by Trish Jensen
But no, she felt fairly certain that it was his gently massaging fingers that were responsible. And she realized that not looking at him wasn’t going to stop her from responding to him. So why deny herself the pleasure?
She opened her eyes to catch him watching her face, the heat in her body reflected in his gaze. A sudden need to know him, to know what made him what he was, suffused her. “Where did you and Rachel grow up?” she asked, figuring that was about as harmless a question as she could start with.
Obviously not. The passionate fire in his eyes died as if doused with ice water, and his fingers stilled on her leg. For a moment, she felt certain he wouldn’t answer her. But then he took a sip of wine, then resumed stroking her ankle. “I grew up in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Rachel grew up in Pittsburgh.”
“Oh. Your parents divorced?”
Again he hesitated, his jaw clenching rhythmically. “Not exactly. My father was never in the picture.”
“Oh, Kit, I’m so sorry!”
“We were separated when we were five.”
“When who were five?”
“Rachel and I.”
“You’re . . . the same age?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Twins. Hard to believe, huh?”
“I’ve never seen two such different people.”
“Yes, well, I can’t argue that.”
Sherry peered at him, wondering what he was leaving out. And wondering how to get him to talk. “If you didn’t grow up together, which one of you lived with your mother?”
Kit stood abruptly and grabbed his goblet and the wine bottle. “I need a refresher,” he said, refilling his nearly full glass. “You?”
Considering she hadn’t touched her wine yet, and he’d barely made a dent in his, she saw the ploy for what it was. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me to mind my own business.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, he said, “How’s your ankle feel?”
She couldn’t decide whether he was too polite to tell her to stuff it, or whether some part of him wanted to talk, but he just didn’t know how. “Better.” She looked at his hand pointedly. “That ointment felt good.”
Kit again settled on the floor near her feet. “Really? Well, now, making you feel good is my primary goal in life at the moment.”
Sherry couldn’t believe this potential centerfold sat on the floor at her feet, content to do her bidding. She decided to test him . . . just a little. “I’m feeling dizzy. Probably lack of chocolate in my system.” His low chuckle was so deep and rumbly, Sherry popped her head up to stare at him. “What?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to take advantage of people?”
“Heck, no! She took all the advantage she could get.”
Kit’s grin grew wider with every word. “Your mother sounds like a very intelligent woman.”
“Sure is. She taught me everything I know.”
“Including your flair for the dramatic?”
“You betcha. Now how about that candy bar, before I expire from chocolate withdrawal?”
Kit grabbed the chocolate bar and unwrapped it, a smile flitting over his features.
While Sherry settled herself up straighter, a little devil in her took over. “Let’s make this a game.”
Kit’s brows lifted. “What kind of game?”
Sherry studied her nails. “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see . . .” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! The queen and the slave boy.”
Eight
Kit choked.
Take that! Sherry thought. Let’s see you give up some of that infamous control, Christian Fleming.
“Slave boy?” Kit said, still half-sputtering.
She waved. “Slave boy, slave man, whatever. It’s the slave part that’s important here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it. It’s the control thing again, huh?”
“Just testing. Can you possibly give it up, even for a moment?”
“Of course,” he said, looking insulted. “Just watch.”
He sidled toward her, still on his knees. Sherry’s pulse beat faster at the mere sight of his approach. He had a wicked light in his eyes that did tremendous things to the blood in her veins.
Brandishing the small candy bar like a weapon, he leaned over her, brushing her hair back from her face. “Your wish is my command, my queen.”
“I wish my candy bar,” she demanded, looking imperious.
He waved the bar under her royal nose, and Sherry nearly moaned at the scent of chocolate.
“This?” he asked. “You wish this?”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, a little too eagerly for a queen.
“Ask nicely,” he whispered, keeping the candy bar just out of reach.
“I’m the queen,” she reminded him. “I don’t have to ask. I demand.”
“Ask nicely,” he repeated.
“Kit, you’re not playing the game right.”
“Okay, since you won’t ask, I now insist that you beg.” He waved the candy back and forth. “Beg me, Sherry,” he said.
Somehow, he’d managed to turn the tables on her. Again. Sherry wanted that candy bar badly, and he knew it. She thought about just snatching it from him, but decided maybe he needed a lesson in how to give up control. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, feed me the candy bar.”
“Good girl,” he growled. He put the bar to her lips.
Sherry sank her teeth into the Snickers and bit off a small piece. She moaned her delight as the nectar of tastes exploded in her mouth. Nothing, nothing, gave her as much pleasure as chocolate. Well, maybe one thing, she amended, as she gazed at the man hovering above her. Looking at Kit was pure delight. And if just looking at him was this enjoyable, kissing him was pretty close to heaven. Complete heaven would be—
“More, my queen?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Please,” she implored softly. “Please, Kit.”
Something in her voice affected Kit deeply. He felt a burn in his chest, a catch in his throat. She was so damn beautiful, so damn appealing, sitting here begging for sustenance. He could get used to this slave boy routine. He’d like to be her love slave, too, making her beg for him until they both lost their minds.
