He wasn’t quick enough. Before he could act on the impulse, she blinked. Once, twice, three times in slow repetition. Her chest lifted on a sharp intake of breath and her gaze skittered away.
Disappointment rushed him in a full-out blitz, but he took solace in running his gaze over her sensible two-inch heels, shapely calves, proper knee-length skirt, and pale peach button-up blouse. She reeked of respectability and sophistication, and he went hard on a helpless surge of lust. He bit back a groan as his imagination fired on all cylinders.
The erotic images running through his head like a high-dollar porn were short-lived, however. Tuck cleared his throat, demanding Wyatt’s attention. His friend wore a familiar shit-eating grin. As if he’d read Wyatt’s mind, he quirked a knowing brow, but it was eleven-month-old Huey Tucker, propped on his daddy’s right forearm, who killed Wyatt’s wholly inappropriate fantasy involving a shy kindergarten teacher with dark red curls and a body made for sin.
“Piper. You haven’t technically met Wyatt Hunter.” CC wiped her hands on a towel. She shoved her way past Tuck to round the center island of their large kitchen. “I can’t believe I spaced that Tuck had invited him to lunch this afternoon so they could watch some game tapes together.”
Wyatt winced, but Tuck grinned unrepentantly at his wife’s blatant lie. Smart woman that she was, CC hadn’t bought their story for Wyatt’s unexpected arrival less than two minutes ago. Apparently, she wasn’t going to call out either of them on the bullshit excuse. Not now, anyway. But from the narrow-eyed glower she’d pierced Wyatt with a moment ago, she’d have plenty to say later if he didn’t behave himself with her friend.
Tuck, on the other hand, had clearly placed his money on things going badly between Wyatt and Piper. After jerking him around when Wyatt had called an hour ago, desperate to find the shy artist before she left the country, Tuck had taken great pleasure in announcing Piper was, at that very moment, showering in the Tuckers’ second floor guest suite. He’d then invited Wyatt to lunch with the stated purpose of being on hand to watch him crash and burn with their sexy houseguest.
“Ah.” Piper glanced at Wyatt. A strained smile pulled at her full lips. “A pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Hunter.”
Wyatt cocked his head. “Wyatt, please. I hear Mr. Hunter and look around for my old man.”
He waited for her to correct herself. Women like her lived by the rules, after all, and decorum demanded she acknowledge his comment. She didn’t let him down, although the way her lips flattened said she wasn’t pleased at the necessity.
“Very well. A pleasure to meet you, Wyatt.”
She started to turn away, but he wasn’t having that. “Does it still hurt?”
“Pardon me?”
Confused by the way she stiffened as well as the wariness in her eyes, he tapped a fingertip to the side of his nose.
“Oh.” She relaxed visibly, the subtle tension in her shoulders easing. “As I explained the other night, the damage was minimal, but thank you for inquiring.” She glanced away. “CC, I...”
“Where in England are you from? I spent a lot of time in London when I was a kid and I’m picking up an odd lilt to your accent.”
Her gaze snapped back to him and something he couldn’t quite figure flashed in her eyes. She covered whatever it was with a polite smile. “You’re probably hearing a bit of the Scots. My people were originally from a small fishing village in Argyll.”
“You’re Scottish?”
She nodded and turned again. Nope, he wasn’t finished yet. “I thought I recognized the highlands in some of your photographs at the fundraiser.” Surprised pleasure filled the gaze that swung back to meet his, and he pressed forward. “You have quite an eye.”
Beautiful, intriguing eyes a man would give his soul to be staring into as he climaxed.
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
A riot of color bloomed on her cheeks and, for a moment, he was afraid he’d spoken aloud. He shoved a fist into the pocket of his jeans and shifted his feet. Shit, Hunter, get your mind out from under her skirt before she notices your Johnson trying to drill its way through your zipper.
“So, you live in the highlands?”
