by E C Sheedy
Kent ran a lazy finger down the cleft between her breasts, flattened his hand, and slid it under her skirt waistband and across her belly. Everywhere he touched she warmed.
His movements were languid and easy, as if he had all the time in the world. He started on the long line of buttons on the front of her skirt, easing them open with one hand while leaning to kiss her breast, play on it with his tongue. Nerves tingled, muscles pulled and relaxed. Rosie gave way to it, sinking deeper into the soft mattress.
"That feels good," she heard herself murmur. Eyes closing, she lifted her upper torso to his lips. She knew what she wanted, but couldn't say it. Didn't have to. Kent took her nipple fully into his mouth and suckled, pulling hard, pulling her deep.
Rosie's mind numbed. She couldn't still herself, couldn't stop the clamoring of her body, the rush of moist heat.
Never.
She'd never felt like this before. She'd scream when he touched her where she so wanted to be touched. But if he didn't touch her there, and soon, she'd scream even louder. God, she was going to shriek and burst his eardrum. She clamped her mouth shut.
"Lift your hips, Red."
She lifted them, and he pulled her skirt from under her, disposed of her panties, then his slacks. The man was good. And highly aroused. He rested his hand on the inside of her knee, and she watched his gaze travel slowly over every bit of her exposed skin, pausing at her breasts, stopping at the vee between her legs. His gaze met hers the moment his hand cupped her. And while she struggled for breath, Kent's eyes narrowed, clouded with erotic intimacy.
He kissed her ear, his hand moving over and through her heat. "I knew you'd be special," he whispered roughly. "I love your skin." He ran his hand down the inside of her thigh, then up again, finally back to where she wanted it, this time fingering her deeply. She gasped and arched into his hand. "Like satin. Beautiful." He returned to her breast, the strong tug of his mouth in perfect unity with his roving, stroking fingers.
She moved to his hand, in a questing undulation she couldn't control and didn't want to. She wanted to purr, but she moaned instead, her breath tangling in her throat as he went deeper still.
Rosie wanted to touch him, wanted to feel him strong and heavy in her hand, but he stopped her.
"Later, love," he said in a strangled voice, pulling away from her briefly. Before she could open her eyes to see what he was doing, he was back. With one easy, fluid move, he covered her, nudged her thighs apart, and rested himself against her. His erection was a brand; long, hard, and sinfully hot.
Every gene, fiber, and nerve in Rosie's body anticipated him, longed for him.
He poised over her, probed gently for entry—and sank deep. His plunge, smooth and faultless, filled her to her core.
Dazed with sensation, Rosie met his strong, powerful thrusts, again and again, inwardly pleading for more. She scraped her nails along his back, dug them into his muscled shoulders. And she bit her lips, sealed them tight.
"Don't," Kent said in a strained voice, kissing her hard. "Let it come. Let me know how you feel."
"I feel like... like I'm breaking up."
When he gripped her buttocks and lifted her to him, held her firm to thrust deeper, she gasped and sunk her nails into his biceps. "No. Yes. No more. Oh, yes. I can't—"
"Let it happen, Red. Let go."
He shifted slightly, so the whole hard length of him, rubbed hotly against her—in her. Her body pulsed and writhed as she grabbed fistfuls of the sheet for anchor.
He held himself above her, almost but not quite out. Only air against her breasts—where Kent should have been.
She heard her ragged moan fill the darkening room, felt the rumble of a heart beating so wildly it threatened to leap from her chest. She wanted, ached with need, but there couldn't be more. She couldn't take any more. She opened her eyes, and they met Kent's, black and hot with sex and erotic challenge.
"Come to me, Red," he demanded.
Gazes locked, she gripped his straining biceps and lifted her body to his, invited him. He lowered himself, his hair tangling with hers, and came back to her, going deeper, holding, going deeper yet, taking her exactly where she wanted to go—with him.
Chapter 9
Kent's body thundered to a state of collapse. He felt like shouting for joy, but he was too exhausted. Spent and empty from the kind of lovemaking a man only dreams about.
