As if anyone could forget about Luke?
He ended the call and Lexie knew she couldn’t ignore the different—difficult—tension that emanated from him now. Nor could she ignore the fact that he’d just proved her wrong—he did care about other people. Some, anyway.
“That was your runner?” she couldn’t resist asking the obvious, wanting to open up the conversation.
“Kate, yeah.”
“Is she okay?”
“She will be,” he answered briefly. “She’s got drive.”
Lexie hesitated, unsure if she should pry—but then asked anyway. “Why do you do it?”
He sat back and breathed a long sigh out. “The chance to help someone reach their goal? Achieve something they’ve always wanted to?” He shook his head. “That’s an amazing feeling.”
“But what about you? You just said you wanted to win. You were an amazing runner at school.”
He laughed. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.” He stretched out his sore leg. “Helping Kate was the best thing I could do with what talent I have. Helping her win is how I get to win.”
Okay, so he was totally Mr. Perfect. And so damn easy to fall for. The trouble was that so many women fell for him. Lexie tensed at the thought. Then it hit her—the recognition that in part she shared the same drive as him—the desire to win. She wanted to win, to be the one—the only—woman who had him. Except for Luke there would never be just one.
Defiance bubbled. She hadn’t realized she’d been on slow burn, but suddenly anger threatened to boil over. He liked a challenge? Well, maybe she did now too. Hadn’t that been Vietnam and Africa and China to her? Challenges? Maybe she was looking at Luke all wrong. He was challenging her, but maybe she could challenge him right back.
He seemed to want her, or to toy with her at any rate. But he wasn’t having her. For once he wasn’t getting his own way. And she wanted to make him pay for trying it on again—to call him on it at the very least. This time it wasn’t going to be Luke walking off without a second glance. It would be Lexie.
Seven
Luke inched away from her, ruing the way the bus seats had them sitting so close to each other. He’d been mistaken in thinking he could flirt with her—that he could have all that was forbidden the last time they’d shared a roof. This time with her today had been sweet torment. But though she might be Ms. Independent Traveler, Lexie Petersen was still a good girl who deserved a great guy. Definitely a ring not a fling woman. He’d better back off. Anyway, she’d made him feel uncomfortable with the way she looked at him. As though she was seeing right through him and wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.
Because he liked her. He really liked her—it wasn’t all just physical lust. And he didn’t want to mess her life up any more than it was already. She’d had a raw deal in her last job and she was here to find her feet. She didn’t need him playing with her—because that’s all he was doing, right? Looking for some light fun.
But Lexie had this dignity about her. And suddenly he didn’t feel as if he could live up to her high standards.
They got off the bus. It was only a short walk around the corner to his apartment in Chelsea. Even so, he had to go embarrassingly slowly.
As they got to the stairs inside his building, she turned to him. “You need to lean on me to get up here?” she asked him, a distinct challenge in her tone.
“Of course not.” He took each step slowly. Given that he was already in a bad mood, it didn’t take much to get outraged. “I might limp, but I don’t need a crutch.”
“Oh, I wondered…” she sent him a look. “Seeing how you’ve been leaning on me all day.”
He stopped in the hallway outside his door. “Leaning on you?”
She reached up on tiptoes and practically purred at him. “Yeah, you know, holding my hand, putting your arm along my shoulders. Touching all the time. You know, Luke, if you’re going to start a fire, you better be sure you can put it out.” She didn’t step back as he advanced a pace.
He gaped—what the hell was she doing? For a second he thought he’d imagined it, but as he stepped closer he could see the way her nipples had tightened and could feel her warm breath on his neck. Luke was well used to reading a woman’s signals, but this wasn’t what he’d expected from Lexie this second, and he wasn’t sure he could trust his intuition. “Do you want it to be put out?” he asked. Did she want him to put out her fire?
She merely shrugged. But then she nearly floored him. “Are you hungry, Luke?”
Luke wasn’t sure whether to take the question literally or not. She had a look in her eye he’d never seen before. Adrenaline shot down his spine, sending every sense on high alert. “Uh…”
She smiled. It was that impish Lexie smile that had always been so damn elusive. And right now it held a touch of wicked. “I’ll make us dinner.” She stepped aside and waited for him to unlock the door. He fumbled, his brain struggling to relay the instructions to his fingers. It was too busy replaying her little purring speech of a second ago.
But as soon as he got the door open, she walked toward the kitchen. “I’d like to cook. It’s the least I can do given you’re putting me up.”
Damn. She’d really meant hungry for food, then.
“Uh, okay.” He hobbled down the hall and hid his disappointment by scooping up a ridiculously ecstatic Mango and carrying him into the kitchen after Lexie.
She was already fishing in the cupboard. Luke eased onto a stool on the far side of the counter, unable to resist staying to watch. Shame she wasn’t in the gold lace thing. He’d never be able to stand in his kitchen again without remembering the sight of her reaching up to a cupboard in that apron that didn’t quite hide all the good bits.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said weakly. “We can order in.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She lifted her face and smiled at him.
Oh hell, he was screwed. How was a guy supposed to hold back from trying when she gave him a look like that? “What are you making?”
