by Cat Johnson
Maybe that’s why she liked him—
Wait . . . She liked him. She really liked him.
The full enormity of that concept started to sink in as she wondered when exactly her feelings had changed. She’d been nothing but angry and annoyed by him at the bar.
She had a feeling it was more that he’d slowly started to grow on her, like a flower starting to blossom, rather than happening all at once like a switch being flipped on.
Of course, how good he looked naked—or nearly naked since he was still in his boxers—might have something to do with her warming to him even more.
His passion-darkened eyes met hers. “You’re so beautiful.”
The compliment and the desire in his gaze didn’t hurt her growing affection for him either.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He didn’t laugh at her joke, but he did brace one knee on the mattress between her legs.
She leaned back, reclining on the narrow bed while gazing up at him as he moved over her.
His gaze landed on her white lace underwear. His throat worked as he swallowed hard and stared at the garment still very firmly on her body.
Just when she began to fear he might be frozen in place, rendered motionless by the enormity of having sex with her, he hooked his fingers in the waistband and eased them down. He had to move from between her legs to get them off but he was back soon enough as the underwear joined her dress on the table.
He reached between them. His fingers connected with her core and all her random, wandering thoughts fled as her hips jerked up.
Peter drew in a breath as, his gaze intense, he watched her face while working her harder with his fingers.
The guys she’d been with usually just wanted to get inside as fast as possible. Peter obviously wasn’t one of them. Again, that should not have been a surprise given his deliberateness in all things.
Slowly he worked her, concentrating on teasing her body until she was ready to cry out and beg him to take her. To give her sweet relief from the building need.
The orgasm broke over her like a wave crashing on the shore. Hard and fast, receding slowly and leaving her wet and breathless.
She was still trying to regain her breath, and her sanity, when Peter whipped off his boxer shorts, followed by his glasses.
He set both on the bedside table before he positioned himself between her legs. His eyes remained pinned to hers as he tipped his hips forward and nudged inside, just a bit at first. Then there was nothing stopping him from sliding deep inside her.
At the bar, and even when they’d first spoken at the rally today, Peter had given her the impression he was wishy-washy. A man who didn’t get angry. A man who tried to ride the fence on the issues, not taking a firm stand either way. A man without passion.
Oh how wrong that impression had been because he was sure passionate now as he lifted her hips and plunged deep.
He loved her until both of their cries filled the small room. She felt him come but he didn’t roll away from her. Instead he stayed buried inside, taking the time to kiss her deeply, thoroughly.
His tongue loved her mouth with passionate strokes that had her muscles clenching around him.
The sensation of him growing hard again, filling her slowly, wrenched renewed sounds of pleasure from her throat as she pressed up, tighter against him.
She was already on the verge of coming when he started to move inside her again.
That was all it took. She was bucking beneath him, writhing with the pleasure as he pumped himself into a second orgasm countless minutes later.
This time he did roll off her, flopping onto his back next to her on the bed, his flat stomach heaving as he breathed.
It had been meant to be a one-time thing. Just a fling because why not? He was attractive. And after all that had happened at the rally, she felt connected to him.
She’d figured she’d act on her attraction. Thought they could both have a nice time before parting, probably never to see each other again.
That was the problem. She wanted to see him again. That was the last thing she’d thought she’d want.
What she hadn’t counted on was being with him feeling so good. So perfect. So . . . right. As if they were meant to find each other.
She didn’t believe in fate, yet here he was, the most unlikely person in the world she should be thinking about being with.
The whole situation was confusing as hell. An enigma.
But then, so was Peter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Peter slipped his glasses back on and reveled in the sight as his slightly blurry view of the beauty reclining naked in his bed came into clear focus.
“I’m gonna go get a glass of water. Can I get you one?” he asked and wanted to slap himself in the forehead afterward.
The most beautiful and intriguing woman on Earth was naked in his bed—not to mention she was from probably one of the richest families in the state—and he’d just offered her a glass of city tap water.
Worse, he’d be serving it in an old jelly jar because that’s what they were reduced to using for drinking glasses in this apartment that cost far too much a month, leaving not much left for décor.
This woman deserved champagne served from the finest crystal. At this moment in time, he didn’t have any of that to give her. But one day, he would.
If only he could get her to stick around long enough for that day to come.
What were the chances of that happening? Let’s just say he wouldn’t bet his half of next month’s rent on it.
“I’m okay. Thanks,” she answered. “I might use your bathroom though.”
Christ. How dirty was the bathroom? He couldn’t remember when the last time he’d scrubbed the tub or the sink or the toilet, for that matter. Shit. Too late now.
“Um, sure. Yeah. Of course. It’s right out in the hall. Next door. On the right.”
