Unexpectedly His

by Maggie Kelley

  A pleading moan escaped her. The heck with the deal. “I don’t want to stop.”

  His hands blazed a trail across her ribcage, moving across the curve of her hips and stomach to the apex of her thighs. She moaned as he touched her. Exposed and willing, her lips sought his. Soft, sexy whimpers rose from the back of her throat. “Kiss me,” she said.

  His lips covered hers, not searching, not sweet, but exquisitely rough, diving into the depths of her mouth.

  He moved one knee between her legs, and his fingers found the hem of her nightgown. “Do you know how sexy you are?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Do you want me to show you?” he asked, moving the fabric higher, drifting past her knees to reveal the tender skin of her upper thighs. With her eyes closed, the sensations were magnified. “Or do you want me to stop?”

  “I want you to show me.”

  She felt a rustle of movement, then his teeth nipped at one of her nipples through the filmy fabric of her nightgown. Instinctively, her body arched against him and her head fell back in an open invitation to explore her body more completely. Her body trembled, responding to his every bite and touch. He circled the edge of her nipple, first with his palm, then with the tips of his fingers, pinching and tweaking as his tongue licked and kissed her aching nipple though the cotton, switching his ministrations between each breast until she thought she might combust.

  Eyes closed, she felt his warmth against her skin, teasing her, misdirecting her with his breath and his voice, causing her body to arch in search of him only to be surprised when his mouth found a new, undiscovered place to tease and caress. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and when he nipped the throbbing peaks again, she gasped at the pleasure and pain of his touch. “Nick, please,” she whispered. “I can’t wait any more.”

  Beneath the hem of her nightgown, his fingers blazed a hot trail over her thighs, across her stomach, toward her wet center. She was ready, hot and wet and waiting to feel his touch inside her. Two fingers slid under the lacy edge of her panties to trace her opening. God, she felt so sexy and free. He pressed his fingers deep inside.

  Every touch sent her reeling into dangerous territory. He flicked her clit with his thumb and she felt raw need stretch across her features. Her body shuddered as his fingers circled her core, easing in and out of her. Time melted away as he worked the most sensitive parts of her body, driving her straight to the edge of desperation. All she could think about was him and this wondrous new sense of pleasure and adventure.

  This is what it felt like to be appreciated by a man. To have him touch her until she was hot and desperate and pleading. This was what she’d been missing.

  Her inner siren was officially in the building.

  In his home.

  In his arms.

  As his fingers continued to circle her, his free hand peeled the nightie off her shoulders, allowing his lips to work their way across her naked breasts, tasting her heated skin, stopping only to hear her moan and cry out with agonized desire, before his kiss traveled farther, upward and across her collarbone, burrowing in her neck, licking at her earlobe, until finally moving over to her begging lips.

  He kissed her breathless, breaking away to whisper, “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, I want you to make me come.”

  He froze for a moment, then his hand retreated to grab hold of the panties and tug them down. He pushed the nightgown over her hips until she was half naked, her breath coming hot and heavy and so, so desperate.

  Marianne didn’t need to take off the mask to know she’d been set free. Only one person in the world knew how to release her desire this way, her temporary fiancé, the one whose hands were causing her body to tremble. She turned her head and shut her eyes, needing to block out the truth.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Responding to the sensual command in his voice, her eyes fluttered open. The slits in the mask limited her range of vision, but her gaze unerringly found his.

  “I want to see you when I make you come apart in my arms.”

  “Nick.” His name tumbled from her lips. “Please.”

  He smiled down at her with the sweetest look in his eyes. “I want to prolong this moment, right now. I want to tease you and breathe you in.”

  A desperate whimper hitched in the back of her throat as his fingers buried inside her, demanding the release her body was so ready to give.

  She trembled as the new and tantalizing sensations running through her built to a fever pitch. Her heart pounded out a crazy rhythm as he coaxed the rise and fall of her body, building the intensity of feeling inside her, daring her to resist until all she wanted to do was scream with the need for release. Her hands curled into the muscles of his shoulder. She was ready, so ready. God, she’d never known she could feel like this.

  He bent his head and kissed her through it, leading her body into and out of the series of explosions, murmuring her name as the pieces of her insides scattered and reformed like an image in a kaleidoscope. “Totally sexy,” he said, his lips lingering against her mouth.

  And, for that moment, Marianne believed him.

  Chapter Ten

  “Live in the present, but plan for the future.”

  —mantelligence.com

  Maybe it was the glasses.

  Nick sat behind the desk in his home office, his fingers tapping out the rhythm of John Coltrane’s My Favorite Things, wondering how the hell he’d gotten so caught up in the moment last night. The normal logic of his rules and his partnership plan and his need for short-term had booked a flight to Miami Beach, and now that he’d crossed the off-limits line, a slew of new things topped his list of favorites.

  Like his fiancée lying back against the leather cushions, all soft lips and steamed-up horn-rims, skin flushed and heated, blue eyes filled with a combination of innocence and unconstrained desire. Those favorites. He’d figured out the puzzle. Solved the mystery. Marianne was the cake girl. Now it was time to move on—like always.