She had a bowl out and was shaking flour into it.
“You still love pizza?” she asked.
He smiled, felt something hot kick in his chest. “I’m a Marchetti, aren’t I?”
Her smile widened. “Everyone loves pizza.”
“Yeah, but only a Kiwi like you would put potato on it.” His mother and Dani had been the ones to teach her how to make a good thick-crust, homemade pizza. Family recipe and everything—one that he knew by heart too. And to their collective horror Lexie had then put thick slices of potato on it. Though in fairness it had tasted quite good. Extremely filling, but good.
She laughed, obviously remembering that incident too. “Well, you need to carbo-load for your running.”
“I’m not running now.” But that didn’t eat him up as much as it had yesterday—he was too consumed by thoughts of her.
“You still need to keep your energy up.”
Had she emphasized the word “up” or was he just spacing out? But he hadn’t had the painkillers yet—it couldn’t be drugs making him think lustfully all the time.
“To help your recovery, of course,” she added softly.
She was driving him freaking insane. He was sweating and had to stay on his side of the kitchen counter for fear she’d see what her not-so-innocent words had done south of his belt border. What was her game?
He caught her mouth curving. It was a sinful, privately amused smile. Her blush was still there, but it was the brilliant sparkle in her eyes that really got him. She was teasing. Deliberate and aware of what she was doing to him.
Lexie Petersen had a vixen girl game on.
Well, two could play at that. He drew in a deep breath and tried to relax—damn sweatpants were not ideal—but then he got off the stool and made his way to her side of the counter.
“Let me help you with the dough,” he said softly. “I’m very good at kneading.”
“You’re implying I’m not?” She didn’t gi
ve the bowl up.
“My hands are bigger and stronger. Plus I have more experience.”
“Well, we all know that.”
“It’s a good thing,” he kept his answer light. “Makes for a good result. Every time.”
He leaned across her to reach for the bowl, pressing the side of his body against hers.
“What are you doing now, Luke?” She murmured, but turned her head. Her green eyes blazed up at him. “Invading my space?”
“It’s my space.” What the hell was he doing? Spinning out of control, that’s what. She’d flipped on him, from shy girl to femme fatale. And damned if he could keep hold of his control now. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Looking at me like that.” Like she wanted to eat him—pizza be damned.
“Well, what do you expect when you’ve taken every opportunity to touch me all day?”
And that had bothered her—this much? Hallelujah. All the noble thoughts of twenty minutes ago evaporated in the heat that seared his skin. “You’ve never looked at me like this before.” His muscles burned as the adrenaline surged into them.
“How would you know?” She smiled. “Anyway, you’ve never looked at me like this either.”
Only because he hadn’t let her see it. “That was because…”
“You had other fish to fry.” She laughed. Actually laughed. But it had a bitter edge, and her eyes narrowed—in anger? “And I’m willing to bet a million bucks you still do. Well, I’m not going to be your convenient fling while you convalesce. So back off. I’m not a toy for you to play with while you’re off work and bored.”
Luke reeled. Furious. Because he’d decided to stay the hell away from her—hadn’t he? But her accusation rankled, because less than an hour ago it would have been true. But the thing that made him madder than anything? She was turned on. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. And he’d bloody well prove it.
He put his hands on her waist and turned her, so they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest. He ignored the screaming ache in his leg. The one in his chest was worse. “You want to play.”
“What?”
“You want to play just as much as I do.”
“You conceited jerk. You think every woman wants you.”
“Not every woman. But you do. You do now just as you did back then.”
Something flashed in her eyes. “I was too innocent to know better then. I didn’t recognize that all you had was expert technique and no real passion.”
Luke went stock still at that accusation. “No real passion?”
Eight
Lexie shivered at the way he repeated her last few words in such a quiet whisper. He sounded dangerous. The heat that had been bubbling within her overflowed, melting muscles deep inside. She stared at him.
“What was I supposed to do?” he exploded. “Sneak into your room and steal your virginity—the girl under my family’s protection?” He swore beneath his breath. Stunned at his transition from whisper to shout, it took a second for his words to sink in. He’d wanted to take her all the way?
“Maybe I wish you had.” She threw back at him, discretion lost in anger. “It might have been better.”
He flinched. His hands clenched, pressing against the counter behind her. “Your first time wasn’t good?”
“I don’t know that any girl’s first time is all that good, is it?”
“You were disappointed?” He rapped out the question like an irate New York detective.
“It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t that great.” There’d never really been “that great” for her. “I was thinking too much.” She always did. As a result she was pretty good at the “faux O” too. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t come at all ever—but it didn’t happen often. Still too busy thinking—the slightest irrelevant thoughts derailed her climb up to bliss. But she saw how he was looking at her now. And that spark in his eye pushed her to say it—to speak so outrageously.
“How would you have done it?” She tilted her chin, catching his gaze with a wide-eyed look of her own. “How would you have taken my virginity?”
His jaw dropped, his gasp audible. “What?”
