by Elaine Fox
“I’ll give you a case before you go,” he said dismissively, his eyes not leaving her. “What did Arnetta say?”
Megan tilted her head and regarded him steadily. “She said you suggested killing all the animals a couple of days earlier than usual, to save money.”
Sutter closed his eyes, laying the fingertips of one hand on his forehead.
She continued, “Or, alternately, she said you proposed letting them all go. An idea, I might add, you suggested to me about Twister.”
A look of horror crossed her face and she looked swiftly around.
“Where is Twister?” she asked, glaring at him.
He opened his eyes, dropped his hand and glared back at her. “At a farm, in the country, romping with the angels,” he said. “Where do you think she is? She’s in that cage so that I can eat my meal in peace.”
Megan sagged in her seat. “Oh thank God,” she muttered.
He looked at her in astonishment. Had she really thought he’d just do away with the dog?
“I apologize for my assistant’s tactlessness,” he said stiffly. “I of course did not intend for her to repeat any such thing.”
“Well, I can tell you right now nobody knows what you intended,” she said, looking at him speculatively. “They all think you’re evil. The question is, did you really say those things?”
“I believe you’ve already made up your mind that I did.” Sutter studied her face and wished for the life of him that he had not said those very things. Leave it to Arnetta to miss the point of his cynical joke and repeat his frustrated ravings as if he’d meant them.
“I am merely reporting back what happened,” she said, putting her fork down carefully on her plate. “I thought you might want to repair the considerable damage done by those words with people such as Wilma Jones, who you may not have known heads the SPCA board.”
For some reason she looked as if she thought she’d scored rather high with that one.
Sutter was confused. It was all well and good for her to get on her high horse about this. He wasn’t forcing her to adopt something that she had never desired and didn’t like. Between her and Lizzy he felt as if not only the dog, but the whole animal community was suddenly being crammed down his throat.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know any Wilma Jones,” he said, his tone more defensive than he’d intended, “but I appreciate your effort to help me clear my good name.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” Her mouth dropped open. “Do you not know what impression this kind of attitude makes on people? They were ready to string you up! They couldn’t have been madder if the devil himself had shown up and stolen all their souls.”
He might have chuckled at that description had he not known how disastrously she would misinterpret even that.
“I was not being sarcastic,” he said deliberately. “And I regret the misunderstanding—”
“Are you sure it was a misunderstanding?” She looked almost hopeful.
“Of course it was.”
“Then you didn’t say any of those things.”
He took a deep breath. “In Arnetta’s defense, I may have said something similar to her—in jest—but I had no intention of it being repeated to the board members of the SPCA.”
“Well,” she said, looking disappointed, “it was repeated. And now they all think you’re evil incarnate.”
“Including you?” he asked, and he couldn’t help the edge in his voice.
How many times had he been accused, turned on, eviscerated by people he thought were friends, or at least amiable acquaintances, when he declined to support the cause of their choice? How many times had he been asked to give money to this group, or that group, regardless of whether he had any interest in or dealing with extraterrestrials, or retired racehorses, or library periodicals, or what have you? He could spend his life throwing money at every cause that came by and go broke doing it. Which is why he’d set up a private foundation for just this kind of charity. They screened applicants and gave grants to the most worthy without his ever having to get involved, beyond giving the money, that was.
But what pained him most about this was that he had thought her—Megan Rose—above this kind of thing.
This is just what you got when you kissed someone for no reason, he thought.
Her eyes flashed up to him. “Does it matter what I think?”
He chuckled once, mirthlessly. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Dr. Rose, but I would not be surprised to learn that you were the angriest one there.”
“What? Why would I be the angriest one there?”
He sat back and regarded her. “Women are generally at their most passionate when they believe themselves to have been wronged.”
She stared at him, then said in a very cold voice, “And how have I been wronged?”
He sighed. “Perhaps you felt personally betrayed. Even though, I must add, I made no effort to hide my true feelings on this subject from our first meeting.”
Color rose to her cheeks. “What I think is not the point—”
“Really?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together, her face still glowing with outrage. “Really. What are you trying to say?”
He leaned forward, pinning her with his eyes. “Only that had we not kissed the other day, we would most likely not be having this conversation and I would be eating my meal while it was still hot.”
She looked at him, aghast, for a full ten seconds. Then she rose so quickly her chair fell over behind her. She merely blinked at the sound of it hitting the floor. “I—I—this is unbelievable.”
He remained calmly seated. “Do you deny it?”
“Not only do I deny it,” she said through clenched teeth, “but I’m not even going to dignify the idea by staying here to talk about it. Your ego is obviously much bigger than I imagined. So thank you for…” She waved her hand around the untouched dinner. “And good night.”
She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
Sutter grappled with a sudden feeling of having maybe not hit the nail quite on the head. He was fairly certain he was right about the kiss being behind all of this, but had no idea how to undo the ugly mess that had come of it.
“Dr. Rose,” he called in his most forbidding tone. He rose from his seat and strode through the living room, relieved to see she had stopped at his command. “Megan.”