He fed her the rest of the candy, and delighted in her groan of pleasure. Oh, God, he wanted to make her moan like that while he explored her body and brought her to nirvana.
He watched her mouth move as she chewed, and couldn’t wait until she swallowed so he could kiss her. He wanted to taste the sweet chocolate on her lips, her tongue.
Sherry grabbed his hand, surprising him. Before he understood what she had in mind, she’d gently sucked his index finger into her mouth. Her tongue brushed over it and he felt the sensation all the way down to his groin, which reacted in a spasm of pleasure. When she was done licking any remaining chocolate from his finger, she worked over his thumb until Kit was fully aroused.
He had to keep in mind that she was injured, and he couldn’t do what he desperately wanted to do right now—drag her to the bedroom and make love to her all night long. Use her sweet body for his satisfaction, and satisfy her in return. “Sherry,” he groaned, “I want you so much.”
“I hadn’t noticed, slave boy,” she returned, smiling.
“Notice this.” He cupped her face in his hands and came down on her mouth. Explosions of sensation rocketed through his body as their tongues found each other and mated.
Just as he knew she would, she tasted so sweet, and Kit started to wonder if he’d ever tire of kissing this woman. She was so wrong about the control issue. He didn’t want to make love to her just to control her. He wanted to make love to her because he desired her more than he’d ever desired a woman in his life.
Her personality, her zest for life, the very things that had irritated him when he’d first met her, now attracted him in a way he’d
never dreamed possible. Sherry was the woman he wanted to make love to, the woman he wanted to share the ultimate pleasure with.
He broke the kiss and laid his forehead on hers, his breath rasping in the quiet of the room. He had to fight for control. He had to remember her ankle, and how he’d injure it further if he made love to her the way he wanted. Wildly.
But, he realized, he could give her what she wanted without hurting her. With that in mind, he tugged her down until she was lying again. Kissing her deeply, he grasped her waist, then slid his hand to the buttons of her silk blouse.
One by one, he slipped them free, working upward. He knew the minute she realized what he was doing, because she tensed. Kit lifted his head and looked down at her questioningly.
“We can’t do this,” she said, the regret warring with passion in her eyes.
“Why not?”
“My . . . my ankle.”
He smiled at her, an action that was suddenly becoming rather easy. “For what I have in mind, your ankle will be just fine.”
“What . . . what do you have in mind?”
He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Slave boy is about to pleasure his queen.”
“Oh, no you don’t, slave boy,” Sherry said, quickly rebuttoning her shirt. “This queen doesn’t allow slaves with rules to pleasure her.”
Kit sat back on his haunches, cursing himself for ever telling her his rules. Just his luck to fall head over heels in lust for a woman with a good memory. What he should do is get up, walk out, and take the fastest route to Tiffany’s hotel. He could take Tiffany up on her seductive offer, forget all about Sherry Spencer and her romantic notions. He took a sip of wine, recognizing the instant protest his body put up. The thought of intimacy with Tiffany did not turn him on. In fact, it turned him off. Way off.
He tried another tactic. “What’s the matter, mistress? Afraid to let loose and live a little?”
Sherry’s nose wrinkled adorably when she scoffed. “Listen, slave boy, I’m not interested in a short-term fling. I don’t care how sexy you are.”
Hmmm, she found him sexy. That was as good a starting point as any. “You’re attracted to me. You’ve admitted it.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re all wrong for me.”
Kit rolled his eyes. “Is this the romance thing again?”
“You got it. When I fall in love, it’s going to be with a man who can commit. It’s going to be with a man who knows the meaning of the word romance. Not some egomaniacal CEO who shudders at the mere thought of marriage.”
Kit shuddered at the mere thought of marriage. Unfortunately for him, Sherry noticed. She snorted and shook her head.
He gave up. No matter how much he wanted her, he was definitely not the man for her. No matter how strong the sexual chemistry between them, she wanted things he couldn’t give her.
He stood up, feeling bone weary. “Do you need anything before I go?”
Something flickered in her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for him to recognize what it was. She shook her head. “No, thanks. But I’m really grateful for your help tonight.”
Kit stood over her, gazing at her, regret weighing him down. Damn, he wished he could give her what she wanted.
Some devilish streak he hadn’t known he possessed took over. Hell, if he couldn’t give her what she wanted, at least he could show her what they were missing. Why should he suffer alone?
He bent and touched her face, then kissed her. The kiss held little finesse, but it set fire to his body just the same. He hoped it would have the same effect on her. He straightened, and was pleased to see she looked stunned. “Think about that while you try to get to sleep tonight,” he said, stifling a satisfied smirk. “Think about the pleasure this slave boy could have given you.” And without giving her a chance to respond, he headed toward the door, never looking back.
“What’s wrong with you these days?” Rachel asked Kit, eyeing the fork he was using to push food around his plate. “You definitely haven’t been acting like yourself “
Kit bristled, because he knew exactly what was wrong with him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sherry. He couldn’t stop wondering how good they could have been together.