The suspicion in her eyes didn’t make sense. With her looks, she had to be used to men wanting to find out all they could about her. Finally, she rolled her shoulders in a negligent shrug.
“No, but I did spend my childhood summers there. I live in a small village on the east coast of northern England, not far from the Scottish border.”
CC handed little Huey a sippy cup. “As usual, Piper is being modest. She’s the Lady...”
“Lady proprietor of a lovely B&B forty kilometers or so from Carlisle.” The smile Piper turned on CC was overly bright.
Wyatt glanced between the two women. From the hesitant wrinkle of her brow, CC got the silent message her friend had just sent. Whatever that was.
He shook his head “I thought you were a photographer.”
Another shrug. “Photography is my art, but changing bedding and booking holidays for happy travelers is how I pay the bills.” Piper spun around, giving him her back. “CC, what can I do to help?”
Talk about having the proverbial door slammed in his face. He made the mistake of glancing at Tuck, who bared his teeth in a triumphant sneer. Wyatt knew better than to take his friend up on his challenge, but that didn’t mean Tuck would ultimately claim victory on their non-bet. Wyatt would win over the shy photographer because, damn it, he hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in…. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever being this jacked up over a woman he’d just met and had yet to touch.
He shot Tuck a one-fingered salute. The asshole burst out laughing.
CC directed a sharp gaze at both men, then smiled at Piper. “If you wouldn’t mind grabbing the wine, everything else is ready.” CC bumped her chin toward the two bottles breathing on the counter.
“Yes, of course.” Piper glanced around. “And the glasses?”
CC lifted the platter of sandwiches from the island. “They’re already on the table outside. It’s such a nice day I decided we should have our lunch on the patio. Tuck, can you open the door for me? And Wyatt, be a doll and bring out the pitcher of ice water? It’s in the refrigerator.”
Huey squealed with laughter as Tuck shifted the baby to his shoulder, hefting him like a sack of potatoes, and crossed to open the French doors for his wife. They disappeared outside and Wyatt turned to discover he stood between Piper and the wine. They performed an awkward shuffle of feet, each stepping in the same direction, then together in the opposite, and back again.
The fourth time they nearly collided, he paused and held up a hand. “If I’d known we’d be doing the cha-cha, I would have worn my dance shoes.”
He was surprised by the genuine humor in her curved lips. A definite improvement over the cool dismissal he’d received from her so far. When she dropped her gaze to the floor, he expected her to skitter past him without a word. Instead, she studied his feet for a moment before looking up.
“Do they make dance shoes in size gigantic?”
A tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyes as if her question were sincere. She blinked again, the way she had earlier. Three distinct cat-like winks of her lashes. He found the quirk so endearing it was difficult not to close the distance and sweep her into his arms. His pulse rate spiked in anticipation, but he tamped down the dangerous urge. Kissing her senseless now would only doom the intimate plans he had in mind for the two of them.
He needed to tread lightly, but damn. Was her skin as soft as it appeared? Glancing toward the doorway where the Tuckers had disappeared, he grunted beneath his breath. He had Piper alone for the moment and wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to move the chains a little farther downfield.
He called upon every ounce of patience he had in him and smiled. “I
wear a size sixteen, and yeah, they make them. I’ve bought a couple of pairs over the years.”
“Couple of pairs? Of dance shoes?” The wrinkle between her brows deepened as she stared at him. “You dance?”
He couldn’t help grinning at the incredulity in her voice. “I doubt Julliard will be calling anytime soon, but yeah. I dance. Or, more precisely, I’ve taken lessons off and on since I was in college.”
“Julliard?” There was that slow triple-blink again. “Ballet lessons?”
He chuckled. “Along with some ballroom. You’d be surprised at how efficient dance is at strengthening the core muscles.”
She ran her gaze down his body, pausing on his feet, then back up again. “I apologize. It’s just that you’re a little…bulkier than the typical dancer.”
He briefly glanced down at his body before looking up at her to tease, “Bulky? Is that a polite way of saying I’m fat?”