“Yes?” Her hands were on her hips, her color still high and her eyes still dark and flashing with anger. But her voice was cool.
“I’m sorry you’ve gotten the wrong idea.” He took a deep breath.
“Oh I hate that kind of apology,” she said, raking her hands through her hair.
“I am not apologizing—”
“Then you might not want to use the words, ‘I’m sorry’.”
“Megan, I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry for how this conversation has gone. Clearly I was mistaken and you—”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you, or did you not, say those things to your assistant?”
“Wouldn’t you rather know if I meant them?” he asked.
She spread her hands. “If you’re willing to admit it.”
He paused. Was it not better for her to believe him a heartless bastard than for him to exonerate himself? He did not want her thinking well of him. Didn’t want her thinking of him at all.
Of course, his thinking about her was another matter entirely.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “I can see your mind is made up about me.”
“Honestly, Sutter, I don’t know what to think about you. And for the record, that kiss had nothing to do with my outrage about your proposal to kill animals instead of—what was it?—oh yes, ‘begging door-to-door’ on their behalf.”
“I never said ‘door-to-door,’” he said, wishing he could fire Arnetta from a cannon. Although, if she hadn’t muddled what he’d said, Megan Rose would not be standing in his foyer looking impassioned in a way that was, he hated to
admit it, quite stimulating.
She gave him that appalled look again and barked a simple, “Hah!” before turning toward the door again.
Despite himself, he reached out for her elbow, caught it and felt a wave of desire swamp him. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, but he didn’t—couldn’t—drop her arm.
“You keep saying that. So what are you sorry for?” she asked, one brow arched.
“I may have been insensitive but it was, I thought, in the privacy of my own office. It was not a proposal I expected to be taken seriously. Taken anywhere at all, really.”
She didn’t say anything, just stood looking at him, her angry breath filling and emptying her chest rapidly.
Sutter loosened his grip on her arm, but he did not let go and she did not break free.
Her skin was warm and soft under his fingers, her muscles taut.
He should let go, he thought. Let her walk out the door still angry at him. It was the only way he would not feel compelled to see her again.
And yet, here she was, pausing under his touch, looking at him with those wide, forthright eyes.
He recalled the kiss in the park, the way she’d given herself right over to him. It had been so effortless…
“Megan…” He exerted the smallest of pressures on her arm, pulled her slightly toward him.
The next thing he knew they were kissing.
Eight
Sutter’s hands gripped her shoulders as his lips crushed hers. Megan wasn’t quite sure how it happened, all she knew was that all the energy she had poured into her anger had mutated instantaneously and without her accord into a desire so strong she could not resist it.
The kiss was dizzying, hot and sensual. Sutter’s lips were skillful, his tongue deft. Their bodies pressed into each other as if longing to occupy the same space. Megan’s very skin seemed to be crying out for his, reveling in the strength and demand of his arms.
This kiss was different than the one in the park. That one was exploratory, sweet, almost innocent. Not this one. Not while the bedroom was right up those stairs. And her body knew it, too.
Desire turned to molten heat in her abdomen. Her hips pressed forward into his, her need finding his. She felt his excitement hard against her, and moaned softly into his mouth.
His hands rose to her face and cupped it. He pulled back a fraction. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She hesitated, and he captured her lips once again. A plea and a promise. An irresistible temptation. Her blood sang, her knees went weak, and she screamed in her head, Yes! Yes! Let’s go upstairs!
He backed off again, their lips parting with a soft smack, and he gave her a look that nearly melted her bones. Then he bent slightly and—literally—swept her off her feet.
With a tiny squeal, she put her arms around his neck. He strode across the foyer and took the stairs two at a time, so quickly Megan barely had time to form the fear that they might both go tumbling down the steps under her weight. He reached the top and turned swiftly, heading straight into a darkened room and kicking the door shut behind him.
Then he laid her on the bed. She spread her arms and let herself sink farther onto its surface, feeling the downy softness beneath her, a cool duvet, a limitless mattress.
His voice came out of the darkness, from the tall silhouette of a man unbuttoning his own shirt. “I don’t mean to take advantage. If you wish to leave I shan’t stop you.”
Shan’t. She sighed. What kind of man used the word shan’t? If she closed her eyes she could imagine she was in a fairy tale.
With a man who killed pets, her mind cut in.
She shut it off and sat up, reaching for him. It had been too damn long, she thought, and he was just too damn much to resist.
Her fingers found his belt loop and she pulled him toward her. “I don’t wish to leave,” she said in a voice so husky she barely recognized it as her own. “And I do mean to take advantage.”
She pulled on his belt and released it from the buckle. His hands moved to her hair as she pulled down his zipper, slid his pants, boxers and all, over his lean hips, and found the evidence of his passion.
He groaned softly as she took it in her hands. The silken sweet hardness filled her palm. She guided it slowly into her mouth.
“Oh Jesus,” he uttered, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.