“Tell me,” she said angrily. “You said you wanted to. You must have thought about it. If it was going to be that great I want to know how you saw it happening.”
“Lexie.” The man seemed to have developed asthma. “I’m not going to tell you—”
For a second their eyes met. She saw the darkness in his deepen and realized he was a man pushed too far.
He lunged. Grabbed both her wrists, spinning her and with a step slamming her hands above her head, pinning her to the wall in one movement as he pressed his mouth onto hers—firm, hot, passionate. She opened for him as soon as he eased the pressure enough for her to be able to. His tongue swept into her mouth—no hesitant first French kiss this. It was deep and wild and she reveled in it—arching her whole body up to meet him, pushing back against the force of his hands holding her down—because she wanted to touch him too. All her earlier thoughts of walking away evaporated. Instead she deepened the kiss, seeking to taste all of him. In turn he stroked her lips with his tongue, tracing the outline before sealing his lips over hers again, his tongue caressing inside. Lexie was lost. She arched against him—thrust her hips against his in a wanton fervor—to the edge already in a matter of seconds. She wanted this so badly—even she hadn’t realized how much. How quick.
He tore his lips from her. “Too rough?”
“No.” She vehemently denied. “I’m not a virgin now.”
She heard his breathing—rough, rapid, and not easing at all. If anything, it became more labored. He switched his hold of her so that both her wrists were held in one hand. Then he slid his other hand under her shirt and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Heat scalded. She clenched the muscles at the apex of her thighs to hold back the desire, but all that did was enflame it. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deeper breath—he’d felt her action. And his reaction spurred her on. She leaned forward as much as she could given how tight he was holding her to the wall and nipped the edge of his jaw with her teeth. He growled and ground his hips against hers. His thick erection dug into her—she honestly thought she was going to die from want.
“I used to see you smile when you thought no one was watching you.” He spoke roughly, unbuttoning her top. “I wanted to be the one you smiled at. I wanted to make you smile. I wanted you so bad.” He pushed the halves of her blouse apart, revealing her breasts to his hot gaze. She wanted the bra off. Now. He made do by pulling the lace cups down so her nipples popped over the top, pushed even higher toward his mouth. He wasted no time in tasting. He licked, his tongue hot and sure.
She shivered, pleasure racking her whole body. She ached to lie down. His hand slid down the waistband of her jeans, down the front of her knickers.
“I always wanted to taste your orgasm,” he said hotly. “I wanted to lick you. To kiss you until you were shaking and pleading for me to take you. And I wanted to be inside you. Deep inside.”
His fingers slid farther south, his touch firm and bold. One slid straight into her.
“I’m going to come too quickly if you do that,” she gasped, stunned at how quickly she’d sprinted to the edge. She flexed, her body humming with excitement.
His shoulders lifted and a lazy smile curved his lips. “Then you can come again.” He kissed her hard while his finger teased deep inside her. She moaned, rocking on him, pressing against his palm as she sought relief. “Luke.”
“Come on me.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “I want you to come.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She broke free of his kiss, groaning as waves of pleasure washed over her. His grip on her wrists didn’t lessen any, even when she relaxed. Slowly he slid his hand from her.
Fearlessly she met and matched his relentless stare. This wasn’t over. She wanted the works.
He kept hold of her wrists and led her to his bedroom. She could tell he was grittin
g his teeth as he moved as fast as he could—which was damn fast despite the knee. Only once they were there did he release her, stepping forward to turf Mango out of the room and slam the door behind him. He came straight back to where she waited by the side of the bed. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders, then carefully undid her bra, letting that fall to the floor too.
Bare-breasted she stood before him, confidence surging through her as she saw the color mount in his cheeks as he gazed at her. His tongue touched his lips and he drew in a deep breath. And another. He shook his head. “You’re so beautiful.”
Watching him, seeing the reaction in his body, she knew it wasn’t just a line. He wanted her badly. Hot pride rushed through her.
“I can’t bend,” he suddenly said harshly. “I can’t get on my knee.”
She put her hands on her hips and shimmied to push down her jeans and knickers. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He stared, transfixed as she stepped naked in front of him. “You have no idea how much I want to. Oh, Lexie,” he groaned.
She moved to help him undress, but he put his hands on her wrists again, pinning her arms to her sides. “Don’t touch me,” he said. “Not yet.” He angled his head. “Get on my bed,” he puffed. “Please.”
She stepped back and did as he’d asked. He watched her every move so intently she couldn’t help but smile and play it up for him.
In a flash his T-shirt flew over his head and he yanked down his sweats. But she saw the slight hesitation over his knee, and was determined to take care of him in her own way. Soon.
He moved to the bed, wrapping his hand around her ankle and tugging so she slid down the bed toward him. Then there were no words. Only action—hot kisses, hands swiping, teasing, turning every inch of her on. Fast. Passion had been unleashed and there was no controlling it. No going slow. No stopping.
Fast was good. Fast was so very good.
She had a wild hunger inside, an ache. She wanted him right in there, she wanted him to have her so hard. His erection was massive and clearly causing some discomfort. She called to him—urgently.
Her Forbidden Crush Page 5
