Step one: eye contact. Shooting for bombshell, she leaned forward and looked into the depths of his midnight blue eyes. “Did you enjoy the movie?”
“Not my usual. I’m more an action guy. Steve McQueen, Vin Diesel and The Furious Seven, but I enjoyed being there with you, seeing you in action.”
His gaze dipped to the slight V of her dress, and a wave of heat swept across her face as her nipples pushed against the soft fabric. There was no cardigan to hide her physical response, but with Nick, she felt less and less like hiding.
He’d been so wonderful, accompanying her to the film, indulging her as she gave him a tour of the theater, listening intently to her discuss the joys of being a small part of the film restoration process. He’d made her feel seen and appreciated in a way she’d never felt before, lost in all his glorious male attention, both before and during the movie.
Nick looked over at her and smiled a shockingly wicked smile. “Might want to unwrap that dress later tonight.”
Steps two: use touch. “How much later?” she asked, running her fingers up one of his muscular, denim-clad thighs. She moved another inch or two then glided back down to his knee before beginning her upward ascent to the Promised Land again. She didn’t have the patience that he’d exhibited in his under-the-skirt theater torture, but she had the wherewithal to follow that second directive of step two: move slowly—it enhances the sensory perception. She could testify to that firsthand thanks to Nick. And she had every intention of returning the favor. She heard his intake of breath and eased back slowly to take in his heated expression. His wicked smile deepened. “Are you trying to seduce me, woman?”
Step three: express desire. “Sounds promising.”
He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers, effectively ending any further attempt at a slow seduction. “Oh, I think you know exactly how promising.”
Step four: hold back a little. A bit of mystery goes a long way. “What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes wide behind her glasses as she eased her hand away and picked up the dessert. His eyes darkened, and in a move more brazen than she’d ever attempted, ever even considered before this moment, Marianne held his gaze and took a leisurely bite of the luscious éclair. The sweet confection was so much better than the low-carb kind she practically moaned aloud, never imagining she could feel this way, so daring and delicious. Wow, that was really good.
Without another research-filled thought, she took a second yummy bite of the pastry and a bit of the white cream clung to her lips.
“Let’s get out of here.” Before she could lick it away, Nick reached out and wiped the sugary filling from her mouth with his thumb. “Now.”
…
Nick planned to make her pay for the move with the éclair.
Hell, she’d taken one bite of the creamy dessert and he’d been ready to pull her into the back of the place for a quickie. Except a hurried encounter wasn’t going to be enough for him. The walk from the café across the street was the last thing he’d be rushing.
His hand low on her back, he ushered Marianne through the lobby, glad that Max was home for the night and he could forgo the lengthy niceties. He kept his cool as he guided her into the elevator and to the door of the condo. Inside, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him as he fell back against the door. Nipping at her earlobe, he slid his palms up her hips and stomach and cupped her breasts. Her nipples tightened and he flicked them gently, thrilled by the raspy moan of satisfaction that escaped her. Her head fell back, and he licked her throat, letting his hands roam her breasts, enticing soft, pleading whimpers from her lips. Damn, the sounds she made drove him wild. He kneaded the soft flesh beneath his hands, tweaking the pointed tips until she arched forward to fill his hands more completely. He felt crazed for the sound of her, the touch, the taste. Her ass pressed against his groin, and he released a low growl of need. His hands fell to her hips, and she turned in his arms, looking up at him like the world-class temptation she was.
He linked his fingers through hers and tugged her away from the door.
“Where are we going?” she asked in her hushed, sexy tone.
Nick glanced back at her, all disheveled and hot, the lace of her bra peeking from the tugged-away neckline.
“You’ll see.”
He walked through the living room, passed the hall that led to his bedroom, and cut straight into the office. Marianne’s gaze fell on his desk, and she bit her lip as if contemplating the kind of damage they could do on top of it. Nick made a mental note to try that later, flung open the door of his closet, and walked her inside. He stepped toward her and she fell back against the third step. His hands on either side of her, Nick lowered his mouth to the low V of her dress and ran his tongue along the line of the exposed lace.
Marianne kicked off her shoes and slid her ass up to the next stair, letting his mouth dip lower, edging away the fabric of her dress and bra to reveal more heated skin. Her ass slid up another stair, and he followed her, his lips kissing the tops of her breasts, edging away the material with his chin. He pulled one rosy, pleading nipple into his mouth and sucked until her flesh was raw and throbbing, the way she’d come to enjoy.
“Oh, Nick,” she sighed.
Time to move on. Releasing her, Nick entered the code for the lock and pressed open the door. He helped her onto the roof, took her hand, and led her to a hidden corner where a slatted porch swing hung from a secluded pergola surrounded by flowing ivy and fragrant, brightly colored flowers. In the distance, the city’s lights blinked, dotting the twilight sky. He loved this time of day, the time between the rush of the day and the night’s possibilities.
Her eyes twinkled over at him as he reached for the belt at her waist.
“Time to unwrap my birthday present.”
“Belatedly,” she said.
Thank God for private rooftop gardens. Nick smiled. “I’ll take you as a present anytime, honey.”
