Not This Guy!

by Glenda Sanders

  “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?” he asked.

  “I don’t usually...” Her voice trailed off in a sigh as the words eluded her.

  Mike cocked an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. “Drag men who turn off your water into your bedroom and have your way with them?” he suggested.

  Angelina scowled.

  “I’m sure there are a lot of plumbers who’ll be disappointed to hear that.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked after a thoughtful pause.

  Again, he offered that diabolical lift of eyebrow, and a grin that was positively lewd. “Besides having incredible sex?”

  Oh, God, she thought with a sinking feeling, he thinks I’m always...aggressive. She had to tell him, explain. That she’d been lonely. That she’d needed to feel desirable again. That having a man’s arms around her had been like...like rain after an extended drought. That she wasn’t always so—

  “If what...just happened—” She felt her cheeks flame as words failed her yet again.

  “You mean the incredible sex?”

  Ignoring him, she went on. “If it should ever...happen again—”

  “Oh, it’s going to happen again,” he said, dipping his head to drop a nibbling kiss on her shoulder. “Soon.”

  She drew in a deep, fortifying breath and released it in a rush. “Well, if it does, I just want you to know that it might not be quite so...incredible next time.”

  “I don’t know why you’d think that.” The effect of his lips on her skin as he nibbled his way to her neck lent credence to his argument.

  She had to force herself to concentrate on the point she was trying to make. “The truth is, this was the first time I...since the divorce...so, naturally, I was a little—”

  “Enthusiastic?” He’d found a hitherto undiscovered erogenous zone just beneath her ear.

  “Yes,” she said in a rush of breath. “So—”

  “So, we may have to be a little more creative and take a little more time to get to the same place.” He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered intimately, “Sounds like fun to me.”

  “Mmmmmm,” she said, closing her eyes as he kissed his way from her ear to her mouth.

  Patient, unhurried and thorough, the kiss lacked the frenzied urgency of their previous kisses; there was an almost arrogant laziness about it, a sense of having all the time in the world to explore, discover and experience.

  Gradually their bodies became involved. Arms wrapped, hands soothed, legs entwined, hair chafed smooth skin, soft flesh met firm muscle, all with the same sense of leisurely indulgence.

  Pleasure flowed through Angelina like warm oil, lulling and thrilling at the same time. She wondered if she’d forgotten how wonderful such intimacy could be—or if she’d ever even experienced this richness of physical contentment. Perhaps it was just a difference in perception. With Thomas, she’d been a girl, inexperienced and virginal. Thomas had been a boy, randy and full of adolescent cocksureness. Now she was with a man, responding with a woman’s emotional and physical needs.

  Still, she clung to enough romance to wish that this kiss could go on forever, weaving its magic spell without having to lead to anything more complicated than this soul-soothing pleasure. But he tore his mouth from hers to say raggedly, “I hope you’re a prepared little Girl Scout.”

  Mellowed by the kiss, she didn’t immediately understand what he was asking. Then, as comprehension dawned, she said, “No! I don’t have any.”

  He groaned. “No-o-o. Please. Don’t tell me that!”

  “You don’t have any more?”

  “I carry a wallet, not a saddlebag.”

  “Well, I haven’t needed them,” she explained apologetically.

  He hugged her gently. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “You turned off my water.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh and cuddled closer. “Speaking of which—I need to get after that mess in the kitchen, anyway, before the house floats off its foundation, or something.”

  “I’ll finish the faucet while you mop.”

  “Now that the water’s off, I can finish the faucet. It’s so late. You don’t have to stay—”

  “But I want to stay,” he said, nibbling on her earlobe.

  “But it’s almost midnight, and—”

  “That’s it,” he teased, feigning indignation. “Have your way with me, then throw me out!”

  “But we’re out of...essentials.”

  “That’s what convenience stores are for.”

  Angelina chuckled. “Convenience stores are where you buy milk for breakfast when you forget to buy it at the supermarket.”

  “You live a sheltered life, Mrs. Winters.”

  “Because I don’t know where to buy condoms after midnight?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Because it didn’t occur to you that I would.”

  9

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing?” Holding the sheet firmly around her breasts, Angelina peered over the edge of the bed to punctuate the question with one of those you’d-better-explain-yourself looks mothers were so good at.

  Mike had switched on the bedside lamp. Still totally naked, he was down on one knee examining the connection where the headboard joined the side railing of the bed frame. “This joint has worked loose,” he said. “I felt it shift when I got up. Haven’t you noticed it?”

  “It’s old,” Angelina replied. “I found it at a flea market.”

  “A little sandpaper and a dose of wood glue will fix this up just fine,” he said. “I’ll throw some in the van the next time I come over.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Angelina said. “It’s always been loose. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’ll be a big deal if it gives way during a...crucial moment.”

  Angelina’s expression hardened into a frown. She’d moved the bed from the guest room to the master suite when Thomas had moved out, taking their king-size bed with him. One of the reasons she liked it so much was that the sixty years of memories in the old wood weren’t hers to contend with. Until now, there had been no “crucial moments” to contend with, either.