“Thanks.” She nodded as he almost tripped and fell over as he tried to step into his boxer shorts.
He yanked the underwear up his legs to hide the evidence of his over-eagerness for a repeat. A tell-tale sign that he hadn’t been with anyone else in months. Hell, closer to a year, now that he thought about it.
Coming inside her twice hadn’t been enough. He didn’t know how many times it would take to satisfy his craving for her. How many times would she let him try? He wasn’t going to ask.
How he’d gotten lucky enough to be with Marty now was still a mystery. A miracle, actually. One he wasn’t going to question or look at too hard for fear he’d somehow ruin things.
In fact, at this tenuous stage in their budding relationship—if he dared call it that—the less he talked, the better.
With that in mind, he said, “I’ll just go get that water.”
“Okay.” She smiled as he backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
In the hall he took a moment to try and regain his balance—mentally and physically. He braced one hand on the wall and blew out a breath before he headed for the kitchen.
There, Elijah’s smirk stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Dude!” His roommate’s dark face broke into a wide grin.
Peter pressed his lips together unhappily. Yes, he was happy Elijah was home safely after the day they’d both had, but the guy’s timing sucked.
“When did you get home?” Peter asked, wondering exactly how much he’d heard.
“Let’s see. I walked in the door about the time she was begging you not to stop. Or perhaps she was just praying. God was mentioned quite a few times.” He grinned.
Peter dropped his chin to his chest and hoped Marty put on some clothes before she came out. Elijah had already been privy to more between them than Peter was comfortable with.
He raised his gaze and kept the volume of his voice low as he said, “She’s probably coming out here . . .”
Elijah snorted out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your chances of another round of uh . . .
prayers.”
That wasn’t exactly a reassurance, but Peter let it go at that. Elijah was talking too loudly for his liking and it was time to end this discussion before it did cost him more time with Marty.
And there was no doubt, Peter wanted more time with her. Not just in bed. He wanted more time everywhere. He wanted to get to know her. All of her. Her history. Her family. Her politics. What she liked. What she disliked—besides Senator Scott.
Even if they didn’t have a whole lot—if anything—in common when it came to a lot of things, they could make it work. He’d make it work.
He glanced at the hallway, wondering if she’d emerge fully dressed, purse in hand, ready to head out the door and leave him.
That was the last thing he wanted.
He needed to occupy himself or the worry about the one woman he could picture himself actually being with walking out his door never to return would cripple him. He moved to the sink and scrubbed a soapy sponge over one of the dirty glasses there, before rinsing it and filling it with cold water.
Guzzling half of it, he nearly choked when he heard Elijah say in his low, sultry Marvin Gaye voice, “Well, hello there.”
Peter spun, his bare feet squeaking on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. And there was Marty, dressed but shoeless, face-to-face with Elijah.
Time for damage control.
“Uh, Marty, this is my roommate Elijah.”
“I figured.” She smiled and moved to the table, sitting opposite the man, which was the last thing Peter wanted.
What number of things could Elijah say to run her off and ruin his chances? He could tell her that Peter could barely make rent each month. Or that he hadn’t had a girl back to the apartment ever in all the time they’d been living together. Or, and this was the most likely thing to send her running out his door, that Peter volunteered at Reagan’s campaign headquarters.
That last one, out of all the rest, would probably be the worst in the lovely Ms. Vanderbilt’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to give your speech today,” she said, with obvious sincerity as she rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward.
Elijah bobbed his head. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I read it. It’s really good.”
He snorted. “Thanks. At least somebody got to appreciate it.”
She paused, then said, “If you agree, a whole lot more people will get to appreciate it.”
Peter moved forward, not liking this easy camaraderie between them.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course the two were getting along. They shared the same political views. That didn’t mean it wasn’t scary as hell that he could lose this amazing woman to his roommate.
“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, his focus so completely on Marty, he didn’t even glance up when Peter moved to the table and set his jelly jar down between them. It was his pitiful but deliberate attempt to put a physical barrier between the two.
“I work for the Washington Post. I want to submit it to be published.”
Elijah’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
She nodded. “Yup.”
Elijah jumped up from his chair and was around the table, wrapping Marty in a hug before Peter could throw his body between them and scream, “No!”
He only shouted that inside his head, not in reality as Marty laughed while Elijah, bent low, squeezed her shoulders hard.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated while still holding her.
“Sure. My pleasure.” She smiled while Peter tried to calm himself and his fears.
To be fair, Elijah hugged everyone. Men and women. Young and old. So did both his parents. He’d seen that the one time they’d visited and Peter had met them.
But he didn’t love seeing Marty wrapped in those arms now, even if Elijah did drop his hold and move back pretty fast. It still felt like an eternity.
