Mad About the Man

by Tracy Anne Warren

  With quick jerking motions, she rolled off the garter belt and hose and kicked them aside. She put her panties on and pulled them into place, then leaned over for his shirt.

  She flung it at him. “Put that on. My mother and Ivy are just down the hall, not to mention Madelyn.”

  “Yeah. So what?” he said, laying the shirt beside him on the bed. “Or aren’t you allowed to have a man in your bedroom? You’re not sixteen, you know.”

  She stared wide-eyed for a few seconds. “No, but I don’t . . . that is, I’ve never . . . I don’t boink men in my parents’ house.”

  “Not ever?” That surprised him. “No secret hookups with high school or college boyfriends? No lovers you’ve brought here for a holiday weekend?”

  “No.”

  She padded quickly across to her closet and yanked jeans and a white shirt off a pair of hangers. They sang out as the metal clinked together.

  “You’ll have to wait here until I go down,” she told him. “Then you can leave.”

  He stood up and went to her, taking her hips in his hands and pressing her ass against his heavy erection. “I’d rather stay here so we can get busy again once the newlyweds are on their way.” He kissed her neck and rocked himself against her.

  A shudder went through her body, her hands clenching on the clothing in her hands.

  Then she visibly got control of herself again and twisted out of his grip. “Forget it, Monroe. The moment has passed.”

  Pulling away, she stepped into her jeans and zipped them up. She worked the shirt over her head next, tugged it into place. Almost like she was donning armor.

  “I never took you for a coward.”

  Her pale eyebrows went up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re running. But as the saying goes, you can run, but you can’t hide. Both of us know this is far from over.”

  She shot him a quick glance. “It is for me. Sorry about the . . .” Her hand motioned toward the very obvious arousal straining against his trousers.

  He swallowed a groan. If she’d wanted to get revenge for his past misdeeds, she’d more than managed. He was going to be in agony for the rest of the night. But he was a grown man and no matter the provocation, he could deal with the consequences.

  As for her claim that she didn’t want him anymore, she was a liar. It wasn’t arrogance on his part to know that he could have her begging for it again with just a few skillful touches.

  If he were a different sort of man, he could push the issue right here and now, slip his hand inside her jeans, and make her forget about everything but her passion, about her need for him.

  But he didn’t operate like that, and if he maneuvered her now, she would hate him for it later.

  Hate herself.

  Returning to the bed, he scooped up his shirt and slid his arms inside the sleeves. “When do you get back to the city?”

  Surprise flashed in her eyes. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Good. I’ll come by your place. Tomorrow. Early evening. Don’t bother making dinner. I’ll bring something with me.”

  “Maddox, I told you. Whatever tonight was, it’s over.”

  “Expect me by five. Now, you’d better hurry.” He started buttoning his shirt. “You don’t want to miss saying good-bye to the happy couple.”

  She scowled, clearly aware that he was right about the rapidly elapsing time.

  “God, you’re aggravating.”

  He grinned, showing his white teeth.

  Finding a pair of flats, she shoved her feet into them, then went to the door. She flipped the lock open.

  “Brie.”

  Her head came up. “What?”

  “Sleep well tonight.”

  “I usually do.”

  “Good.” He tucked his shirt into his waistband. “’Cause you won’t be getting a whole lot of shut-eye tomorrow.”

  Her lips parted, words gathering on her tongue. But rather than speak, she huffed out a breath and disappeared out into the hall.

  Taking a deep breath of his own, he willed his body to calm down. Only then did he follow after.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brie checked the time on her smartphone and wondered if there was still a chance for her to duck out before Maddox came knocking at her apartment door.

  She should never have let him strong-arm her into a date tonight. Although date was a rather placid term for what she figured he had in mind, especially considering his parting words about her not getting much sleep tonight.

  God, what had come over her last night? Letting him kiss and touch her the way he had? One minute she’d been telling him to get lost; the next she’d been wrapped around him as tightly as a glove, sucking face and a whole lot more.

  If not for Madelyn’s interruption, she and Maddox would have done the nasty right there in her childhood bedroom, with her mother and sisters, and Lord only knew who else, just down the hall. What if they’d heard, even with her door locked?

  Aunt Constance was the one most likely to get caught fornicating in the house. But everyone kind of expected that from her, and to give Constance her due, she had very little shame. She would just have laughed it off and gone to open a fresh bottle of wine.

  But though Brie wouldn’t put herself in the uptight prude category, she wasn’t as casual and free-spirited about S-E-X as her notorious aunt.

  She wished she could blame her rogue behavior on too much wine. Or maybe a roofie somebody had slipped into her drink when she wasn’t looking. But neither of those options applied.

  Maddox had kissed her and she’d liked it.

  Then he’d touched her and she’d liked it even more.

  Like gasoline poured on a drought-ridden forest and set ablaze, the passion between her and Maddox had exploded, out of control.