  “You don’t have to bother,” she told him. Having a man install her appliances and diddle with her plumbing was one thing, but gluing her bed was another.

  “It’s not a bother.”

  “I’ll take care of it, okay?” she snapped. Too harshly.

  “Uh-oh,” Mike said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

  Now what? Angelina despaired silently. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s get it out in the open.”

  “If you were any more in the open, they’d arrest you!” His presence—large, male and unclothed—so close was disconcerting.

  “What’s the real reason you don’t want me to fix the bed?”

  His perceptiveness was almost as unnerving as having him so near her in all his glory. The full ramifications of allowing a man into her bed—her life—suddenly came crashing down on her. “It’s just so...it’s my bed.”

  “Uh-huh. And you can take care of it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how many semesters of wood shop did you take in school?”

  “None, but—” Risking slippage with the sheet, she threw up her hands. “How hard can it be to squirt in a few drops of glue?”

  “It wouldn’t be hard at all,” he agreed. “But why not do it right when someone offers to help?”

  Angelina sighed dismally. “I don’t want you to do it for me. I want to take care of my own problems.”

  “You couldn’t possibly know how much I appreciate that about you,” he said, taking her hands in his.

  A long silence ensued. Angelina gazed down at his fingers wrapped around hers. She’d always admired his hands; she knew now how loving they could be. It was impossible to look at them and not remember.

  “This isn’t just about my doing a favor for you, is it?” he asked.

  “A bed is so...personal.
It’s like you’d be touching me.”

  “Not exactly,” he said. The warmth in his voice drew her eyes to his face. He was smiling. He lifted his right hand to cradle her cheek. “What if I told you that I hope to be spending a lot of time in this bed?”

  “I’d be...terrified,” she said. But even as the apprehension make her go tense, the prospect of having him there with her filled her with tingling, wondrous exhilaration.

  He gathered her into his arms. His strength was comforting. She hadn’t realized how alone she’d been, how lonely. She loved Lily with all her heart, but there were times when a woman needed to be a woman as well as a mother. She clung to him as he stroked her back in long, loving strokes.

  “You aren’t any more terrified than I am, Angel.”

  She swallowed. “You?”

  “You don’t think it’s intimidating being the first man who’s been in your bed since your divorce?”

  “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Take my word for it, it’s intimidating. I practically deflowered you.”

  Angelina laughed softly. “Hardly.” Her laughter faded into pensive silence that stretched overlong before she finally said, “I haven’t asked you for any commitments.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed, hugging her a bit tighter in an instinctive protective response to the tension he felt claiming her body. “You haven’t asked. But you made a commitment when you let me get close to you, and I can’t ignore that.”

  Ignore it? He’d been obsessed with the idea ever since Angelina had dropped that bombshell of information. The odds of keeping a relationship casual went down substantially when a man found out he was her first lover in almost two years. Of course, the odds of keeping it casual had plummeted through the floor the instant he’d fallen head over heels in love with her, although he wasn’t quite sure when that was.

  It might have been when he saw her trying to change her tire, her face smudged with tire black. Or it might have been substantially later—when he walked into her kitchen and saw her standing barefoot at the stove, stirring the sauce for the tetrazzini.

  “What happened tonight was mostly my idea, so you don’t have to feel—obligated,” she said.

  Her cheek was soft against his chest. He stroked her hair, silky and dark. “What I’m feeling right now is not obligation,” he crooned. “I hate to have to tell you this, but since I am a gentleman, I don’t have any choice. Your...uh, sheet is slipping.”

  With a soft gasp, she pulled away and yanked the sheet back up over her breasts.

  It was everything Mike could do to refrain from tackling her and kissing her until she forgot all about holding on to that ridiculous cover, but they weren’t prepared for what would happen if he did. Instead, he grinned charmingly. “Next time I’m going to peek!”

  * * *

  “JUST IN TIME!” Mike said as Angelina exited the bathroom in the master suite, where she had retreated for a shower after finishing the kitchen cleanup.

  “For what?” Angelina asked.

  “You can find me a couple of magazines to—” His concentration on the repair job he was doing was entirely shot as he looked up from his work and saw her standing there. Fresh from her shower, with her hair loose and fluffy from blow-drying, she was wearing a floor-length robe of emerald green that clung to her curves and shimmered with her every motion.

  Although his frankly sensual once-over made her feel a bit self-conscious, Angelina gave him a tentative smile. Having a man look at her as though she were an ice-cream sundae with a bright red cherry on top did wonders for her ego.

  “To...?” she prompted.

  “Huh?”

  “You needed magazines?”

  “To...uh, wedge up underneath here and hold this side rail in place. I’ve got it clamped, but a little extra support never hurts.”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” she said. “They’re...uh—” his sensuous gaze was getting a little disconcerting “—in the living room.”

  His grin was pure sin. “Hurry back, Angel.”

