“Why?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Why not?” he responded, slipping his hand down her back, searing her with his touch. She gasped as his hand cradled the rise of her backside and every hard muscle of his body pressed into her.
“Because,” she tried to explain, but his mouth had moved to her neck and was traveling at a risky rate directly toward her chest. “You…” She gasped as he licked the swell of her breast. “Are the…” With one hand, he tugged at the strap of her tank top, inching it over her shoulder. “Enemy.”
“I’m not the enemy.” He slipped the fabric lower, exposing the lace of her bra, his eyes darkening in lust. He leaned over and pressed his mouth on the rise of her breast, then flicked his tongue against her skin. She sucked in a breath in response, arching to give him access. His hand stroked her waist, her rib cage, the side of her breast. For one agonizing second, his thumb grazed the tip.
Her hands moved over his chest, feeling the ripped muscles, then down to his hips. She pulled him into her, loving the masculine power of his body, fighting the urge to climb up and wrap her legs around him.
The enemy. He was the enemy. Wasn’t he?
Slowly, torturously, he fluttered kisses up to her collarbone, into the curve of her neck, under her ear and onto her mouth.
“I’m not the enemy. I’m Mac,” he said into her lips. “And you are the Lady in Blue. Remember?”
She sighed, not caring anymore what they called each other. Her heart thumped wildly and she moved her hips in a seductive, steady tempo in response. Each heated contact against the strained fabric of his pants weakened her resolve. She needed more, she had to feel him and taste him and slam herself against him.
“Just for tonight, Lady,” he whispered. “Forget Quinn. Forget everything but this.” He slid his hand down her stomach and teased the edge of her silk panties.
“Quinn,” she gasped.
“It’s Mac. And you’re my lady.” His hand slid lower, perilously, wonderfully lower over the flesh of her stomach. “And I’m answering an ad.”
She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t think. As his two fingers burned her, she stood on her tiptoes and he covered her mouth with his.
Once again, his tongue moved in and out, mirroring what his fingers were doing to her. In and out. In and out. A slow, maddening, erotic rhythm.
“Sweet, sweet Lady in Blue.” His fingers dipped closer to her center, stunning her with the bone-deep pleasure of it. “Didn’t that ad say something about another ride to heaven?”
She moaned and dropped her head back, reveling in the feel of his hand and his mouth and his honey-dipped voice. “Uh-huh.”
“Let’s take it.”
Seven
“No.”
It took Quinn a second to register the response. He was lost in the silky dream of her skin, his aching need sending every sense into overdrive. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her.
“No?” His whole body froze against her.
She inched out of his grip, denying him access to her neck where he’d been feasting on tender skin. She kept her eyes closed, her breath still as quick and shallow as his. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He slid his fingers up a millimeter, but refused to abandon the warm home they’d found…and were about to find. “There will be no sleeping, I guarantee.”
She shook her head in a tiny negative motion. “I’m not going to bed with you.”
A punch of disappointment hit his gut. “We don’t need a bed, sweetheart. Right here works for me.”
Her lips curled, blessedly, in a smile. And she finally opened her eyes to make a connection. “I’m not going to make love to you, Quinn.”
Make love. Well. She had him there. He slipped his fingertips out of the last delicious inch of her panties and rested his hand safely on her shoulder. “I told you, it’s Mac.”
“Do you think that would really change things?” she asked softly. “Pretending you’re a stranger? Do you imagine that throwing each other on the bed or the floor and having bone-shattering sex until we can’t breath will make this any different?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” He tucked his fingers into the strap of her little blue top, slowly guiding it over her shoulder, exactly the opposite of what he wanted to do with the thing. “It could actually make a grown man cry.”
She laughed a little and the sound of it warmed him, making him realize how much he loved it when she laughed. He’d loved to see her lose control and rock her sensational body against him, too. But he loved to make her laugh.
Carefully, he lined the straps in place on her shoulders and concentrated on keeping his hands away from all the forbidden places they longed to go. He took a half step back, breaking contact with her hips, but knowing the stiff demands of his body would take a while to catch up with his gentlemanly instincts.
He ached for her. He squeezed the little muscles of her shoulders to get control of his cravings. Raw, potent need practically shook him. He wanted her. Wanted to back her up and strip off those lace panties and bury himself in her. He wanted to devour her mouth and squeeze her…oh man. He sucked in a ragged breath and closed his eyes.
“You are one insanely sexy roofer, Miss Whitaker.”
For a moment, she just stared at him, her giant eyes intense and unreadable. Then she bit her lip and sadness darkened them to midnight blue. “You better go, Quinn.”
“Wait a second.” He stepped back and let his hands travel down her bare arms, then took her hands. “I can handle this. I can stop attacking you. I was promised a date with a lady and I came here to have it.”
She opened her mouth to argue and he put one finger on her lips. “Okay, we won’t go out. Can’t we just…talk?”
At the word “talk,” she shot him a skeptical glare. “We don’t talk. We fight and we…”
He could think of a million words for it. “Play,” he finished for her with a half smile. “So why don’t we just try a nice, civilized conversation? We’ll eat here and talk.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have anything for dinner.”