He hoped Rosie felt the same.
He rolled off her and tugged her to a warm spot under his arm, kissing her hair, the lingering heat on her forehead. He could hold her all night. Or do a lot more than hold. The night had barely begun.
She sat up abruptly, jabbing an elbow into his chest to gain leverage. Her eyes were moon-wide. "We didn't use anything!"
He disengaged from her elbow, rubbed where he was sure to bruise, and swung his feet to the floor on the other side of the bed. He looked back at her. "Is that right?"
"What if I'm pregnant?" She skittered up the bed and pulled the quilt up like a shield, presumably against marauding sperm.
"Given your goal in life, I'd think that would make you a happy woman."
She gave him a scathing look, and he grinned. Jonesy was right, Rosie did have a problem with priorities. Most women would have thought of protection before, rather than after. Not that he'd given her much chance. He ambled into the bathroom. When he came back, she was staring out the window, looking fretful and adorable.
His stomach knotted, and he sensed a definite unbalancing of sorts in the vicinity of his chest. Love? Odd. The thought didn't bother him in the least. But the idea of the statistic-popping family Rosie wanted scared him half to death. He hoped she'd start thinking more rationally after tomorrow, because he wanted a lot more than good-time sex with this woman. A lot more.
"It's okay. I used something," he said.
Her gaze swung round. "You did not."
"Yes, I did."
"Didn't."
He grinned. "Did so."
She frowned, as if trying to remember, and pulled the blanket higher.
"Rosie, I would not lie about something like that." He stooped and picked up the empty foil packet from beside the bed, handed it to her. "Satisfied?"
She looked puzzled. "When did you put a condom on? I didn't notice..."
He sat on the edge of the bed, and touched her crazy hair. "That's because you were blind with passion."
"I was not."
"Were so."
"Was—" She stopped, then smiled. "Okay, Summerton, you're right. I have to admit the rubber doll thing really worked for me," she added dryly.
"Glad to hear it. Maybe I'll give it a try."
"Maybe you should," she said, then tugged him to the bed, and drew his face to hers, kissing him with more exuberance than passion. "I loved it!"
It was his turn to frown. "The rubber doll thing?" He was definitely having trouble following this conversation.
"No, you idiot. What we did together. The sex. I loved it. And you know what? I've never really loved sex before. I've always wondered what all the fuss was about." She kissed him again, looking righteously pleased with herself. "And now I know."
A weird warmth filled his lungs. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, just stretched out beside her and tucked her in close. When she leaned over to kiss him, and her hair clouded across his chest, he stroked her head, then lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
"What I said, about you being special, Rosie, I meant. I'd like—"
She shushed him and touched his lips with two fingers. "Don't! If we talk, my imaginary kids will get in the way. For tonight, let's just pretend they're all tucked safely in their beds, and we're an old married couple with the door locked." She kissed him and nibbled on his lower lip.
It was the most unromantic scenario he could possibly imagine, but it didn't stop him from yanking her to him and giving her a lot more kiss than she bargained for. "If that's how you want to play it, old woman, we'd better not
waste any time."
"Oh, yes, let's not." She lifted her head. "You do have more of those silver packets, don't you?"
"Enough," he said, hoping it wasn't a lie.
* * *
At five a.m. Kent kissed Rosie's shoulder.
"I've got to go, Red," he whispered in her ear. Her response was an inarticulate grunt. He tried a gentle tug on her hair. This time she groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. He didn't like leaving without saying goodbye. It didn't feel right. He swung his feet to the floor and looked back at her. Or rather at a mass of red hair that fringed the blanket covering her face. Much as he wanted to see her open her eyes, dousing her with ice water was out of the question. He pulled the blanket down, kissed her shoulder again, then stood.
It took all his willpower to walk away from her bed, but he didn't have a choice. It would be light soon, and he had work to do before the family barbecue. Work. There was never a shortage of that. And for the first time the idea ticked him off.