Elijah turned to Peter. “You, my man, have excellent taste in women.”
“I know.” Even with as flustered and thrown as he was, Peter somehow found his words and even managed to compliment Marty in the process. Count that as another miracle.
She focused on Peter before dropping her gaze to his glass on the table.
“You rehydrated yet?” she asked.
He’d forgotten about the damn water or his past thirst in the face of competition and good old-fashioned jealousy. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Good. Come back to bed.” She stood and turned with a flounce of her sundress.
He stood wide-eyed and motionless as she made her way back to his bedroom, without looking back to see if he followed.
Elijah’s slap on his back brought Peter out of his daze.
“I get you now, brother. Quality over quantity. Respect.” Elijah bobbed his head with what looked like appreciation.
All Peter could do was nod. Well, that and down the last of his water. He had a feeling he was going to need the hydration for what was to come.
CHAPTER SIX
“Do you want to have dinner with me next weekend? Friday. Or Saturday.” When she didn’t answer immediately, Peter added, “Or Sunday . . .”
He was adorable and she’d love to have dinner with him. Sadly she couldn’t.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s fine. I mean, I just thought it might be, you know, nice. If you could have. But it’s fine,” he said in a rush.
“It would be nice, but I’ll be out of the country.”
“Oh, sure. Well, yeah. You definitely can’t then.”
She watched him agree with her a little too enthusiastically.
He thought she was lying. Making an excuse. She wasn’t.
“Peter, it’s true.”
He met her gaze. “I know it’s true.”
“Do you?” she asked, doubting but not judging him.
This—whatever it was—was still new. Uncertain, for both of them. They’d only seen each other twice before jumping into bed. Once at the bar. Once in the park.
Yes, they’d had sex all afternoon, ate some leftovers from his fridge, slept for a few hours, and then did it one more time early this morning, but they didn’t know each other. Not really.
That was one reason she was surprised when he nodded and said in answer to her question, “Yes, I do.”
This time he sounded not only sincere. He sounded sure.
“How?” she asked. “How are you so certain I’m not lying to you?”
This was the journalist in her. Always asking questions when the right thing to do, the kind thing, would be reassure Peter. Not prompt him to mistrust her.
“You’re not the type to make up a lie.”
She let out a short laugh. “So you’re saying I’m too much of a bitch to bother lying to you.”
“No. I’m saying you’re honest and straight forward. What you see is what you get with you.”
It might have been the oddest and also the best compliment she’d ever received. She responded accordingly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He trailed a finger down her bare hip as they lay on their sides and faced each other in his bed. “So, where are you going when you’re out of the country?” he asked.
“Greece.”
His eyes widened. “Wow. I’m jealous.”
“You’ve never been?” she asked.
“No, but I want to someday. Business or pleasure?” he asked.
“Both, I guess. My cousins invited me to vacation with them. But I want to research a story while I’m there. The country was so badly affected by the rise in gas prices and the runaway inflation. And then there was the regime change in seventy-four. I want to write about how that affected the people and the economy. There are so many stories waiting to be told.”
He smiled, for no obvious reason since she was talking about some pretty dark times that Greece had gone through over the past three years.
“What?” she asked.
“I love that you’re so smart. T
hat you’re not just beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Does that line usually work for you?”
“I don’t know. Did it work? You’re the first and only woman I’ve ever said that to.”
Marty cocked up a brow. “Then you’re hanging around the wrong women.”
“I would agree, but truth be told I rarely hang around women at all.” He lifted one shoulder.
She didn’t admit she liked that fact. It was proof she was getting attached to this man.
Their meaningless sex hadn’t exactly turned out that way—meaningless.
It was a good thing she was leaving soon and that she’d be away for a while. Maybe this sizzling sexual attraction between them would burn out by then.
Then, when she returned, she’d be able to think straight about him. About them.
They say—whoever they were—that opposites attract. But when it came to love, she had to think two such different people would be more like oil and water. Two substances that never did blend completely.
She always thought that when she found her soul mate, if soul mates even existed, they’d be like two halves of one whole, finally complete now that they’d found each other. She and Peter were nothing like that.
Now she was thinking of Peter’s soul mate potential. That was bad.
Time to stow any and all emotions away, at least until after she returned from Greece. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to enjoy him physically now.
Her gaze hit on his smooth skin and firm muscles. His scent, something piney, hit her nose. It had her angling her head on his chest, snuggling closer to him as she wondered if the scent was from his soap and if he’d snuck in a shower while she’d been dozing.
It was going to be a long time that she wouldn’t have access to this man and his talents in the bedroom while she was away. It wouldn’t hurt to stock up on another orgasm or two while she was here.
She rolled Peter onto his back as she crawled on top of him. “You have plans for today?” she asked.
