Resisting the Bad Boy
Page 6
“I better go pack,” she said, pulling away well before he was ready for the kiss to end. “I’ll see you in the morning, Connor. Thanks for having dinner with me tonight. It was fun for me, too.”
Well, shoot. Looks like this was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
“So this bad boy reputation of yours—did it start in your personal life and bleed over into the courtroom or vice versa?”
Connor frowned as he helped Abby carry the last of her luggage up to his biggest guestroom, the only one that could accommodate the huge desk from his study.
At first, when she’d arrived at his house with three gigantic suitcases, he’d been shocked and a bit disillusioned. She hadn’t seemed the type. But now that he saw them each flipped open and filled to the brim with books and folders, and stacks of Xeroxed sheets and scribbled notes, he realized the small duffle bag on her shoulder was the only thing not carrying her research.
Now that seemed much more Abby. She really was cut from a different cloth.
He belatedly considered the question she’d asked. “That depends on who’s doing the commenting about my reputation, I guess. Why?”
“I just wanted to see how accurate I was. Seems you have an unofficial coalition who thinks your licentious ways are going to be your downfall at the firm. I argued it couldn’t possibly be, not with those very qualities being the ones that turned you into the kickass lawyer that’s probably bringing in more money than over half the lawyers in the firm. Combined.” She smirked at the memory. “I don’t think those women like me very much now.”
He leaned against the dresser and scowled, upset not on his behalf but hers. “Who were they? Was this on the night of the cocktail party?”
“Yup. A small group of corporate wives, one of whom I think might be an actual vampire, all rushed over to warn me away from you almost immediately after they saw you talking to me.”
He discharged an irritated breath. Cassandra and her minions. She was more a shewolf than a vampire but it was still an apt description. She certainly had a reputation for sucking men dry. Why his colleague Edward had thought it prudent to become husband number three for her was a complete mystery. “I don’t get why those women gossip about me. I’m not really all that interesting.”
“They seem to disagree. They went on and on about pool hall brawls and sex clubs.”
“The first is only partly true and the second not at all.”
“Aw. Brian will be so disappointed,” she teased. “He’s been making cracks about all your sexual conquests for at least the last decade or so.”
Oh, he has, has he? He made a mental note to kick Brian’s ass later. “Yeah, well my brother tends to have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Really? So no plundering or pillaging to speak of?”
Trust an English professor to get him all hot and horny with choice vocabulary words. “Nope, sorry,” he downplayed.
“I don’t think I believe you. In fact, I think you’re going to have to let me be the judge of that.” She hopped onto the bed and propped herself up on a pillow, heels kicking in the air as if they were about to exchange sleepover stories. “Tell me the most wicked thing you’ve ever done.”
“I am not having this discussion with you.”
“Why?” She lowered her gaze down to his zipper, which seemed to be moving telekinetically. “Uncomfortable?”
He crouched over a bit more.
“C’mon. I’m curious about your hedonistic ways,” she kept on, clearly amused by his discomfort. “Are we talking secret society orgies with whips and chains?”
“What?! God, no.”
“Backdoor action? Threesomes?”
He averted his gaze to study a missed stitching in the rug he never noticed before.
“Seriously?” That quieted her, and boggled her eyes quite a bit. “Were they with two women or are you a ‘Devil’s Three Way’ kind of guy?”
Where the hell did she learn that term? Attempting to clear his throat was suddenly very difficult. “Uh…both.”
She let out a faint whistle. “Wow.” Okay, she looked far too curious now for her own good.
“But I haven’t done either in a while. It was all pretty much consolidated to one year of my life a long time ago.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shrugged. “Honestly, it was fun and exciting at the time but it got old fast. It’s a ton more work than pornos make it out to be.”
“What if it were me and another girl satisfying your every carnal desire? Would you still feel like it was work?”
He nodded. And meant it. “Another woman would just end up getting in the way. Plus, she’d get all pissy that I’d be focusing solely on you and that’s never fun.”
She bit her lip, a reluctant smile peeking through regardless. “What a sweet, utterly disturbing compliment.” Her expression turned contemplative then. “Well what about you, me, and another guy?”
“Oh hell no.” He scowled. No way was he inviting some other man to see her, let alone touch her. A low growl rumbled in his chest. No, just no. The thought of it made him...jealous. An altogether unfamiliar and extremely unpleasant feeling.
“Oookay. Then how about the other thing? The…you know?” She turned a sweet shade of pink and shook her heinie in the air.
Holy hell, but the woman was trying to kill him. “Abby, you don’t have to do any of that for me. Contrary to what the rumor mill spews out, I’m not some kinky sex fanatic. When you and I eventually get together, it’s going to be plenty hot, believe me. We won’t need any of those bells and whistles.” As he said it, he realized how true a statement that was. Just kissing Abby last night had been ten times more intoxicating than some of the more down and dirty romps he’d had with other women in his past.
“Hmm.” She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, silently thoughtful, a small smile playing on her lips.