“We’ll get pizza.”
“No.” Her denials were getting weaker.
“I’ll make something,” he insisted. “I’m a good cook.”
“There’s nothing in the kitchen and you…you should…”
He had her. He could smell the sweet scent of success, but he’d have to proceed very carefully. He took one small step farther away and glanced at her tempting state of undress.
“As much as it pains me to suggest this, why don’t you get just a teensy bit more clothes on—don’t overdo it or anything—but maybe a pair of shorts. Just a little something so I can function like a human instead of a slobbering fool.”
Her blinding smile lit up the patio, pinching his heart. He touched her lips and held her gaze, unable to keep his thoughts to himself. “You’re so pretty, Nicole.”
Her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected compliment. “Thanks,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. Gentlemanly. “I’ll figure out dinner.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’d like to take a shower.”
Oh. The thought of her naked and wet and soapy kicked his lower half back up to attention. “Me, too.” He grinned. “A cold one.”
She pointed a finger at him. “You stay out here.”
He wrapped his hand around her finger and laid their fists on his heart. “Scout’s honor.”
“Good luck in the kitchen,” she said, slipping away from him. “Prepare for a disappointment.”
“Prepare for a surprise,” he promised. As she left, he turned to watch her walk inside, moonlight bathing her incredible figure like a work of art. He took a deep breath, but didn’t take his gaze off her until she disappeared into the dark.
And for the first time since he’d walked into her office that day, Quinn remembered the thought that had awakened him every morning since he’d met the Lady in Blu
e.
She’s the one.
If she wasn’t, she was sure doing one helluva good imitation.
Nicole let the hot water pound her, sort of the way she’d wanted Quinn to do. Allover, full-body coverage.
Steam rose around her, blinding her in a cloud as she whipped her scalp into a lather of shampoo. She’d never, ever responded to a man like that. She had no idea she could. She dropped one hand, slowly running it along her wet stomach, following the trail he’d blazed. She was still sensitive and aching from the rush of blood he’d sent there.
Good God, she’d nearly…she almost…
She shook her head, water sluicing over her face. She’d been with two men in her whole life and both had been…enjoyable. Fine. Satisfactory.
Pathetic compared to what she just nearly experienced. He practically brought her to an orgasm standing on the patio. She didn’t even want to imagine what he could do lying on the bed.
She stuck her head under the water and rinsed out the shampoo. Fine and satisfactory were just…well, fine and satisfactory. Anything more would be dangerous. Anything more would surely lead to heartache.
With way more force than necessary, she twisted the tap and gathered her wits. She took a long time brushing her wet hair until the ends nearly dried, and opted for just a little blush. She was so pale. And a dash of mascara. But no lipstick, she decided with a defiant zip of her makeup bag. Nope. This wasn’t a date.
So no pretty dress, either. She slipped on a bra, plain white undershirt and soft jersey sweatpants, tugging at the drawstring with a jerk and considering a knot. The modern equivalent of a chastity belt, she thought with a smile.
Not that a string would keep Quinn McGrath out her pants. No, she’d have to do that with her own determination. She had to remember who he was. The real estate mogul with a lowball offer and bulldozers. There would be no entry in her pants—or in her heart—for Quinn McGrath.
She stared in the mirror, harshly warning herself to remember that. But all she could remember was the urgency of him, the way his fingers found their home and the way his mouth sucked her aching bosom.
You’re so pretty, Nicole.
Like a traitor, she smiled at her own reflection. He made her feel that way. Pretty. Oh, no. She just didn’t want to go there with him. With anyone, really. But especially not with him.
You are one insanely sexy roofer.
And he made her feel sexy, too. Sexy and hot and hungry.
“Hungry,” she said to herself with another determined tug on the drawstring of her pants. “For dinner. Let’s see what Emeril whipped up in the kitchen from hell.”
When she opened her bedroom door, a golden glow flickered from the main room of the villa. The living room, adjacent to the kitchen, was still dim, but her attention was drawn to the nook, where two candles provided the only light.
Quinn leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and a satisfied grin on his face. She looked from him to the table. He’d set it with her nice china and cloth napkins. On each plate rested…a sandwich.
“The house specialty,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “Peanut butter.”
A surprised laugh bubbled up in her as she sat down. “Peanut butter?”
“And jelly, of course.” He took her napkin, opened it with a flourish and laid it on her lap. “If that’s not to your liking, I found a bit of, uh, aged cheese. Perhaps a grilled cheese? I can cut the crusts off.”
She laughed again. “This will be fine. Thank you.”
He sat across from her and lifted a bottle of Corona and her glass, a question in his eyes. “We seem to be out of our finest cabernet, my lady. Perhaps you’ll settle for a Mexican brew.”
She nodded, smiling, an unfamiliar tightness in her throat. He was so sweet. Damn it. Wasn’t it enough that he was mind-blowingly handsome? And able to dissolve her into a puddle with one kiss? Did he have to be nice and funny and thoughtful, too?