  Except that he couldn’t get her off his damn mind. Which was crazy. He was a man with rules. A man used to a different woman every other week.

  Yeah, had to be the glasses. Why else would he feel so…protective? Well, protective and horny as hell. Devil damned if he understood it, but those specs were a major turn-on. Maybe it was some kind of librarian fantasy. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable in his casual, work-at-home jeans.

  A cold shower might keep him from thinking about the glasses. Except Little Miss Slip-Aside-My-Cardigan-and-Take-Me was down the hall. If he laid eyes on her, he’d strip away the cardigan and the glasses—and whatever else she was wearing. Strip it away slowly, caressing the line of her spine, until his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her neck and tugged her head back to gaze into those baby blues, so deep and vulnerable, bright with desire…

  His hands slammed down on the armchair.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  No matter how much heat was between them, he wasn’t a love kind of guy and she needed a love kind of man, a man willing to move to Connecticut, crank out the unachievable 2.5 kids and drive a freaking Prius. Not some wayward guy from Brooklyn zip-lining through relationships dictated by rules like No Sundays during football season. Not that there was anything wrong with rules and zip lines. He liked rules and zip lines. Liked them a lot.

  But he liked Marianne, too, and when his sister found out how far he’d let things go with her friend—and in the space of a few days—she’d make him pay. Better to rein it in now. Like he had last night, when Marianne had wanted to reciprocate. He’d known then—as he did now—if his dick had made it out of his pants that he wouldn’t have stopped.

  He’d never manage to honor a promise to a woman like Marianne. Smart, sweet, sexy as a summer night of jazz at the Blue Note. A total surprise, the kind of woman who deserved a good man.

  But not the kind of woman for him
.

  Nick rolled the leather chair away from his desk. Marriage. Children. He’d never wanted all that, not after witnessing the devastation of his father’s exit. But here he was, a first-rate workaholic sitting in his home office on a Wednesday afternoon thinking about making more sexy trouble with Marianne.

  He’d started this charade to get a partnership, and now he was stuck with a fiancée who he was wildly attracted to and it was all he could do to keep from thinking about what would happen after his six weeks were up.

  Listening to her move around his place made him wish he were a better man, a man capable of commitment. But there were no exceptions for a guy like him.

  The office door creaked open, and he looked up to see Marianne standing there, her slender hand wrapped around the knob. She leaned forward, and her cleavage dipped just enough to give him a glimpse of what he’d enjoyed last night. Six weeks, six survivable weeks, he’d thought when she moved in. Now he was wondering how he’d survive when the time was up. “New dress?” he asked.

  Balancing on the doorknob, she swayed forward slightly as her palm smoothed the cotton jersey over the curve of her hip. “Do you like it?”

  Like it? He fucking loved it.

  The tentative tone in her voice as she asked compelled his gaze upward from her hips to the half smile touching her lips. Everything about her was so unintentionally seductive. He imagined the seduction was unintentional anyway. But maybe not. Maybe his newfangled, not-so-buttoned-up fiancée was looking for a little afternoon delight. His dick twitched inside his denims. If so, he was ready to accommodate.

  Nick bit back a groan. When did his prim fiancée turn into a vixen, all wrapped up in the kind of sweet floral dress that simply begged to be unraveled? Damn, he’d never been jealous of a dress before, but there was obviously a first time for everything. “I definitely like.”

  “Good…okay…well…” She chewed on her lower lip, seeming to debate her next move, a move he could only dream included her lifting the skirt over her knees and wrapping those legs around him as he tutored her in the joys of up-against-the-wall sex. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

  Nick shot out of his chair fast enough to leave it spinning behind him. “Wait a second. Where are you going?”

  “The movies.”

  In that dress?

  “With a friend?” Nick hung his thumbs on the belt loops of his jeans.

  Or maybe a date? Because their engagement had rules—no reneging on the timeline, no dating, no outside relationships, and no outside sex. But she had secrets. He shook his head. No, skirting the rules didn’t seem like Marianne’s style. She seemed by-the-book. Then again, she’d kept the whole cake girl thing hush-hush. And there was the matter of the smoking hot dress. He ran a hand across the stubble on his jaw as a realization smacked him in the face.

  He was jealous. Jealous. And not only of the dress.

  In an obvious stall tactic, she readjusted her glasses against the bridge of her nose. “No…not a friend.”

  Nick kept his voice casual. “Because I can finish up. We can close the blackouts and watch a movie at home.” At home? Had he really said, at home? What was happening to him?

  Marianne gave him the sweetest, sexiest glance from beneath her dark lashes. Damn, he could get used to that look. “Like last night?”

  Reaching for the fabric belt tied neatly at her waist, he tugged her a little closer. “I can always behave…unless you’re interested in an encore,” he teased, enjoying the blush on her cheeks. “What do you say? No ticket, no sticky floors, no mouth breathers wedged into the next seat.” His tongue licking her heated skin along the way to her core.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked, untying the sweet bow. “If you don’t have another date.”

  Marianne slapped his hand away and retied the bow in a double knot. “Not that I expect you to know everything about me…”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I know a helluva lot more about you after last night.”