Good god, what was she thinking now? Already, this kinky interview from hell had him ten degrees past aroused. His own fault for coming in here, really. It was way past time for him to leave. But just as he stood to go grab what was undoubtedly going to be a very cold shower, she sat back up.
“Hey, can you toss me my lotion?” She pointed at the dresser behind him. “My legs get so dry here in the summers.”
Such an innocent request and yet…not. He was sure this was going to be a look but don’t touch deal with her lathering up those gorgeous legs of hers while he sat there like schmuck. He narrowed his eyes and began listing all the ways he was going to pay her back for this when her two-week stay here was up. Slapping an unaffected look on his face, he passed her the lotion, forcibly blocking all the erotic lotion-inspired images that were attempting to take over his brain. Evil woman. Only a day into their no-sex agreement and already he was closer to begging than he’d care to admit.
While avoiding direct eye contact with the skin smoothing extravaganza, his gaze strayed to the partially open plastic bag sitting atop her dresser. It was over at the other end but he recognized the hot purple logo on the bag immediately.
Just like that, every muscle in his body stopped working.
Well, save one, that is.
The bag was from an adult novelty shop his friend Kim owned just a little north of here. He could only make out two of the items in the bag but they were enough to send his blood pressure skyrocketing—the tiniest pair of sheer white panties that would effectively cover nothing and, Lord help him, a silver bullet vibrator. He was going to have a stroke.
Stifling a groan over how the word ‘stroke’ instantly made him think about rubbing one off, he gripped the edge of the dresser like a man possessed. The door was just a few feet away. He could make it. But first he needed to get some much needed air into his lungs. Breathe, you moron!
He dragged in a breath…and that’s when he heard it.
The tiniest whisper of a giggle.
“Why you little—”
Her giggles effervesced, the unliddable glee in her eyes giving zero credence to all her perfectly scandalized denials.
He trapped her under him, burying his grin against the curve of her neck to soak in the unfamiliar experience of having fun with a woman in bed without sex being a factor. Skimming a smile over her collarbone, he felt the gasp she couldn’t contain like a shot of spiked adrenaline racing through his veins. Heading straight for his heart.
It took more effort than usual to block its path.
Thankfully, the feel of her hands sliding tentatively across his back was a strong enough distraction to shut off his over-worried brain. He focused instead on grazing his mouth along her soft skin once again, teasing her nowhere near as much as she was teasing him.
“You planted that wicked little bag-o-fun there for me to find. Didn’t you?”
The woman could’ve won an Oscar for the gasp she flung back. “Now why would I go and do something like that?”
Connor tamped down his urge to laugh and nipped at her earlobe instead. “To drive me up the freakin' wall? Send me bursting through my zipper?” A grin broke through on its own accord. “Though I guess I should be flattered to be the reason you bought all that stuff.”
The cutest derisive snort he’d ever heard shot out of her then—like an impeccably aimed torpedo. “Late breaking news, Connor: scientists have in fact discovered that the earth doesn’t revolve around you; women buy toys for themselves all the time.”
He grit his teeth and did everything short of reciting tort law to avoid thinking about Abby having any sort of toy-based fun. It took a while, but when he was eventually able to find his voice again, he crossed his arms and declared sternly, “Foul.”
“What? On what grounds?” Her obvious war between indignation and amusement wasn’t lost on him. Damn, he was having fun.
“When I agreed to your little who-can-resist-who stint, you didn’t say anything about weaponizing our attacks.”
She blinked innocently. “Weapons? You make them sound so sinister. I’d say they’re more like…private tools. Survival tools, if you will. For my time here. Naturally, you were never meant to see them.”
“Bullshit. Next, you’ll tell me the snowflake masquerading as underwear in that bag is worn strictly for comfort. Hell, I’ve seen more fabric on the teeny doilies in Skylar’s toy tea sets—”
“Ohhh,” she cut in softly with a smile. “I remember those. Whenever I’d babysit, she’d always go on and on about how her ‘bestest Uncle Connor’ hosted the fanciest dress-up tea parties.”
“I wore suits,” he clarified gruffly, “and don’t change the subject. Why buy sexy lingerie if not to have them be seen?”
By me. He didn’t have to say it out loud, they were both thinking it.
And his ego was celebrating it.
Abby’s chin lifted stubbornly. “What do you mean, why? Easy access, of course,” she answered, straight-faced. “You know what they say…better felt than seen.”
His imagination went nuts.
Picturing Abby wearing the microscopic scrap of lace he saw earlier for easy access in private unhinged him, propelled him to shackle her wrists above her head with one hand and begin tickling her ribs with the other. “Another foul.”
“Stop!” she screeched, dissolving into a breathless puddle of mirth. “Okay, I admit it! These were all dirty, dirty fouls on my part; you should definitely take a free throw shot.”
He paused, wondering where she was going with this.
She pointed to the trash can. “There’s the basket. My new panties can be the ball…since yours are clearly in a twist.”
Incredulous, he dialed up the tickle torture to merciless.
Her squealing ‘I-take-it-backs’ hit an ultrasonic range as she wriggled and squirmed and bucked until soon, he was fairly certain his suffering was eclipsing hers.