She watched him pour the beer at an angle to reduce the foamy head and then do the same to his own. When he finished, he raised his glass and Nicole swallowed against the lump in her throat.
What would he say? she wondered as she lifted her glass. To us? To what might have been? To the sale of the property?
He tapped her glass and she held her breath.
“Here’s to truth in advertising.” His eyes deepened to a serious shade of dark, rich chocolate as he held the beer to his mouth. She took a shaky sip, but he didn’t. “It got the mystery man to the Lady in Blue. Now you can take it down.”
She choked on the drop of beer in her mouth. “Excuse me?”
“Take it down.”
“Why?” She set the glass on the table and stared hard at him. “No one knows what…inspired it. Besides, it’s working.”
“I hate it.”
“So you’ve said. And exactly when did you think I started caring what you think?” She knew when. This morning, when he kissed her.
His eyes softened. “Nicole. Please. Take it down.”
She gingerly picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite. As she swallowed, she wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin. “Delicious, maestro. There is no end to your talents. You can anchor tar paper and cook.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he said with a sly smile. “Take down the ad.”
She pointed her sandwich at him. “As I said, you don’t like it because it’s working. And if it works, I could have enough money to get rid of you and Jorgensen Development.”
Was that a shadow of disappointment that crossed his face? He must want this deal badly. “I just don’t like the whole world knowing…”
She grinned at him, the little rush of power as potent as the sip of beer on an empty stomach. “Well, you don’t have to worry, Mac. It’s time to change to the next installment.”
He froze before he could take a bite of his sandwich. “The next installment? What do you mean?”
She looked down at her lap and smoothed her napkin, then back at him. “It’s supposed to be a series of ads. Like a little story of an evolving, um, romance.”
“An evolving…” He swallowed hard. “How does it end?”
With fabulous sex, lifelong promises and a proposal of marriage. “Like good fiction. Happily.”
He shot her a wary look.
“I’ll put something else up this week,” she promised, wanting very much to change the subject.
“What will it say?”
She had no idea. “It’s a surprise.”
He put the sandwich on the plate and narrowed his eyes at her. “I hate surprises.”
“Really? Then you must have been miserable when you walked into my office this morning.”
He finally started to eat. After a minute, he nodded. “Miserable about covers it.”
Why did she like that he’d been miserable? She took a deep drink of Corona without examining the thought. She needed a safer topic. “So you have two brothers. What did you say their names are?”
“Cameron, he’s almost thirty-five. And Colin, the baby, who just turned thirty-one.”
“No sisters?”
He shook his head and grinned, his brown eyes an alluring amber in the reflected flames. “Nope. That’s why women are a mystery to me.”
She doubted that. He certainly had unlocked the key to her mystery without too much trouble. “What do your brothers do?”
“Cam is an investment banker and Colin is an architect.”
“So Dad must be happy,” she said quietly. “Not a tool belt on the lot of you.”
He shrugged. “They seem to like what they do.”
“Don’t you?” she asked at the hint of cynicism she heard in his voice.
“I do,” he assured her. “It’s rewarding and challenging enough. I’m on the fast track.”
Another alarm went off. Just how far down the fast track would this property take him? “So you seal the deal on Mar Brisas and what? Big bonus? Better office?”
�
�Partnership.”
It hit her like a slap across the face. Not the word or the idea, but the certainty with which he said it. The challenge in his eyes when he looked at her.
“Really?” She tried to act nonchalant.
He glanced down at his half-eaten sandwich and then lifted the glass for a swig of beer. “Yep. At thirty-three, I’ll be the youngest partner in Jorgensen.”
As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple rose and fell but his gaze never left hers.
“You don’t sound…” she didn’t know how to say it, “…excited.”
He shrugged and set the half-empty glass on the table. “I like the work,” he said. “I like negotiating and putting together the deals. But my boss is a mad workaholic.” He leaned forward and dropped his elbows casually on the table. “Not that I have a problem with hard work. It’s just the…” He shook his head.
“What? The hours?”
He bit back a laugh. “No. It’s the greed.” He nodded as though he’d just managed to figure it out. “It’s the lust for more deals, more buildings, more employees, more, well, money. I can see the appeal, believe me. But sometimes I think there must be something other than money.”
She pushed her plate away an inch and raked him with a sarcastic look. “Easy to be noble when you got it, Mac.”
For a minute, he said nothing, studying her. His attention dropped to her mouth, over her T-shirt and back up again. Every time he inspected her like that, her insides fluttered like she was chug-chug-chugging up to the highest drop of a roller coaster.
“You really do want to keep this property.” He said the statement as though it surprised him.
“Of course.”
“I pegged you for a scam artist, Nicole. Taking insurance money and holding off for the best offer as bankruptcy loomed.” He shook his head.
“You pegged me wrong.”
“That’s for sure. First of all, you’re not Nicholas Whitaker.” His gaze flickered over her chest again. “Obviously I was mistaken.” He grinned, a little bit of an apology in his eyes. “But, regardless of your gender, you’re not anything like the property owner I expected to be up against when I took over the St. Joseph’s project.”
Like a Hurricane Page 8
