “If I didn’t like the sight of women in these things, I’d say you’re all crazy to wear them.” He shook his head. “Your feet are so small, your shoes are almost as tall as they are long.” He nodded at her. “Get comfortable. Take off your jacket.”
She wiggled out of it, which was an enjoyable sight as her breasts thrust against the peach silk of her blouse. Once free of the jacket, Sherry winced as she rotated her ankle, testing it. “Ow.”
Bending over her again, Kit lightly ran his fingers over her already-swelling ankle. “At least you can move it. That’s a good sign.” He straightened. “Do you have an ice pack?”
Sherry shook her head.
“I’ll make do.”
“Kit, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
Before leaving, he stuffed a throw pillow under her ankle, elevating it. Then, unable to resist, he stroked her cheek. “You just leave everything to Dr. Kit.”
Sherry’s kitchen was fairly large and airy for an apartment. She had a welcoming way of decorating. Her walls were covered in brightly woven pot holders, the butcher block island in the center of the room held ceramic salt and pepper shakers and a vase of fresh-cut spring flowers. Above the island, bright pots and pans hung side by side with cooking utensils. African violets lined the windowsill.
Kit liked Sherry’s taste, and compared it to the sterile, artsy way his own place was decorated. He always hated going home. But he enjoyed being here.
He took a moment to go through all of her cabinets and drawers, to orient himself. Amazing how much they told him about the woman in the other room. She obviously enjoyed cooking, considering the wide variety of spices she kept on hand, and the amazing variety of foodstuffs in her fridge and pantry. She was partial to dry red wine, and loved pretty ceramic things.
And she was a chocoholic. In the pantry she had bags and bags of miniature candy bars. She had chocolate ice cream in her freezer, two bottles of chocolate sauce and a jug of chocolate milk in the refrigerator, and two boxes of Cocoa Puffs stashed in a lazy Susan.
Kit grinned as he filled a cloth dishtowel with ice cubes. He’d file that information away. Maybe, someday, he’d treat her to a chocolate-covered Kit. His body liked that idea, considering its instant reaction to the erotic thought.
Taking the makeshift ice pack out to her, he arranged it gently on her ankle. “Too cold?”
“Nope, not yet.”
His heart hammered as his eyes met hers. What was it about Sherry that called to his body to respond to her? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this quickening in his veins from merely gazing at a woman. It was almost as unnerving as it was exciting.
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and straightened. “Be right back.”
Returning to the kitchen, he started to whistle. After opening a bottle of cabernet, he grabbed it by the neck and two goblets by the stems, and started out. But abruptly he stopped and turned back. With a barely concealed grin, he snatched several small Snickers bars and stuffed them in his shirt pocket.
Inspired, he plucked a daisy from the flower arrangement, tore off half the stem and tucked it, too, into his pocket. Then he picked up the wine and glasses and headed back out to Sherry.
Pain was still etched around her pressed lips, but her eyes were open and sparkling with good humor. Another thing he liked about her, although it amazed him to realize it. He remembered his irritation at his original assessment of her as perky. She wasn’t so much perky, as content with herself and the world, something so lacking in him. And for a moment, he regretted his jaded view of life. He’d give anything to be so content in his own skin.
He set the wine and goblets on the oak coffee table, then, with a flourish, took the daisy from his pocket and presented it to her. Her mouth dropped open, forming an “o” of surprise. Before she could say anything, Kit snatched a candy bar from his pocket and waved it in the air.
She smiled. “Flowers, chocolate and wine. What more could a girl ask for?”
Immensely pleased with himself, Kit returned her smile. His facial muscles protested the unusual activity, but the rest of him felt good about it. Her grin vanished, and she stared at him as if he’d just landed a UFO in her living room.
“What?” Kit asked.
“You smiled.”
“I do know how, you know,” he retorted, feeling slightly insulted. Was he really that stuffy?
“You’re just always so stuffy.”
Apparently so. “Thanks a bunch.”
Sherry sat up a little. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I mean, you have a fantastic smile. It’s such a shame to waste it.”
She liked his smile? Then he’d have to start practicing. Feeling his cheeks heat up, he looked away and busied himself arranging the ice pack on her ankle. “Do you have any Ben-Gay? It might be good to put some on to help those overstretched muscles and tendons.”
“Nope, no Ben-Gay.”
Kit straightened. “The store across the street should have some. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, you might want to take off your pantyhose.”
He chanced a look at her face, and when he saw awareness flare in her eyes, he knew her thoughts had made the same leap as his. How she’d responded to him stroking her through the hose. How she had nothing on underneath the hose. How vulnerable she’d feel without them. How much he wanted to touch her without them. “You’re wrong, you know,” he whispered, then forced himself to smile, considering she seemed to like that a lot.
Staring at his lips, she said, “Wrong about what?”
“About why I want you.” He turned and headed to
the door, deciding he’d like her to mull that one over for awhile. “Be right back.”
Even Sherry’s toenails were flushing with sexual heat. How was it possible for a man to make her want him with just a smile? On the other hand, what a smile it was. Kit could turn on a department store mannequin with a simple lifting of his lips, and a crinkling of his incredible eyes. The man was indecently beautiful. No one should be that lucky. So why was it so difficult for him to relax and enjoy himself? Why didn’t he smile more? Why didn’t he laugh? What had happened to him to turn him into such a stick-in-the-mud?
Sherry debated these questions, even as she debated taking off her pantyhose. It would be a wicked, wicked thing to do. Almost an invitation for him to try and take liberties. And after she’d figured out his motives, she shouldn’t even be considering it. Oh, what the heck . . .
Working quickly, she set aside the towel and pulled off the torn hose, then shoved them under the couch cushion, finding the romance novel she’d left there weeks ago. Then she replaced the ice pack to her ankle, just as Kit returned.
Dropping gracefully to his knees, he said, “Let’s take a look.” He picked up the towel and leaned forward, a lock of his silky hair falling adorably over his forehead. Gingerly he touched her ankle, then snatched back his hand as if she’d burned him. Slowly, he raised his eyes until their gazes locked, and he swallowed. Hard. The tension between them was palpable, thick, and hot as sin. Sherry couldn’t have taken her eyes from him if her life depended on it. Kit looked away first, still swallowing convulsively. He dropped the towel on the table and picked up the tube, mumbling under his breath.
“What?” Sherry asked.
“I was just reminding myself that you’re hurt.”
Not that hurt, Sherry wanted to say, but didn’t. She was begging for trouble, and she knew it. Worse, she didn’t care. Her lusty nature had gotten the better of her, and she realized she wanted this man beyond reason.
Sherry shut her eyes and laid her head back. At least if she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t feel her hormones humming. Suddenly she felt something cool hit her ankle bone, and she flinched until she realized it was the ointment. And then with a featherlight touch, Kit began rubbing the stuff into her flesh. The coolness disappeared, and heat took its place. And not just the heat from the Ben-Gay. Unless the ointment had the power to raise her body temperature.