  Of course it had been a while since she’d been with somebody—well over a year. She was busy with her career and didn’t care for casual sexual encounters with guys she barely knew. She supposed that offered her some slim margin of excuse for last night.

  Yet even that wasn’t true.

  She’d never lost her mind like she had with Maddox. Never lowered her inhibitions and just let herself go wild. Not even with Stephen, the man she’d once loved with a heartbreaking intensity, had she been able to lower all her barriers.

  But with Maddox, there hadn’t been any barriers at all. One touch from him and her brain cells had turned to mush, her usual sense of caution and logic gone straight out the door.

  So where did that leave her?

  Clearly, Maddox wanted to pick up where they’d left off last night.

  As for her, she knew what she ought to tell him and that was a big fat no.

  Getting involved with him—well, to be honest, even more involved—would be a mistake of monumental proportions. They had a history of animosity between them. Plus, he was her client and therefore off-limits.

  Really, the answer was obvious.

  So why was she sitting here on her couch, dithering over what to say when he showed up at her door?

  She glanced again at the time.

  Five o’clock.

  The doorbell rang.

  She stood and ran a quick hand over her beige linen slacks to check for nonexistent lint, then straightened the tail of her green and yellow long-sleeved cotton shirt. Less exposed flesh to tempt him, she’d told herself when she’d picked the outfit from her closet.

  Taking a deep breath, she went to the door.

  Maddox was in black.

  Black trousers. Black polo shirt that hugged the contours of his amazingly well-sculpted chest. As she now had reason to know, his torso looked even better without the shirt. He could have been a model if he’d had any interest.

  “Hi,” he said.

  He swept his eyes over her in a
way that didn’t make her feel very covered up after all. Maybe he was busy remembering her shirtless too.

  She swallowed and looked up at him again. Had he always been so tall?

  “Hi,” she answered back.

  Holding the door open, she waited for him to come inside.

  “What’s all that?” She nodded toward the large cloth shopping bag he held in one hand.

  “Our dinner. I told you I’d bring the food.”

  “So you did.”

  Without waiting for further invitation, he walked into the kitchen. It was easy to find, since her apartment had an open-plan format where everything except the bedroom and bathroom flowed into one large space without the necessity of walls or doors.

  “Kudos for not ditching on me,” he said. “I half expected to find out that you’d taken off and left me literally holding the bag.”

  He set the groceries on top of the cooking island.

  “I thought about it,” she said honestly. “But what’s the point? You’d have tracked me down regardless.”

  His dark eyes glinted. “You’re right. I would have. Plus, you’d have had to have come home sometime.”

  “I could have gone to a hotel.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. You’re too frugal. Besides, a hotel would only have made you easier to find.”

  “Is that some secret insider hotel mojo? What? Can you track people if you want?”

  “I’ll never tell.” He winked. “You like spaghetti?”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t like spaghetti?”

  “My point exactly.”

  Still, he looked pleased as he began to unload the groceries. On the counter he laid onions, plump red tomatoes, crisp green peppers, garlic, and small bunches of fresh oregano, marjoram, and thyme. Two brown-paper-wrapped butcher’s packages containing some sort of ground meats came next. There was also tomato paste, red pepper flakes, olive oil, vinegar, and other fixings for a salad, and a loaf of heavenly smelling Italian bread. And last, a box of dry pasta noodles, also Italian.

  “I take it that’s what we’re having. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I can’t. Well, not much, but I do make a mean red sauce. That and grilled steaks are my two specialties.”

  When he’d said he was stopping by with dinner, she’d never expected this. She’d assumed he would have his chef at the hotel whip something up. But here he was cooking for her.

  How was she going to kick him out now? He really was diabolical.

  “You have a stockpot?” he asked, as he washed and dried his hands, then found the cutting board and knife that were on her countertop.

  “Underneath in the far cabinet. I’ll get it.”

  “It’s no trouble. You sit.” He walked in the direction she’d pointed. “In here?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached inside and found the big, bright blue Le Creuset pot her mother had bought her one year for Christmas. He set it on the stove and turned on the heat, then poured in a golden green stream of olive oil, enough to thinly coat the bottom.

  “Want some help?” she asked.

  He shook his head as he began slicing onions and mincing garlic. “I’ve got it. Like I said, sit, relax.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” As soon as she asked, she remembered that he didn’t drink alcohol. “I have sparkling water or I could make us some iced tea. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  Without waiting, she went over to put on the kettle, then rummaged through a nearby cupboard for the tea.

  “Sparkling water is fine,” he told her.

  The garlic, onions, and green peppers hissed as he added them one after the other to the pot, stirring in between.

  She got down a large glass pitcher, then a pair of glasses. “I’ll make both.”

  The room was filling with rich, aromatic scents by the time she passed him his water. “That smells fantastic,” she said.

  “Good.” He smiled and stirred the meat—ground beef and sausage—so it would brown. He took a long drink of water, then went back to chopping.