After showering, he walked back into the bedroom, hoping to find Rosie awake. But she was still snuggled into sleep. He stood quietly, toweling himself off, unable to take his eyes off her. He swore. He was hard again. This from a guy who just weeks ago figured he was in sexual decline. But then he hadn't met Rosie.
He wanted her.
He loved her.
Thank God for Gardenia was his next thought. Whoever she was—and he didn't really care anymore—he owed her. If not for her, he'd never have met his Rosie.
Yeah, he loved her, and he intended to do something about it. And his plans didn't include her going to a singles dance tonight. Or a baseball team of kids. He wrapped the towel around his shoulders and headed back to the bathroom.
"You've got great buns, Summerton."
He turned to face her, and she looked brazenly at his erection. He felt a surge of blood, a binding of muscle, and was surprised to find he was mildly embarrassed.
Her eyes lifted to his. "You weren't planning on wasting that, were you?"
He headed to the bed, sat on its edge, and twisted to lean over her. "I had some ideas, if I'd been able to raise the dead." He kissed her nipple, breathed in the scent of sex and cinnamon emanating from her warm skin. It hit him like a power surge.
But he damn well didn't have time. When he pulled back she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.
"You know what I said last night, about never having enjoyed sex until you?" She paused. "It was true."
"I'm glad." That was the understatement of the year.
"Now I've got another confession to make."
"Uh-huh?" he kissed her head, ran a hand down her back. He really did have to go. Had to.
"I've never made love in the morning. It's just... never happened."
She reached down and took his hardness in her hand, circled him like a velvet vise. He restrained a gasp, but couldn't stop his eyes from closing, couldn't stop his mind from centering on the pressure of her hand.
To hell with work. "Until now, Rosie. Until now."
* * *
"Isn't it amazing? The weather is perfect. You know, I don't think we've had a bad day in the ten years we've been having these barbecues," his mother said.
Kent nodded, and for the hundredth time looked at the French doors leading to the Beachline patio where he and his mother sat under a large tent.
He wished he hadn't let Rosie insist on driving herself today. What if she went straight through to the accounting office? He might miss her entirely. He tried not to think what her reaction would be when she realized the barbecue she'd refused to attend with him was today. His only hope was that last night had changed things between them, and she'd cut him some slack. He looked back at the doors.
"What time is it?" he asked, taking a drink from his coffee and ignoring the silver and gold watch on his wrist.
"Quarter to twelve," his mother said, then excitedly raised her hand. "Oh, look, here come John and Nancy. Don't they look wonderful? The move to Bothell obviously agrees with them."
"Where in hell is Bothell? And when did they move there?"
His mother gave him one of her get-a-grip looks, then sighed, one of those long-suffering, mother-type sighs. "Really, Kent, you could at least keep track of where your cousins live."
Before he could defend himself by telling her he'd need to hire a full-time staffer if he even tried to account for all his relatives' whereabouts, she was waving wildly at some new arrivals; his brother, Mike, his wife, Leona, and their two-and-a-half-year-old twin girls, Emma and Jane. His nieces, he reminded himself, thinking it had been a long time since he seen them. They'd grown. Looking at their beaming faces, he warmed inside. With those smiles, their bright summer dresses and straw hats, they were real little heartbreakers.
"Unken Ken. We're here," they said in excited harmony. They were beautiful, and he found he didn't mind a bit when they ran up to him and planted kisses on his cheeks. But then, they weren't sticky yet. Give 'em time, he thought. He watched them run off to play with their zillion cousins, then bear-hugged his brother and kissed Leona. He didn't know how they did it. Or why. Mike and Leona had three boys already in school when the twins came along. Kent knew Leona's pregnancy was no accident. He and Mike were alike that way, both into planning and controlling everything they could, both ambitious. But they sure as hell parted company when it came to the family thing.
"So, who's the woman?" Mike asked, the split second Leona and his mother left to start harassing Beachline's professional catering staff.
Kent's gaze shot to Mike's grinning face. "What woman?" He decided to play dumb. He wasn't quite ready for the family's inevitable scrutiny of every hair on Rosie's Technicolor head.
