Happy Ever After
Page 57

“I’d love to come to dinner on Sunday.”
His gaze zinged back to hers—wary. “You would?”
“Sure.We should have everything wrapped here by five thirty. If there’s no holdup, I could be there by around six. I’ll just drive over when I’m done here, and call if I’m going to be any later than six.Will that work?”
“Yeah. Sure.That’ll work.”
The more discomfort she sensed in him, the more enthusiastic she became. It was, she admitted, small of her, but what the hell. “Ask her if I can bring dessert, or maybe a bottle of wine. Or, never mind, I’ll just call her.”
“You’ll call my mother.”
She smiled, eyes wide and calm. “Is that a problem?”
“No. That’s fine.You two figure it out.” He waved it off. “It takes me out of the middle.”
“I’ll get in touch with her.” She lifted her wine again, at ease now. “Is she seeing anyone?”
“What?” Pure, undiluted shock swept over his face. “My mother? No. Jesus.”
She didn’t manage to swallow the laugh, but softened it by reaching out, laying a hand over his.“She’s a vital, interesting woman.”
“Don’t go there. Seriously.”
“I only did because I wondered if she might have a friend there, or if it would just be the three of us.”
“Us.Three.That’s it.”
“That’ll be nice.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ve got to get going.”
“Have fun tonight.” She rose as he did.
“Yeah, you, too.”
“And be lucky.” She moved into him. “Maybe this’ll help.”
And kept moving, slowly, deliberately, until her body molded to his, until her arms twined like ropes around his neck. Until her lips brushed, retreated, brushed, then sank soft and warm against his.
She let a sound of pleasure—escape, seduction, surrender, a shimmer of promises to come. And felt her body yearn with that promise when his hand gripped a fistful of her shirt at the small of her back.
He forgot, nearly forgot, where he was. Forgot, nearly forgot, everything but Parker. Her scent, that subtle, unforgettable hint of fragrance that was woman and secrets and cool breezes all at once. It stirred him, tangled in his senses with the hot, velvet punch of the kiss, swamped him with a staggering flood of need against the firm, lithe lines of her body.
Then she sighed again, skimmed her fingers through his hair, and started to ease away.
“No.”
He yanked her back and took them both on a dangerous fall.
“Malcolm.” She’d opened the cage door, and now however much she wanted to fling it yet wider, she knew she needed to gentle them both. “We can’t.”
“Wanna bet?” He pulled her across the kitchen, his strides long and fast enough to have her scrambling to keep up.
“Wait.Where are you going?”
Her breath stuck somewhere between her lungs and her throat when he dragged her into the utility room, shoved her back to the door. Flipped the lock.
“We’re not going to—”
He smothered her protest with a ravenous kiss while his hands began to take and take.
He forced himself to flip open the buttons of her shirt rather than simply tear it off her, then tugged the cups of her bra down to rub calloused palms over her ni**les.
She moaned. She trembled.
“God. Malcolm.Wait.”
“No.” He yanked up her skirt, then slid that calloused palm between her legs. “I’m going to have you here, right here. I’m going to watch you come first.” He skimmed a finger under lace, into her. “Then I’m going to make you come again, and again, taking you right here, against this door, until I’m finished.”
She had to grip his shoulders or fall as her knees trembled, as they buckled. As the vicious, battering heat assaulted her. His eyes, wildly green, captured hers, and she saw something flash in them—triumph, no less than triumph—when her body erupted.
She heard the swatch of lace rip, and could only moan again.
“Tell me you want me.” He had to hear it. Had to hear her voice, throaty with passion, tell him she was as crazed as he. “Tell me you want this. For me to take you like this.”
“Yes. God.Yes.”
He gripped her thigh as she lifted her leg to hook around his waist. Opening, offering. His mouth muffled her cry of release when he thrust into her. Hard and deep.
She let him ravage her—no other word came close—and she thrilled to it, rushed with him, beat by mad beat, to the final, breathless fall.
Even then she shuddered. Even when her head dropped to his shoulder, when his hand stroked down her hair, she couldn’t quite find her breath. When he tipped her face up, cupping it in his hands as his lips moved gently, gently over her cheeks, her temples, she thought: Who are you? Who are you that you can do this to me, take my body, take my heart?
Then she opened dazed eyes, stared into his, and she knew. Not all, maybe not enough, but she knew she loved.
When she smiled, he smiled. “You started it.”
She would’ve laughed if she’d had enough breath. “That’ll teach me.”
He dropped his forehead to hers, began to button her shirt. “You got a little wrinkled.”
He smoothed her skirt, her hair, tilted her head. “It’s no good. You look like a woman who just had sex in the utility room.”
“I guess I earned it.”
“I’ll say.” He bent down. “And I earned these. I’m keeping them.”
Her mouth dropped open when he pushed her torn panties into his pocket. “Like a trophy?”
“Spoils of war.”
She sputtered out a laugh, then just shook her head. “I don’t suppose you have a comb?”
“Why would I have a comb?”
She sighed, tried a little more smoothing and brushing with her hands.“That’ll just have to do.” She laid her finger on her lips, got that quick, cocky grin in response. “I mean it,” she hissed.
As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door, opened it a crack. Listened. “You’re going straight out, through the kitchen, out the door. And I’m—”
He grabbed her, giving her ribs a tickle as he pressed his mouth to hers. “Stop! Malcolm!”