Pulling his hips toward her, she held to the firm rounds of his buttocks. His taut stomach touched her forehead as she drew him in, then let him so far out he almost escaped her, then drew him in again. His hands gripped her hair and his breathing quickened.
He swore and pulled himself from her mouth, then pushed her down on the bed. He lifted the skirt of her sundress and grasped her panties, sliding them over her legs and off her feet. She arched her back as he unzipped the dress and lifted it over her head. Dress gone, his hands ran up the sides of her body to her bra, then snaked around her back and undid the clasp with a deft flick of his fingers.
She sighed. He brought his lips to her breast, finding the nipple of the other with his fingers. The sensation was exquisite.
“Sutter,” she breathed, satisfied with how the name slid out from between her teeth, barely rustling the air.
He lifted himself and settled over her, his arms on either side of her head. He dipped his head and caught her mouth with his. Reaching down with one hand, he touched his fingers to her thigh, then between them, then slid them along the wet folds of her desire.
Megan nearly gasped as he immediately found the spot. The man was mystical in his lovemaking, instinctively going to the most intimate, desirous places, satisfying every inch that called out to him.
Her hand reached down and rounded him again, gently grazing upward and back. He let out a deeply satisfied sigh.
She shifted her hips as he stroked her, moaning into the side of his neck, feeling his body tremble as her hands worked on him.
With a burst of starfire, she came, and before she had a moment to return from the heavens he rolled on top and plunged inside of her. She pulsed around him as he pumped inside of her. Adrenaline surging, she grabbed at his body, his back, his legs, his buttocks, moving with him, blinded by physical rapture, throbbing as he hit home again and again with his perfect hardness.
Just when she thought she could sustain the orgasm no longer, he exhaled hard and impaled her with a final thrust. Then he shuddered beneath her hands and melted alongside her, their bodies still joined, her arms around his shoulders.
At 10:04 P.M., the phone rang. Megan opened her eyes at the unfamiliar ring, caught sight of the digital clock, and saw the masculine taupe walls with the black accents, the plasma TV and the original Chagall painting, and knew she was not at home. Then she felt the mattress dip and turned her head to see Sutter’s lean naked back as he sat up and reached for a sleek cordless phone.
“Yes,” he said into it, sounding for all the world as if he had not just roused himself from an unbelievable roll in the sheets.
Megan’s limbs felt like sacks of cement. Coccooned in the sheets, beneath the thick down comforter, she snuggled into the pillow, looking at the back of Sutter’s tousled hair, and told herself she had to leave. Then she wondered if they couldn’t maybe…just once more…it had, after all, been a very long time for her.
A second later, she knew she had to get out of there.
“I apologize. I know I said I’d call and I intended to. I got…distracted. Something came up.”
Megan could tell from the way his spine had gone straight that this was the tabloid woman, the one with the diamond earrings. She could also tell by the way he stood and strode swiftly to the bathroom with the phone, not even looking over his shoulder at her, only leaving her with the image of his Greek god’s body burned onto her retinas by the bathroom light, that he was having to do some undesirable placating. He did not sound soft—on the contrary—he sounded irked. Was that how he treated the women in his life?
She sat up quickly, paused, felt momentarily dizzy, th
en located her underwear in the tangle of sheets. All the blood must have pooled in her body as she’d wallowed languorously in his huge warm bed after their lovemaking.
Not so now. She swung her legs over the side of the mattress and pulled on her panties. Then she stood, her feet seeming to sink deep into the plush carpet, and rounded the bed to find her sundress in a passion-strewn heap on the floor, next to Sutter’s pants, shirt, and socks.
This can’t happen again, she thought. He was attached and was way too high profile for her anyway. She’d had sex buddies before, guys who weren’t seeing anyone at the same time she wasn’t, but they were usually very close friends who agreed on the temporary nature of the arrangement. This…this inferno of passion would not be good for any kind of duration. It would burn itself out as quickly as it had flared and then they could be left with a very public mess on their hands.
No, she was certain this had to be a one-time thing.
Better for her, and better for him.
She’d just pulled on her dress when Sutter emerged from the bathroom. The light blinded her again before he closed the door on it.
He stopped, naked, but for the phone in his hand, when he caught sight of her.
Her knees went weak again. God, but he was beautiful.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
He sounded surprised, which surprised her, considering he’d just been on the phone with his girlfriend.
Not that she was mad. She understood about these things. Tonight had surprised them both. Monogamy was unnatural, she knew. What she felt for him was physical passion, and that was all. This was the way she liked it, she told herself. Sex with a trusted partner, without all the work and worry of a relationship.
For a moment she wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with Sutter Foley. Had she sold herself too short by jumping into bed with him? Not that she felt like she’d had much choice. She’d been overcome by desire in a way she didn’t remember ever feeling before.
No, she wasn’t going to feel bad about this. They had about as much chance of ending up in a relationship as she did of becoming president of the United States. Tonight had been a fluke. A happy accident. An incredible experience. And they were consenting adults. There was nothing to regret and much to relish.