  She fetched the magazines and helped him wedge the clamped joint.

  “That ought to take care of it,” he said. “In twelve hours it’ll be as good as new.” He rose, dusted the knees of his jeans and turned his attention to Angelina. “Now, on to more important things.”

  Angelina cocked her head coquettishly. “What more important things?”

  The question was superfluous. The glint in his eyes left little room for doubt about what he had on his mind. After taking care of the drip in her faucet, he’d made a quick run to his house for dry clothes, tools and more foil envelopes. He was wearing the clothes, he was finished with the tools and now—

  “I’m open to suggestion,” he said, tracing the curve of her cheek with his forefinger.

  “I have a rocking chair with a loose rung,” she said sweetly.

  He thrust his fingers into her hair, curving his fingers around her scalp. “My clamp is already engaged.”

  “There’s a loose tile in the shower stall,” she cooed.

  “No grout,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist.

  “The, uh—” She flicked her tongue across her lips. She hadn’t flirted since her first year in college and she found it exhilarating. “Window over the sink sticks.”

  Abruptly, he tightened his arm, pulling her against him, and coaxed her head back with a gentle tug on her hair. “If I thought you were serious, I’d strangle you.”

  “I thought you liked fixing things.”

  “I do,” he said, dipping his head to press his forehead against hers. “But it’s your turn to fix something for me.”

  Breathless. Knowing what he meant. Wondering how he’d express it. Waiting. Loving the anticipation. “What?”

  His mouth touched hers with the tremulous flitting of a hummingbird’s wings. “This.”

  With a sound that was half sigh, half gasp, Angelina threw her head back as he kissed his way to her neck.

  “You smell good. Like a girl,” he said huskily.

  “As...opposed to...a shaggy dog?” she asked, although her breathlessness softened what might otherwise have been sharp wit.

  “As opposed to—” He finished with a groan as he encountered the V formed by the crisscrossing fronts of her robe. He took his arm from around her waist to part them, brushing the left panel aside, exposing the top of her breast. “Anything else on earth.”

  He shoved the robe down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts, and stared boldly at the flesh he’d bared.

  His admiration did all the magic things an adoring look was supposed to do. Angelina’s knees suddenly felt rubbery, her heart raced and heat curled through her body.

  “Told you I’d peek,” he said with a sexy smile.

  “Please,” she whispered, unsure what she was asking in the plaintive plea.

  “That’s not all I’m going to do,” he said, gently curving his hand over her left breast and chafing it with his palm.

  Angelina watched, fascinated, exhaling a languid sigh as the heat inside her raged into an inferno of yearning. She placed her hands on his shoulders for support as her knees threatened to buckle.

  He bowed his head to hers for a claiming kiss while his hand kneaded her aroused flesh. She folded her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his. The silky robe was so thin, like tissue paper between them. His heat, his hardness and his strength excited her.

  He tore his mouth from hers and said hoarsely, “I should have waited until morning to fix the bed.”

  With that, he grasped the comforter and flung it onto the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Angelina asked, as shocked by the abrupt end to the kiss as by the absurdity of his actions.

  “Improvising,” he said, tossing the pillows atop the crumpled comforter.

  * * *

  “OH-H-H,” Angelina groaned.

  Mike opened one eye. “Is that a sound of passion?”

  Ange
lina stretched the full length of her body to work out the kinks. “It’s pain.”

  “Are you always this grouchy in the morning?”

  “Only when I sleep on the floor.”

  “Such ingratitude, after I fixed your bed.”

  “I didn’t ask you to fix my bed. I didn’t even want you to fix my bed, but you insisted.”

  “It was falling apart.”

  She yawned. “And then you kept me awake half the night.”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  Angelina snuggled up against him. “I really would be an ingrate if I complained about that.“

  An involuntary smile claimed her face as she recalled their lovemaking on the makeshift pallet. Her aches were due as much to the hardness of the man next to her as to the hardness of the floor. He’d made love to her thoroughly and well, and she knew it. It scared her a little. A steamy shower would leech the soreness from her body and wash away the scent of him, but the memories of the pleasure they’d shared would not be purged from her mind as handily.

  Her first affair. So far it had been all thrills and surprises and physical gratification, with a twist of magic thrown in, but it was new territory for her, both emotionally and socially. She couldn’t help feeling a little apprehension over the possible repercussions an affair would have on her already complicated life.

  It hadn’t been easy replacing a man who brought home a respectable paycheck with a job that barely paid her enough to cover the necessities if she could avoid unforeseen circumstances like bald tires and worn-out washing machines, but in the past few months, she’d finally managed to establish a routine and restore some equilibrium to her life. She was managing, finally, and feeling good about herself because of it. She didn’t want anything to mess that up now, especially a man.

  “Can you see the clock?” she asked. “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten,” he said, checking his watch instead of the clock. Angelina was pretty sure it was the only thing he was wearing, but it was one item more than she had on.

  “It can’t be!” she said. “I never sleep past eight o’clock.”