  Once the tea was steeped and chilling in the fridge, she took a seat on one of the high barstools on the far side of the island.

  “Did Jordan and your sister get off on their trip okay?”

  “Yes, as far as we know. My mom got a call from James at the dock in the BVIs. Then that’s the last we’ve heard. No cell service.”

  He added the tomatoes and tomato paste, then the chopped herbs, red pepper flakes, and finally salt and freshly ground black pepper. “Must be nice. My managers would all have meltdowns if they couldn’t get in regular touch with me.”

  “I know the feeling. I’m electronically tethered to my law firm. You never know when the next emergency will spring up and demand immediate attention.”

  “Even on Sundays?”

  She took a swallow of her water. “Sometimes especially on Sundays.”

  He tapped the spoon, then adjusted the heat on the stove so the sauce would simmer. Her mouth watered; the rich red concoction looked and smelled delicious.

  “There. We’ll let that cook.”

  He returned to the sink and finished prepping the salad, putting torn lettuce and sliced orange carrots in the salad bowl she pointed out to him.

  She sat and watched, aware that they’d just passed the most normal forty minutes they’d ever spent together in their entire lives. It was almost like they were a regular couple, cooking and chatting and relaxing together on a quiet evening at home.

  The thought disturbed her.

  She set down her glass. “Maddox, this is really nice of you, cooking me dinner and all, but you know nothing’s going to come of it.”

  “Oh?” He rinsed his hands, then dried them slowly on a towel.

  “What happened last night . . . it was . . . unexpected. We were both out of our element, what with all the excitement of the wedding. Neither of us was thinking straight and things just got out of hand. It didn’t mean anything.”

  He didn’t speak. Just leaned back against the counter.

  “What I’m trying to say is that nothing between us has changed. Not in any measurable way. We still have a lawyer-client relationship that ethically precludes us from acting on . . . well, from moving any further along that particular path.”

  Quickly, she met his eyes, which were dark and frustratingly enigmatic, then glanced away again.

  “As for anything more,” she went on, “we’ve never gotten along, so a friendship seems rather unlikely at this point. We don’t like each other and I understand that.”

  “Who said I don’t like you?”

  Her eyes flashed up.

  “I like you just fine, Brie. I even liked you when we were kids.”

  Her mouth twisted up at one corner. “You certainly had a strange way of showing it.”

  “I already told you—boys do stupid things around the girls they like best.” He pushed away from the counter and crossed to her. “Are you finished with your little speech?”

  Lines creased her forehead. “I wouldn’t characterize it quite like that. I just want to get things straight between us.”

  “Oh, I think things are totally straight when it comes to the two of us.”

  Leaning down, he slipped one arm under her legs, the other around her back, and hoisted her over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry.

  She let out a cry. “Maddox! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You’re a smart woman. Surely I don’t have to explain it.” Playfully, he smacked her bottom and walked toward her bedroom.

  “Put me down. I didn’t say you could manhandle me like this.”

  “That’s true, you didn’t.”

  He laid her onto her back across her big, king-sized bed. If there was one thing she loved when she slept
, it was space and luxury. Her bed had both, including five-hundred-count cotton sheets and a baby-soft, down-filled duvet in a soothing sea green.

  Before she had time to sit up and scramble off the bed, he hooked a leg over hers and took her hands inside one of his own, pulling her arms over her head.

  He smiled with obvious satisfaction. “Good. We’re back where we left off last night.”

  She wiggled against him. For her trouble, she felt his shaft swell up hard inside his pants.

  “Now we’re really back where we left off,” he said, dropping a kiss on her neck.

  “Cut it out, Maddox. This isn’t funny.”

  “It isn’t meant to be funny.” His mouth slid slowly along the underside of her jaw, then up the other side of her neck.

  “I told you to stop.”

  His head came up and he met her eyes. “Okay. Then we’ll stop.”

  “Let me go.”

  She stared back. His eyes were deeply brown; the late afternoon sunlight glinted off his thick, dark hair.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Not until you admit that you want me.”

  “I don’t. Last night was just . . .”

  “Just what? Amazing? Great? Something to be repeated as often as possible?”

  “No. It was a mistake. I had too much to drink.”

  “You hardly had anything to drink. Don’t try blaming your behavior on inebriation.”

  “Insanity, then. What other reason could I have for wanting to be with you?”

  “Lust maybe?” He laid a palm over her breast.

  To her immense irritation, her nipple came to attention like a soldier giving a crisp salute.

  “See?” he murmured, fondling her delicately. “Your body knows what it wants.”

  “Well, my body isn’t in charge.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem, Brie. Maybe you ought to shut off that superior brain of yours every once in a while and let yourself go. You did last night and I know you liked it.”

  “Whatever I did last night is in the past. Done. Over.”

  He stroked the traitorous peak of her breast again, making her ache, then kissed her temple and her cheek and the corner of her mouth. “Why are you fighting so hard, Brie-Brie? Why won’t you just let me make you feel good?”