More than a month had passed since that night in her apartment. In that time, he’d seen her several times. But this morning they’d held the screening of the first commercial, and he’d have no reason to see her again for several weeks, until they shot the second commercial. And he just knew the world was going to stand still until then. Somehow she’d managed to put them back on an emotionless, professional level. All of the desire he’d seen in her eyes the night she’d twisted her ankle had died. In fact, even the humor he’d come to enjoy had disappeared. She didn’t even care enough to find him amusing.
Romance. Bah! How he’d come to hate that word. How he’d come to despise the idea that somewhere out there, at any time, Sherry might meet the man who’d give it to her. And then she’d be lost to him for good.
“Kit? Heavens, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
He looked up and shrugged. “Nothing. I’ve just got a lot on my mind lately.”
Her brows pulled down with worry. “You’re sure? I’ve never known you not to have a ravenous appetite.”
“Is Jeff romantic?” he blurted, then seriously debated slapping himself upside the head.
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. It took her a moment to answer him. “Romantic? Yes, yes, I suppose he is. Why do you ask?”
He ignored the question, looking everywhere but into her eyes. “What kinds of things does he do? Romantic things, I mean.”
“Well, let’s see,” she said. “Sometimes he brings me jewelry for no reason.”
“Jewelry,” he repeated. Surely, all women loved jewelry. “What else?”
“He surprised me with that trip to Paris last year,” Rachel said.
Paris. Oh, Lord, every woman’s fantasy city. He supposed he could survive a trip to Paris.
“And, of course, I was in heaven when he bought me that mink.” Rachel peered at him. “Why do you ask?”
Kit waved his fork, his appetite restored. “Just curious,” he said, then dug into his salmon.
Sherry was having a heckuva time coming up with a good slogan for ShinyCoat dog food. Her mind just wasn’t on animals. At least not the four-legged variety. Nope, her mind was firmly fixated on humans. Men. One man. One infuriating man. And had been for the last month.
Kit Fleming. The idiot. He was all she thought about, all she dreamed about. It drove her nuts, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She couldn’t get over that final melting kiss or his parting shot. She had, indeed, thought about him as she tossed and turned herself to sleep night after night. And she’d finally come to a horrible conclusion. She was wildly attracted to Mr. Wrong.
About the dumbest thing she could do in the world would be to have an affair with him. No matter how enjoyable, she just knew herself too well. He’d sent her to the moon just kissing her. If she ever slept with him, she’d shoot right past the moon to the sun. And she’d get burned.
Why, oh, why, couldn’t he be the romantic type? What had made him so cynical? And why, knowing that whatever had happened to him had affected him permanently, couldn’t she dismiss him as she wanted to? She wanted desperately to dismiss him.
Her phone rang, and she sighed with relief at the distraction.
“Sherry Spencer.”
“It’s Kit,” the man of her nightmares said, his voice unusually gruff.
“Hello,” she choked out. “What can I do for you?” She blushed just thinking about the kinds of things she’d like to do for him. To him. With him.
There was a short pause. “I need to see you. Can you meet me for dinner?”
Her heart skipped a beat just at the thought of meeting him for dinner. “Another business dinner?” she asked, stupidly hoping he was actually asking her on a date.
Another pause. “Right.”
Darn. “Is it physi
cally impossible for you to schedule business meetings outside of a restaurant?” she asked, grabbing desperately for an Almond Joy.
“I’m just . . . tied up until then.” Another short silence. “Please, Sherry.”
Holy cow! Kit Fleming, asking? Not demanding, not ordering, but asking? This was too good to be true. “Can you tell me what you want to discuss?” she responded, delaying the moment she might actually accept his invitation.
“Uhmmm, business, like I said.”
“What kind of business?”
“Will you meet me for dinner, or not?”
Recognizing the impatience in his voice, Sherry sighed. “Fine. But don’t be upset if I’m not prepared for whatever business you want to discuss.”
“You don’t need to prepare.”
“Fine. Where and when?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“I don’t think so.”
He made a growling sound that reverberated in her ear. “Fine. Meet me at the Okinawa at seven.” Before she could answer him, he added, his voice strangely hesitant, “Or don’t you like sushi? If you don’t, we can go somewhere else.”
Giving her a choice! If she weren’t actually involved in this conversation, she’d never believe it of him. “Sushi’s fine.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Seven it is,” she agreed, almost fainting from shock.
They said their good-byes, and Sherry hung up the phone, absently munching on her candy bar. She checked her watch. Three hours away. She’d never be ready in time if she didn’t hightail it out of the office now.
Tossing away the rest of the candy, she saved her file and turned off the computer. Whatever business Kit wanted to discuss, Sherry wanted to make darn sure that he couldn’t help but see her as more than an ad exec.
She wanted him to see her as a woman.
Kit nearly swallowed his tongue when Sherry entered the restaurant. God, she was all woman tonight. She’d dressed in a pale pink dress that hugged her curves to magnificent perfection. Her hair was long and loose around her face, ebony silk framing delicate bones.