He pulled on the fabric and she turned, unwrapping the dress in the process. Finished, she stood in front of him, the dress gaping open to reveal her sweet, white lace bra and panties. His hands moved to his belt, but she stepped forward to still them. With her gaze locked onto his, her fingers worked the metal of the belt until it fell open. She undid the button at the waist, unzipped his jeans, and pressed her palm against the bulge in his briefs. He groaned, so ready.
Unable to wait, he dragged his jeans and underwear down and kicked them onto the flagstone. He drew her close, cradling her in his arms as he urged her to lie on the oversized, cushioned bench swing. She wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as he settled comfortably on top of her, one knee braced on the swing, the other on the ground.
A smile spread across his face, and he eased her panties over her hips enough to slide his fingers inside her. She was so slick and wet. His fingers worked her delicately, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. But he didn’t let her come.
“Oh God,” she whispered, her body straining for release.
“I want to be inside you, Marianne.”
She fisted his collar and tugged him close. “Counselor, are you proposing an amendment to our agreement? I’m referencing article four—no sex for the duration of our agreement. Because I’d like to strike that from the contract.”
Hell yes. He made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Consider it struck.”
The stipulations he’d jotted down on the coffee shop napkin were already forgotten. In fact, he’d be shredding the damn thing first chance he got. Because tonight—and every night for the next five weeks—she was his girl, his fiancée, and he wanted to bury himself deep inside her and mark her as his own.
The dress cascaded over the edge of the swing as she bucked against his playing fingers, raising her hips in a series of small pleading movements. “Yes.”
Nick didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but he was wrong, so very, very wrong. He slipped his fingers out of her, teasing her along the way before re
aching back to drag his jeans close enough to slip a condom from his pocket. He balanced his body back onto the oversized swing. Eyes never leaving her, he pulled the condom over his aching erection. God, how he wanted her.
Everything about her thrilled him, her gentle curves, her warm scent, the longing in her husky voice as she sighed against his lips. Every fiber of his body pulsed, aware of every inch of her as he positioned his hips above her. Gripping the back of the swing, she wriggled her ass, and the panties fell past her knees to give him perfect access to her heat. He peeled them down her shapely legs.
Nick dropped a fervent, lingering kiss on her parted lips and circled her tongue with demanding strokes until her trembling body rose up to meet him, one arm braced against the back of the swing. He entered her slowly, allowing her to accept him. His free hand slid around her back to cradle her and grasp the curve of her ass, edging her hips higher. He drove into her slowly at first, increasing his rhythm as she slammed her hips upward. The movement of the swing and her rising body worked in concert to welcome him deep inside. But it wasn’t enough.
A hand moved down the back of her thigh to the bend at her knee and looped under to tug open her killer legs. He plunged deeper, and she cried out, her hands tearing at his shirt before burying into the hair at the back of his neck.
“Nick!”
He slipped his tongue into her open mouth, moving and guiding her to the next level of want, pulling her body closer until no space separated their bodies, until he was deep inside her, as deep as he could go. Their bodies rocked together in time with the swing, his aching cock moving in and out of her, circling, thrusting, working her over until she moaned softly, a look of exquisite agony on her face.
He’d never wanted a woman with such intensity. “Don’t hold back,” he whispered against her cheek.
Her body arched forward, clenching all around him as she screamed his name. “Nick. Hells. Bells,” she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders through the thin cotton of his shirt. “I am coming…so hard…so hard.”
Jesus, he was ready to join her. He buried his face in her shoulder and cried out her name. The rooftop felt like it was spinning. The city’s lights and faraway sounds seemed to swirl around them as he came crashing down in a climax so pure, so full of release, he was struck again by his desire, no, his need, to do it again—and again.
Nick gathered her against him, wrapping her dress around her to safeguard her naked skin against the slight chill in the air. He gazed down at her. As the sky darkened, the automatic twinkle lights strung from the pergola flickered into life, bathing her sweetly flushed face in a soft white glow. The swing gently rocked them back and forth, and he held her close in his arms. There was no doubt. This rooftop was officially his favorite place in New York. He pressed a kiss against her temple.
Marianne looked up at him. “Can we do that again?” Nick shifted his body to accommodate her request and the swing rocked backward. “Honey, you do not have to ask me twice.”
Thank God they’d renegotiated the no sex inside the relationship clause.
Because Nick was about to double down.
Chapter Eleven
“What do I wear in bed? Why, Chanel No. 5, of course.”
—Marilyn Monroe
Marianne woke up the next morning wearing Nick’s half-buttoned black shirt, a pair of lacy white panties and nothing else. After a second round of rooftop sex, they’d wandered downstairs, and Nick had held her until they’d fallen asleep watching late night movies. Best of all, she’d slept the entire night. On the sectional. In the living room.
When was the last time she’d gotten nine hours of sleep on a perfectly modulated spring form mattress much less on a couch? Sometime before her dad’s arrest? Before the dominatrix? Marianne wasn’t sure. But she knew she owed her blissful sleep to Nick. The idea that her peaceful night had anything to do with spending it in a pair of strong arms rocked her to her soul. Yes, Nick had been her sexual crush, a fantasy, but now she was living in his house, kissing him until she was breathless, and sleeping through the night. And he was humming in the kitchen. Humming.