“Good Lord, not at all. Why, you’re perfect.” Embarrassment widened her eyes, and she shook her head. “That is… What I meant to say is, anyone who looks at you can see how very nicely muscular you are.” A tiny whimper of distress sounded in her throat, and she slammed her eyelids shut. “Oh, bother. I’m going to stop speaking now.”
He grinned. Very nicely muscular? Yeah, screw patience. He closed the unacceptable gap between them and slid his fingers beneath the loose cuff of her elbow-length sleeve. Just as he’d suspected, the softness of her skin put the brushed silk of her prim blouse to shame. She jolted, staggered slightly on her heels, and her eyes flew open.
He tightened his grip. “Steady there.”
Her pupils dilated within a shrinking ring of emerald iris as she stared into his eyes. She mumbled beneath her breath. The only words he could make out sounded suspiciously like mojo and disaster. He rubbed his thumb along the silky soft skin of her inner elbow and was rewarded by her shiver.
The pulse point beneath his thumb had gone thready and matched her voice when she spoke. “They’re waiting for the wine.”
“They won’t die of thirst.” Using his grip on her elbow, he urged her closer. “No one’s ever accused me of being perfect before.”
The blush on her cheekbones intensified. “I tend to say the most absurdly inappropriate things when I’m nervous.”
“I make you nervous?” He slipped his hand around her waist and eased her flush against his chest. She gasped at the contact, but he was pleased she didn’t shove free and bolt for the doorway.
“Very much so.” She tipped her head back to retain eye contact and surprised him by clutching his bicep with her right hand. “I probably shouldn’t admit that.”
“No, I’m glad you did. I like knowing I make you nervous.” Like hell. Her admission was the best news he’d had in months.
His pulse wasn’t exactly steady, either. He dipped his head until his lips were a breath above hers. If she didn’t stop him in the next three seconds, there was a good chance he would doom to failure any possible chance he had with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
On the other hand, he’d never forced himself on a woman and fair play demanded he give her the last say on the matter. He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Another whimper, but she didn’t jerk from his hold. “I know, and that’s an extremely bad idea.”
He tightened his arms around her and brushed his lips along her cheekbone to her ear, then down until he could nibble her jaw line. She smelled of vanilla and woman. “I disagree. Tasting you is the best idea I’ve had all year.”
“Maybe for you. I, on the other hand…” She slid her left hand up his chest and around the back of his neck.
He lifted his head to meet her hazy green gaze. “You what?”
“I am in so much trouble.”
Before he could ask why, she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Chapter 4
What the devil are you thinking?
Piper ignored the nagging voice screeching in her head and burrowed closer to the warmth of Wyatt’s big body. Confident and supremely talented, he took full control of the kiss without hesitation, nibbling, sucking, and nipping at her lips before stabbing deep to swirl his tongue around hers.
His musky flavor permeated her taste buds and weakness flooded her limbs.
She wriggled closer and buried her fingers in his shaggy, blond hair. His deep groan of encouragement vibrated from his chest wall into hers, increasing the delicious friction of his solid pecs against her tightened nipples. A helpless moan of pleasure purred in her throat. She rose on her toes and returned the favor by sucking at his invading tongue.
Through the silk of her blouse, his wide-palmed hand warmed the skin at her waist. Every feminine nerve ending in her body poised in desperate anticipation as his fingers rode over her ribs until he’d replaced his chest with his palm. Cupping her breast, he flicked his thumb over the tip of her nipple, straining against the silk barrier of her blouse and bra.
Piper, pay attention! Been here, done this. Remember? With disastrous results.
She whimpered into his mouth as the nag in her head broke through the fog of desire to point out the obvious. Okay, yes. Getting involved with another playboy athlete would be the height of stupidity, but she wasn’t naïve enough to let that happen again. Life was a harsh teacher, after all, and she was an excellent student.
