He bit back a groan and shoved his hands behind his back instead. All in good time. He might be at her condo for what pretty much amounted to a sex visit, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t at least talk first.
Whitney’s home was situated in one of those townhouse blocks that was all granite and hardwood and had a three-foot patch of yard out back. She claimed to have only recently moved in, but the space greeted visitors with a strong, lived-in feeling. No cookie-cutter condo this, what with a hairbrush and curling iron in the fruit bowl and a dazzling array of wine and margarita glasses littering every horizontal surface. The wall opposite the front door had been painted a bright red, and above her television hung a painting of a very enthusiastic nude.
He liked it here—or he would, as long as he could figure out what to do with his freaking hands.
“So let me get this straight,” Whitney said as she sat across from Matt on an overstuffed leather couch. “Your dad was a cop, your grandfather was a cop, your uncles are cops and your brother is a cop?”
“Yep,” he said, playing along. “Technically, my great-grandfather was on the force too, but only in a voluntary capacity. After he retired from military service.”
“So you’re the first male in your family to break tradition in, what, a hundred years? And your chosen profession is...kindergarten?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of futility, glad to finally have something to do with them. “I’ve always been a rebel.”
“I can clearly see that,” she said wryly. “Is this some kind of inborn passion for reforming the world’s youth or something?”
“You could call it that.” Matt leaned back in his armchair—also done up in dark, rich leather—and allowed himself to relax. For eight months now, he’d avoided situations like this, situations in which he might be expected to flirt and be charming, make eye contact and say all the right things. Yet here he was, doing those things—successfully—and he wasn’t even trying.
“It’s always the quiet ones.” Whitney’s mouth lifted at one corner. “Seriously, though. What made you want to teach small children?”
There wasn’t any malice in her question, but Matt was strangely reluctant to go into details—mostly because it wasn’t a huge deal. When junior year of college had rolled around and he’d needed to formally decide on a major, early childhood education had seemed like a good fit. He liked kids more than he liked most adults, and there was something so undemanding and, well, playful, about that age group. Five—and six-year-olds accepted the world and the people who inhabited it at face value. And all they asked in return was circle time and a few snacks.
“Kids are fun,” he hedged. “Why did you become a plastic surgeon?”
“The money.”
Matt was betrayed into a laugh. “I should have known you’d refuse to be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious.” Whitney flipped her hair, the tangles tumbling over one shoulder so that a single curl licked at her breast. He could have sworn she did it just to torment him. “I’m opening a clinic where women with six-figure incomes can come to get a body wrap, a waxing and a butt lift all in one day. You think I’m spurred by motives of altruism?”
“Come on.” He couldn’t believe anyone became a doctor for the money. There were a lot easier ways to make a fortune—many of which didn’t require a decade of education first. “No deep-seated urge to bring people joy? Or to make the world a better place, one scar removal at a time?”
Whitney’s eyes fell curiously flat. “Nope. Not in the slightest.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” Matt said, refusing to let the subject drop. This was the first time he’d seen her be anything but one hundred percent carefree—and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that this glimmer of something real intrigued him more than a hundred casual sexual innuendoes.
“I know within five minutes what a person’s biggest weakness is. Does that count?”
“That sounds very doctor-like, actually. You’re like a medical superhero,” he joked.
But the look Whitney gave him was not one of a woman joking along with him. It was more like she was talking down to a very obtuse, very young student. “Not medical weaknesses, Matt. Their personal ones. I get a lot more out of my patients when I know where their insecurities lie.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Is it? The reason your brother Lincoln is orange and dresses like he’s from the Jersey Shore is because he’s jealous of you. You’re taller, better looking and have more strength of character. It eats away at him inside—he’d be a good candidate for bodywork. Something like calf implants or even laser hair removal. Those women at the school today? The first one, Nadine, has already had work done on her breasts, and it was very well done—it probably didn’t come cheap, and in my experience, work like that rarely comes alone. The other one, the one in the yoga gear? Her body shape is the result of hardcore exercise, but that wasn’t her original nose. A hundred bucks says both of them got surgery before the divorce but after it was clear the marriage was failing.”
Matt blinked. The things she was saying—they were cruel words, harsh words. But she was being neither cruel nor harsh. Whitney was matter-of-fact and decisive...and proud.
“You do that to everyone? Find their flaws and profit from them?”
She met his gaze directly. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, Matt, it’s that I rarely tell anyone what they don’t already know.” She waited a moment before adding, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’d change about you?”
“No. I would never do anything like plastic surgery.”
Her smile was slow and lazy and wide, mesmerizing him. “I know you wouldn’t. And you don’t need any work done.”
“Because I’m perfect?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Nice try.” She laughed. “Because imperfection suits you.”
Matt got up and stood in front of Whitney’s giant HDTV—a relic that many a gentleman caller found himself drawn to the moment he stepped through the door. She was pretty sure most of them used the time to measure their own technology against hers. Penis envy. She’d expected better from Matt.