Not only was her inner bad girl awake and fully engaged, but her heart was following suit, foolishly unaware it was simply on loan for another thirty-six days.
She needed to be careful. While expanding her seductive horizons was breathtakingly liberating, at the end of the day, she was still a woman who wanted to find her happily-ever-after. And despite his midnight company and rooftop kisses, there were no fairy-tale endings with Nick Wright. She lifted the collar of his shirt and breathed in his warm, masculine scent. Better to enjoy the heat between them. Be sexy, be fun, be careful.
Except when the man of her dreams walked in carrying a breakfast tray, her ever hopeful heart skipped a beat and started dreaming of forever.
He let go a long, low whistle. “You look good wearing my clothes and nothing else.”
“Not nothing else.” She twisted her body into a pinup pose straight out of a Turner Cable classic and looked over at him. “I’m wearing panties.”
A wicked smile creased his handsome, unshaven face, and the tray clattered onto the table. “We can definitely change that situation.”
An exclamation bubbled up from her chest as he dove toward her, smiling. She grabbed a pillow and fought him off, the breath rushing out of her as she tumbled back against the corner of the sectional. He grabbed at his shirt—the one she was wearing—in a misguided attempt to stop her, but she landed a clean hit to his backside. He moved closer, but she continued to pummel his chest, shoulders, forearms. He reached behind her for a pillow to use as a shield, dodging her shots to the left and the right, grabbing for her pillow, finding instead the soft inside of her thigh. She let go a high-pitched protest and fell back against the couch as he tumbled on top of her, both of them laughing and out of breath.
He nodded at the tray on the coffee table. “Breakfast in bed, or rather, on the sectional. I didn’t know what you liked so I brought you a little bit of everything…three tea options, orange juice, yogurt, two kinds of granola, scrambled eggs, French toast and a fruit cup—and me, of course.” Another grin as he leaned in close. “But I already know you like me over easy.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Thank you. For the breakfast. And the over easy.”
“You. Are. Welcome.” He punctuated each word with a kiss that had her reaching for him, wondering if a little flirtation might mean more kissing, until…she saw the tension at the edges of his eyes. “And by the way, your mother called, and my sister told her we were engaged.”
“She did what?” Her body snapped from happily relaxed to strung out like a tightrope. She shot up like a rocket, her tone tense and clipped. “I never planned to tell my family we were engaged. How did this even happen?”
Nick sat down next to her and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Apparently when you didn’t answer your cell last night, your mom decided to call the Smart Cupid office…”
“Of course she did.” Her head dropped into her open palms. How humiliating. A grown woman being tracked down by her mother.
He peeked through her fingers. “And we’re supposed to be there tomorrow. By five.”
“Tomorrow?” Her heart accelerated into a full-blown panic. “But the party isn’t for another two weeks.” Tomorrow by five. She wasn’t ready. There were too many facts she hadn’t told him yet…like the fact that she’d been engaged to a man whose taste in women ran to the kinky, or that her father had been recently incarcerated. “Did she call here? Did you talk to her?”
Nick scrubbed his face with both hands, looking like he was barely holding on to his cool. “Yes, she called here, wanting to congratulate us on the engagement, and you were sleeping—what the hell was I supposed to do? Hang up and pretend I’d moved to Siberia?
She drew in a shaky breath. “No, it’s okay.” Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. “What did you tell her?”
�
��First, I told her you’ve been busy having orgasms all over New York City.”
She fisted her hands in his damned Yankees shirt. “Seriously, what did you say?”
“I told her we’d be there by five.”
“You told her what?”
“What should I have said?” he asked with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Six weeks of engagement on my end and a commitment to your family event on yours—that was our deal.”
“Yes, but…as my date, not my fiancé.”
He held up his hands in a kind of mock surrender. “How was I supposed to know that?”
Hells bells, they were never going to be able to sell this one. She’d been engaged once before, but they’d dated for seven years and ended up a total disaster, so the likelihood of her making the same commitment eight months later was statistically improbable.
Hells.
Bells.
She leaped off the couch and beelined across the room. She needed to think, to recalculate. Better yet, she needed the next two weeks to master the sexy and work up the nerve to explain to Nick about her family and the party and the dominatrix. Now what was she supposed to do? Confess? What if he backed out?
Nick strode up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped. “Okay, you need to relax. We had a fantastic night last night, so let’s not create any trouble this morning.”
“Let’s not create any trouble?” Her voice crept up an octave, and she whirled around to look at him. “Trust me, Nick, we are not ready for my family. Certainly not tomorrow. If you don’t count the times we’ve literally bumped into each other at the office, we’ve really only known each other for six days—my mom will take one look at you and know you are so not my kind of guy.”
Nick stared back at her. “Because I’m not the can’t-wait-to-meet-your-mom type? Is that what you’re implying? I’m not good enough to be that kind of guy?”
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