The older, wiser Piper was firmly grounded in reality. Professionally, she did what was expected of her, of her title. What was right for Delaney Manor and Tilly, Moira, and Angus, not to mention the villagers who’d come to count on the infusion of cash brought to the area thanks to the stream of visitors to the B&B. And on the personal side, living like a nun was a price Piper willingly paid after that debacle with Cody Beckett.
But good Lord in heaven, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the pleasure of a man’s touch or the intimacy of his kiss.
Self-preservation demanded she call a halt to this madness immediately, but it had been ever so long since she’d been held intimately. Was it any wonder a simple kiss would sear the blood in her veins after her self-induced dry spell?
Wyatt shifted his head, taking the kiss deeper. Sharp pleasure pulsed through her, and the folds between her thighs swelled and heated.
Dry spell, me arse. Don’t be daft, Piper. You’re in the middle of an utter melt-down and the man’s kiss is anything but simple.
Bloody hell. He tasted of sin and pleasure—a combination too delicious to resist.
Just a few more moments. CC and Tuck were right outside and she was catching a plane in several hours. It wasn’t as if she were at risk of forgetting who she was or what her responsibilities entailed. Didn’t she deserve a few sweet moments of the illicit pleasure found in the arms of an incredibly sexy man before facing her dismal reality once again?
She purred into his mouth. He slid his free hand to her bum and urged her into fuller contact with his body. Heady pleasure made her gasp at the hard evidence pressing against her mound and belly, telling her she wasn’t alone in her madness. She didn’t object when his hand left her bottom to slip beneath the hem of her skirt. Nor when his fingers trailed up the back of her thigh, then stilled at the bare skin just above the elastic lace leg-band holding her stocking in place.
Wyatt broke the kiss and lifted his head. She hung in his arms, staring into his eyes, hot with arousal.
His chest rose and fell like a bellows. “Damn, sweetheart. You are one hot surprise after another.”
He dipped his head, but her short, sexy-as-all-hell reprieve was apparently over. Reality slapped her across the face in the form of childish giggles from outside.
She jolted and held her breath. He slammed his eyelids shut. A crushing disappointment squeezed her chest until she wanted to cry. Instead, she sent a silent thank-you to Huey Tucker
for bringing her to her senses before her knickers ended up around her ankles.
Her inner nag was blessedly silent for a change. A miracle, that. Then again, with her body still throbbing, she didn’t need to be reminded she had a dangerous weakness when it came to larger-than-life, warrior playboys. Counting herself lucky over the close call, she freed her fingers from the silky strands of Wyatt’s hair.
His hands dropped to his sides as she stepped back. With the island behind her, she couldn’t go far, and the proximity of his big body disturbed her more than she would’ve liked to admit. She momentarily got lost in the irresistible sight of his solid body and bit her bottom lip.
Nicely muscular was an understatement. Last night at the fundraiser, she’d been aware of little more than the mega wattage of his smile. Rattled, she’d been too busy avoiding him to take a good look, but it seemed his fitted tuxedo had blunted the strength of the body it covered. Not so, his street clothes. His black T-shirt molded to impossibly broad shoulders and well-defined pecs. Peeking from beneath the hem of one short sleeve, the edge of a tattoo was visible on his thickly muscled bicep. Faded jeans rode low on his trim hips. The material stretched tight at the thighs and…
She swiftly skipped past the clear ridge of the healthy erection that had been pressed against her like a steel lightning rod, dropping her gaze to the frayed denim resting atop the toes of his scuffed boots.
She cleared her throat. “Oh, dear. Did I say bad idea? I should have said disastrous.”
“On the contrary.” Bold as can be, he slid his hand over his crotch to adjust himself. “The temperature in here jumped a good fifty degrees the moment I touched you, and I wasn’t the only one caught up in the flame.”
Her insides reheated to near sizzling. With false bravado, she lifted her head. The dismissive hand she slashed through the air was meant as much for herself as it was for him. “That was simple chemistry.”
To Win Her Smile Page 4