“It was a gift from my parents,” Whitney explained. “When I completed my residency.”
He turned, a puzzled look sweeping across his brow. “Really? Your parents gave you that?”
“I think it was a commentary on my lack of a love life,” Whitney admitted. Actually, her mom’s exact words had been, “It was either a television or a cat, dear. Something needs to keep you company at night.” And her parents knew how she felt about cats.
Matt took a huge step back. “Okay. That’s officially one of the weirdest things I’ve ever heard.”
“That I have parents who love and care about me?” It wasn’t that strange—even in this day and age. Even at her day and age.
“Well...I meant having parents who buy you erotic paintings. But I guess that makes sense, now that I think about it.”
Whitney burst into laughter. Did Matt honestly think her vices ran that deep? “Oh, God. You mean my Gwyneth Hogan.”
“Is that the, uh, model’s name?”
“The artist,” she corrected him. It was almost too easy. She let out a gurgle as she added, “And I can safely assure you my parents had no hand in the purchase of that painting, though my mother does find Hogan’s work compelling.”
Matt colored, his face suffusing with a charming pink hue as his dimples deepened. “You were talking about the TV, weren’t you?”
“Just how depraved do you think I am?” she teased.
He didn’t answer—at least not verbally. He didn’t have to. The words that came out of this man’s mouth and what she read in his expression were two completely different things. Maybe it was the mild-mannered, buttoned-up schoolteacher t
hing he had going on, but he reacted to every sway of her hips, every sexual promise that rolled off her tongue, like a man witnessing his last meal being cooked before his eyes.
So when his mouth fell open a fraction and his body became unnaturally still, he might as well have whipped out his erection and started stroking it right there. He wanted her—depravity and all.
In fact, if she was right about Matt—and she rather suspected she was—he especially wanted the depravity.
“Is this where I’m supposed to be impressed by the size of your toys?” he asked, trying to cover his mistake with an attempt at being coy.
Two could play that game. “That depends. Is it working?”
“A little bit. If you’ve got a really nice set of golf clubs hiding in your closet, I think I’m going to have to leave.”
Golf. Ugh. That had to be the least sexy sport on the face of the planet. “Don’t even mention that word to me. I don’t approve of any activity that requires a four-hour time commitment. Well, most activities. There is one that I enjoy for much longer than that.”
“It’s Frisbee, isn’t it?” he joked.
“No, Matt. It most certainly is not.”
There he was again, mentally stroking his erection, his throat working up and down as he took in her full meaning. How could he make her feel so naughty with just one look?
“So.” When he finally spoke, his voice came out a hoarse strain. “How does this work?”
She knew what he meant, but dammit. She was going to make him say it. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and pretended to look thoughtful. “And by this, you mean...?”
“The rebound.” He took a breath so slow and so long he seemed to be preparing to submerge for hours. God, she hoped that was what he had planned. “Seeing as you volunteered yourself for the role, is it polite for me to wait for you to start bounding, or do I just jump in?”
She kept her face grave, but it was a struggle. “You’re the one who said you weren’t bad at this. I’m waiting for my proof.”
“Oh.” He smiled. It was one of those crooked smiles they always talked about in books, the kind that started at one low corner of his mouth and spread upward, lighting his face and eyes. “Well. In that case...”
She waited, curious to see what he would do. There was no doubt in her mind that Matt could kiss—the one they shared in the diner had been more than enough evidence for her that he was possessed of a deft tongue and knew what to do with it. And in terms of sexual acrobatics, she wasn’t the most demanding of lovers. As long as he showed up at full attention, she could work with what she got.
A thrill ran up her spine. She’d show him just how well she could work with it. This man had no idea what he was in for.
Apparently, neither did she.
Matt crossed the room before she could blink, and all she could think in the first few whirlwind seconds of his mouth capturing hers was that she’d been duped. This man, so curiously shy, had no intention of taking things slow. He had no intention of remaining buttoned up. With the kind of deep, insistent kiss that went straight to her toes, Matt proved that full attention was just the start of what he had to offer.
“How am I doing so far?” he asked, pulling away when it became clear both of them were going to need to eventually breathe. “I have the feeling I’m going to like this rebounding thing.”
“You tricked me.” She licked her lips slowly, her body throbbing with desire as his eyes followed every flick. “I thought I was going to get to teach you a lesson or two, Mr. Fuller.”
“Am I supposed to call you by your last name too?” he asked, curling one hand against her hair. His other hand was busy behind her back. Somewhere along the way, he’d slipped it under her shirt and was trailing a slow, careful pattern along the length of her spine. “I’m not sure I know it.”
She let out a low laugh. “Last names aren’t required. And if you move your hand just a few inches lower, you can call me anything you want.”
He pulled her roughly to him, and even though they both wore jeans, there was no mistaking the desire that swelled between them. A low purr escaped her throat. If there was any sensation better than that of a man growing hard against her, she had yet to discover it.