  Like the fact that she made more unabashedly sexy noises than any woman he’d ever been with. Like how much her sounds turned him on. Made him crave more.

  “I volunteer as an accountant for the Lincoln Center Film Society. And God Created Woman is playing at the Francesca Beale. Normally, I’m not a fan of French cinema, but…” She wrinkled her nose, and Nick fought back the impulse to lean close and kiss away her displeasure. “But I was wondering if maybe you would like to go with me?”

  Born and raised in Brooklyn on B movies and HBO, Nick suspected a film club wasn’t his speed, and he ought to be working, but looking into her vulnerable blue eyes as she worked up the nerve to go all Sadie Hawkins on him made him want to forgo his work and spend the rest of the late afternoon at the movies.

  A smile broke across his face. “On one condition.”

  “Only one? Your negotiation skills are slipping, counselor.”

  “Back-row seats.” An adorable V formed between her eyebrows, and he realized how much he was starting to enjoy her trademarks. He reached for her and, rather than swivel away, her hips swayed a little closer. He splayed his hands across the top of her heart-shaped ass, pressing his advantage. “Perfect place to show you exactly why God created women.”

  She spun out of his arms and strolled over to the door, tossing him a smile over her shoulder. “You are a bad boy.”

  He shifted in his jeans and followed, watching her backside move in that curve-hugging dress. Oh, yeah, Nick planned on being a very bad boy and, while his fiancée hadn’t agreed to the back-row seats, she definitely hadn’t said no.

  …

  “Brigitte Bardot’s got nothing on you, honey.” Nick held her hand as they walked along Spring Street toward the French bakery on the corner, and the feeling of his fingers laced with hers made Marianne feel as if she were walking on clouds rather than cobblestone.

  Nick opened the door of Le Minuit Café and a trill of wind chimes announced their arrival. With his hand at her back, he directed her to an intimate corner table for two. A group of thirty-somethings dressed for ladies’ night out looked over at Nick, eyes flashing like they’d like to wrap him up in to-go paper and run off with him. But there were no disbelieving looks, no expressions of disdain floating in her direction. She slipped into the bistro chair Nick held for her, smoothed the fabric of her wrap dress over her knees, and wondered if she might successfully compete with Brigitte tonight. After the back row of the movie, Marianne was on fire and ready to take her inner siren for a spin.

  Nick leaned in close. “Know what you’d like?”

  Oh, she knew what she liked. She liked Nick. His eyes, his smile, his hands on her skin. “I’d like a Frangelico please…and for dessert…” she said, letting the hint of a flirtatious smile touch her lips and her eyes drift to meet his, “surprise me.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth, and Marianne could tell from his expression how badly he wanted to kiss her. In the past, she would’ve looked away, all fidgety and uncomfortable under his masculine gaze. But not tonight.

  He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, dropped a kiss on her forehead and said, “Consider yourself surprised.”

  Watching him walk away, Marianne felt a wonderful buzz race along her spine. He wore his jeans like a man who was comfortable in his own skin, as if he wore nothing at all, a thought that sent her pulse rocketing through the skylight above her. His black button-down shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and tapered down the strong line of his back. And he was her date.

  From across the bistro, her gaze ate him up as if he was her own private adventure waiting to happen. Not that it got hotter or more adventurous than the back of the movie theater. Her eyes closed remembering how he’d slipped his fingers under the hem of her dress. How he’d taken his sweet time, tracing circles on her ticklish knees, inching his way up along the inside of her thigh, slipping his finger inside her panties to find her already wet. The way he’d touched her, his eyes straight ahe
ad as if glued to the screen. As if he wasn’t driving her to the very limits of desire, easing away his fingers as her body grew taut, refusing to let her crash, reveling in his control over her body. She’d gripped the arms of the theater’s red velvet seats and bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out in the darkened, half-filled room. The excitement of being surrounded by strangers, knowing at any moment they could get caught, had turned her on like the lights on the front marquee.

  Marianne had never imagined that kind of excitement, and the truth was, being wild and reckless had felt good. Nick had showed her the thrill of being bad. He’d left his mark on her body and soul. Classic movies would never be the same.

  Now, she hoped to return the favor. She’d done a cost-benefit analysis of the situation and had made her decision. Tonight, she planned to step it up. She’d downloaded a copy of A Girl’s Guide to Becoming a Vixen, a best-selling manual that offered step-by-step instructions designed to achieve maximum seduction success. More than anything, Marianne wanted a chance to intoxicate him the way he’d intoxicated her.

  “Dessert,” Nick said, returning to the table with her hazelnut liqueur and a heavenly looking chocolate éclair that was worlds away from her usual low-carb ricotta cheesecake.

  She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You are corrupting me, Nick.”

  “Honey, I’m just getting started.”

  Her sentiments exactly, she thought, as he strode over to the bar to pick up his coffee.

  A minute or two later, settled across from the man of her literal dreams, she felt a blush steal across her cheeks. Thinking about seducing him was one thing, but acting on it was more difficult than she’d calculated. Sure, she’d studied the techniques in the manual, but there was no perfect formula. She smoothed the hem of her dress with her fingertips. Ready or not…