Letting go of her wrists, he rolled onto his back beside her, out of sorts and grumbling, “You’re planning to drive me completely crazy these next few weeks, aren’t you?”
Limbs all akimbo, body dangling half off the bed, and clothing askew, she lifted her head weakly to heave between breaths, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
With a groaning chuckle, he dragged her up to steal a long, hard kiss while she was too tickle-drunk to object. And the smile he couldn’t seem to contain around her snuck up on him once again. Mostly because she’d sobered up enough to call out, “Foul…and a really mean one at that.”
For the first time in his life, two weeks of imposed abstinence didn’t seem all that bad.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS WORSE THAN BAD. It was impossible. Six days of pure, unmitigated, using-up-all-the-cold-water agony. And there were still eight days ahead to face.
Survival was looking highly unlikely.
He had to admit though that the last six days had been pretty great in their own right. Fun. Given the constraints of her busy writing schedule, Connor made sure to limit himself to only one short, concentrated flirt session with Abby a day, either by phone or a flurry of text message bantering. And every night, she’d greet him at home with a smile…and depending on how steamy their flirting had been that day, a damn cute blush, too.
After seeing her warming his home the first night, he’d found it impossible to stay away each following night as well. Sure, he still had his occasional evening meetings and late office work but he always made sure to be ‘home by dinner.’
What a concept.
Growing up, his father had never felt a need to do it more than once, maybe twice a week. Even though he’d had a wife and two sons to come home to. As a kid, Connor had missed him, from middle school on, not so much. Now as an adult with someone to actually come home to for once—regardless how temporary it was—he felt renewed disappointment in his father. Again. Or rather, still.
“I cooked us up some Greek food tonight,” called out a cheerful voice from the kitchen, breaking into his thoughts. Brightening at the sound of her voice, he headed on over to where all the sumptuous smells were originating.
The sight of Abby bent over pulling out something from the oven was probably the best thing he’d set his eyes on all day. But then she plopped the baking tin on the stove and gifted him with one of those resplendent, room-lighting smiles of hers and he immediately amended his previous thought—that was the greatest thing he’d seen all day.
Yeah, it took a real bastard not to want to come home to this every night.
“Hi honey, I’m home.” He just wanted to try it on for size. Strangely, it felt good. Like a vintage suit tailored just for him. Tomorrow, maybe he’d even go pre-technicolor and trip over an ottoman. Milk the novelty of this all while it lasted.
“Everything looks great.” He kissed her cheek—the only body part she was letting him kiss. For now. “But you should’ve told me you were making such specific dishes; I didn’t have half these ingredients. I would’ve ordered the groceries you needed online and had them delivered.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been paying for groceries more than I have as it is, which makes zero sense,” she retorted. “Plus, this whole traveling around the world by food adventure is my thing. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
“I’m eating it,” he argued back.
“Just like I’ve eaten on the nights you’ve cooked.” She gave him a look that said, ‘so there.’
See now if the lawyers he faced in court looked half that cute during their rebuttals, he was sure he’d lose a whole lot more. Grinning, he conceded, “Okay then. Since tomorrow’s my turn to cook, what say I jump on this tour of yours and whip up something really exotic. Like mac & cheese with weenies.”
Abby giggled. “What is it with you and all this comfort Americana
dishes? Looking at you, I’d never picture it. Were you one of those that cooked with your mom growing up?”
He snorted. “Hardly. We had a cook, which freed up mother to drink her dinners more often than not.”
“Oh.” A regretful frown dimmed her face. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “No feeling bad over the poor little rich kid with the present-but-still-absent parents. Did I mention I had my own pony growing up? Well, it was on lease at the polo club but still, how many kids can say that?”
The stubborn glaze of tears in her eyes unnerved him.
No one ever cried for him. Because of him, yes—more than he cared to admit—but never for him.
He bent down and fit his mouth to hers, telling himself it was just a comfort kiss. To take away some of her sadness. Inside, he knew he was really just capturing the memory for himself so he could open it like a Christmas gift one day when she was long gone. God, when was the last time he’d actually gotten a gift? Wrapped personally just for him?
Years, maybe.
Suddenly, the parched thirst for every desire he’d been denied this past week, every variety of warmth and affection he hadn’t really ever noticed not having until now had him pouring his soul into their kiss like a lost man aching to be found.
Soon, comfort was the last thing on his mind.
“You’re killing me here,” he drew back, but not far. Brushing his lips against her soft lips back and forth, he was amazed at how alive the simple contact felt, how every last little experience was more vibrant with Abby. “I don’t think I can last another week of this. Wanting you this bad without having you.”
Her breathless, “Me neither,” did nothing to cool him down. He lifted her onto the granite and slid between her legs, feeling her heat even through the cotton barrier of her shorts.
“Good lord, you’re huge,” she gasped.
He’d have smiled if he weren’t gritting his teeth. “And you’re wet. For me.” He traced his tongue over the racing pulse at her throat, the beat a near match to the pounding he felt all through his veins. “If you want to stop, tell me now.”