Mike patted him on the back, gave him a knowing look. "It's okay. We've all been there. Mom had me married to Leona from our first date—which, by the way, was a disaster. Why should you be exempt from her predictions?"
"Maybe because I haven't even got to the first-date stage yet." Kent was surprised to realize what he said was true. He and Rosie hadn't dated in the traditional dinner-and-candlelight sense. They'd kind of blasted past the preliminaries and gone straight to dessert. He remembered this morning and his groin tightened.
"It doesn't matter." Mike swept a hand to encompass the patio and garden area, already awash in Summertons and assorted in-laws. "We've all been put on notice to be on our best behavior. Which means, I presume, no drooling in our soup, because what's between you and this mystery lady is, according to Mom, 'very serious.' "
"She said that?" Kent was dumbstruck. He'd barely mentioned Rosie.
"Uh-huh, that she did." Mike clapped him on the shoulder, and gave him a broadly sympathetic look. "And from what I'm told, if you don't nab this one, bro, you're headed for a state of permanent bachelorhood."
"I can think of worse things."
Mike's gaze shifted to where his wife was standing beside his mother, one hand on Jane's golden head, the other on Emma's. "I can't," he said quietly, then turned back to beam at Kent, again gesturing with his hand to indicate the growing crowd. "Hope she knows what she's in for."
Kent's gaze followed Mike's hand just in time to see his sister Jayne's boy, Zach, stumble, break a glass, knock over a plant, rip his pants, and smear vanilla ice cream on his Uncle Joe's black slacks in one non-stop motion.
"Not a clue." He grinned at the Zach debacle. "But she will before the day's over."
* * *
Rosie pulled her Geo into the last parking spot in the lot. She glanced around. Whatever was going on at Beachline must be big. The place was jammed. She grabbed her tote and eased herself out of the car. She was the tiniest bit sore, enough to remind her of the night before and the early morning hours she'd spent with Kent. She guessed that's what happened when you'd been out of the mating game as long as she had. Well, she'd come back with a vengeance last night. She tried not to grin, and wondered if her satisfaction would show on her face like a trowel l
oad of too much makeup. She swung her bag over her shoulder and headed across the parking lot for Beachline's glass and brass front doors.
Mating game.
The words made her spirits droop like week-old tulips. The singles dance thing was tonight. She didn't want to attend. She wanted to go back to bed with Kent. But that wasn't going to happen. She and Lady Brain had agreed on that this morning. One hot night did not a family man make. Kent Summerton was no more marriage material this morning—or less work obsessed—than he had been yesterday. Less, in her mind.
She hadn't missed that his whispered allusions to "a chance for them," and his lust-filled offer to "make her dream his," were conspicuously absent after lovemaking. She'd forgotten. She called it lovemaking. He simply called it sex.
Okay, she wasn't surprised, but it did hurt. Which was, as usual, her own darn fault.
Rosie O'Hanlon had always been too quick to believe, to trust, to go with the flow. Until now. She knew what she wanted, and she intended to get it. An old-fashioned guy who'd put family time before overtime. And she would not waste her ovaries' productive years converting a man from scheduler worship to baby love. If he refused to see it was more worthwhile to produce good kids than a balanced budget, so be it.
Rosie swung open the doors of Beachline with gusto and headed straight for accounting. She was on a mission. She would make sure she heard every voice in the place today, identify Gardenia, and head back to Borneo.
What was wrong with the world anyway? she groused to herself, striding down the hall. What was so crazy about wanting to have more than the statistically-correct number of kids and be a dedicated, full-time mom? Maybe she was out of step with the times, but she couldn't be the only one. There must be a man out there somewhere who wanted what she wanted. Believed what she believed, that nothing—absolutely nothing—came before family. Kids mattered, damn it. They mattered more than anything! Why couldn't Summerton see that? She'd pegged him right from the get-go. Nothing but a suit in hunk's clothing. Sheesh! She gave the door to accounting a major thwack and marched in. Or was about to.