And bless his heart, he did move his hand lower, cupping the generous curves of her ass with a kind of fierce possession that made her whimper with longing. But she couldn’t whimper long, because he kissed her again, rendering everything but the hot, insistent demands of his mouth a blur.
Even though there was no question of what would eventually happen—the two of them, naked, his incredible tongue in all her dark, secret places—Matt took his time. She could feel just how much he wanted her, knew that the deep, shuddering breath he pulled when she grazed her hand over the hard line of his erection was just the start of his desire, but still he kissed. Everywhere. Jaw, neck, the slight dip in her throat, but mostly her lips.
When Whitney was pretty sure she couldn’t take the slow, easy pace of his seduction anymore, she pulled away and nodded toward the bedroom. “Are you ready to show me what else you can do?”
He examined her carefully, his expression difficult to read. Without touching any part of her, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, so light and soft it might have been a figment of her imagination. She leaned in, straining to increase the intensity of the kiss, but he held back.
“What?” she asked, growing irritated—though with herself or him, she wasn’t quite sure. “I’ve already let you into my home, and I’m ready to lead you straight to my bed. What else are you trying to get from me?”
His eyes searched hers, leaving her feeling strangely lost in her own skin. “What else are you willing to give?”
“Nothing.” That wasn’t strictly true. The longer he made her wait, the more certain she was that she’d do just about anything to get him between her legs. “And everything,” she amended.
“That sounds like a great place to start.”
She ignored the thick, emotional promise in that statement. “Well? Are you going to take my clothes off, or am I going to have to do it myself?”
Matt licked his lips, his gaze not straying from her face. “You,” he said, the word so quiet it was almost a whisper. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was reverent. A girl could get used to that. “You do it. Please.”
“Good answer.” Great answer.
She took her time with the task. It had taken quite a bit of practice in front of a mirror to learn how to shed one’s shirt to maximum effect, but she’d been nothing if not a diligent student in her youth. Lifting the fabric inch by inch, she showcased what she knew was one of her best features—a soft stomach and waspish waist, rendered all the more appealing by the ample bulk that started at her hips. A study in contrast, she’d once been told.
Her shirt flung wildly to the side, she moved on to the swell of each breast where they lifted out of the black lace of her inordinately expensive push-up bra, her fingers slow and methodical. A slight shrug of each shoulder caused her bra straps to slip down her arms, just a hint of nipple appearing where the fabric began to fall.
Matt’s gaze roamed over her, more intimate than a caress—and if she was being honest, more erotic than one too. There was something about his rigid control, the way he could force himself to stand there and do no more than watch, that made the empty ache between her legs throb even harder.
She could feel the slick moisture of her desire build even more as she reached for the button of her jeans. Honestly, if Matt so much as reached out and tweaked a nipple between his fingers, she’d probably come on the spot. And she wasn’t even half naked yet.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Matt announced, stopping her before she got the fabric of her jeans past her hips.
Thank God. “Is that a question or
a statement?”
“May I kiss you now?”
“If you’re going to be polite about it, absolutely not.” She pouted. “These lips are reserved for men who take no prisoners.”
“Good thing I wasn’t talking about those lips.”
Matt’s words caught her by so much surprise she barely registered it as he approached her and pushed her into the couch with a soft whomp. The scent of the newly purchased, buttery leather filled her senses as Matt grabbed each thigh and pulled her to the edge of the cushion.
She was reduced to a bundle of incoherencies. Legs apart. Devoid of breath. Holy shit excited.
And then he fell to his knees before her.
Whitney didn’t often find herself at a loss for anything—thoughts, words, actions. But as Matt leaned in and kissed each of her breasts softly before murmuring, “I think I’ll take care of the pants. You take too long,” she found that she could open her mouth and let out a squeak, but no other sound would come.
His movements were careful and methodical as he unclasped her jeans and tugged them low on her hips, though his mouth found something to do in the meantime. He bit the outside of her bra, grasping onto her nipple through the lined lace. It would have seemed odd if not for feeling so damn wonderful, the sharp edge of his teeth dulled by the fabric but still latching on with a sharp intensity that shot a spike between her legs.
She put both hands on the back of his head, encouraging him to latch harder. But he pulled away and looked up.
“Is this okay?”
She laughed, finally able to find her voice. “I’m going to have to go with a definitive yes. Anything I can do to help?”
He buried his face between her breasts, playfully motorboating. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, his voice muffled.
Whitney laughed again, a sound that quickly gave way to a gasp when he yanked her jeans the rest of the way down, her underwear going along with it. It was a shame, too, since they were one of her best pairs, all black and girly and wearable only two or three times before the lace started to shred. But when Matt’s head dipped down to kiss the inside of her thigh, she decided she didn’t really care whether or not he took the time to appreciate her lingerie. All she wanted was for him to keep appreciating her skin. Oh, yes. Just. Like. That.
The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) Page 6