by Cara Summers
“Forget it,” he whispered. “I’m not expecting a call.” He tried to bring her back to him but she resisted.
“Could it be Jimmy? Does he have your number?”
“If it is, he can leave a message.”
“Eric…”
He sighed. The mood had obviously disintegrated so he got to his feet. Before he reached the phone, he heard Jimmy’s voice leaving a message on the answering machine. Eric muttered a word he shouldn’t have and then picked up the phone.
Dallas watched him pace as he spoke to Jimmy. Even though he was obviously frustrated, his tone never revealed his annoyance. After a brief conversation he hung up and returned to the couch.
He shook his head. “He’s delivering dinner.”
She laughed. “You have a fan. Get over it.”
“Remind me never to do any more good deeds.” Sighing, he checked his watch. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.” He trailed a knuckle along her jaw and then tipped her chin up, brushed his lips across hers. “Any suggestions on how we should use the time?”
“You have Scrabble?”
“Funny.”
“I—”
He didn’t let her finish but pressed his advantage, slipping his tongue through her parted lips. She sort of fell against him, as if he’d just sucked all the energy out of her. Even if she wanted to refuse him, she couldn’t muster the strength to pull away.
Not that she had any intention of retreating. The same musky masculine scent that had taunted her last night filled her every pore. His hand swept down her back, lingered at her waist, cupped the swell of her butt. His touch drugged her. Made her feel helpless. Made her want more.
“Take off your blouse,” he whispered as he worked his hand beneath the fabric, his warm palm pressed against her skin, his strong fingers trailing up the muscle on either side of her spine.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Jimmy?”
He smiled against her mouth. “You’re into threesomes?”
Laughing, she leaned back to glare at him. “You know what I mean.”
Eric chuckled and then fell back against the couch and groaned. “Damn that Jimmy.”
She placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed a little. “Poor baby.”
One of his eyebrows went up. “An inch higher and I’ll let Jimmy wait in the lobby all night.”
“And what about dinner?”
He looked horrified. “You mean we have to eat first?”
Dallas laughed. “First? Did you have something else in mind?”
His mouth curved in a predatory smile. He caught her arm before she could pull away. “I have lots of things in mind. Want to hear about them?”
She shivered and moistened her suddenly parched lips.
He drew her toward him, leaning forward at the same time. “Or would you rather I show you?”
A buzzing sound startled them.
Eric glanced apologetically at her. “Was that ten minutes? That was not ten minutes,” he muttered as he got up and went to the door.
On the right was a small silver panel. He depressed a black button and the doorman’s voice came through telling him he had a delivery. Eric spoke into the speaker and told him to let Jimmy come up.
Dallas checked her blouse, smoothed back her hair with a shaky hand and in general made sure there were no telltale signs of their fooling around. She didn’t expect Eric would allow Jimmy to stay long. Which would be a very good thing. Her insides hadn’t quit tingling. If Eric wanted to skip dinner and resume where they’d left off, that was more than okay with her.
He hovered near the door, with it slightly ajar, waiting for Jimmy. She thought she heard the elevator ding, and then Eric reached into his pocket and brought out some money, reminding her this was supposed to be her turn to buy dinner.
“Hey, I’m getting that,” she said and pushed off the couch, looking around for where she’d dropped her purse.
“Please, one argument at a time.”
“What?” She had no idea what he was talking about, and then Jimmy showed up at the door, carrying a bag of food big enough to feed five people.
She understood as soon as Eric tried to give him the money.
“No, my friend, this is a gift.” Jimmy grinned and tried to shove the bag into Eric’s arms.
“No way.” Eric stepped back, his arms rigidly at his sides. “Either I pay for this or you take it back.”
Jimmy shook his head, a hurt yet stubborn expression on his face.
Eric stuffed some bills in the man’s breast pocket. “Take it, okay, Jimmy? Please.” Then Eric took the bag from him, cradled it in his left arm and extended his right hand to Jimmy. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
Jimmy smiled and stepped back. “Okay,” he said and left.
Tom had told her Eric was a rising star with Webber and Thornton Advertising. At the time she’d thought it might be an exaggeration to peak her interest, a ploy to get her to the company party. But she’d heard enough from the other guests Saturday night to make her a believer.
She leaned a hip against the counter beside him. “Mmm, smells divine.”
He took a couple of white cartons out of the bag and read the black writing on the side. He set them aside and brought out three more cartons.
“Good grief. That’s a lot of food. Enough for a party.” She stared at the spread.
“Is that so?”
“Come on now. I offered to share my raw fish with you last night.”
He winced. “Thank you very much for the reminder.”
Grinning, she opened the carton of pot stickers. The tantalizing aroma made her stomach rumble. “These smell way too good. Is there dipping sauce?”
“I’m sure there is. Not that it matters.”
At the odd tone in his voice, she looked over at him. “Excuse me?”
He took the carton out of her hand and set it aside. With a sweep of one arm he cleared the counter, sending the cartons of food up against the microwave. “I believe we have some unfinished business,” he said, grasping her by the waist and lifting her onto the counter.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE COULD BARELY CATCH HER BREATH. Her heart threatened to explode. He’d taken her by surprise. “Hey, you, I’m wearing white. If I get anything on these pants—”
He smiled and kissed the side of her mouth. “You could always take them off.”
She let her head fall back and he kissed her throat, continued on to her collarbone, licking the skin just above her neckline. He spread her legs and stepped closer until he was cradled between her thighs. He cupped her bottom and pulled her against him.
She sighed when he put his mouth on her breast, teasing the nipple with his teeth through the fabric. Automatically she tried to squeeze her thighs together, but he was right there, inches away from her core, where the dampness had started.
Clutching two fistfuls of his shirt, she yanked the hem out of his jeans and pushed it up as far as the shirt would go until he gave in and stepped back so she could finish the job. She tossed the T-shirt toward the couch and it landed on the arm.
He grinned. “Nice throw.”
“Nice chest.” She slid her palms from his shoulders over his nipples and down his belly, feeling it clench as she rested at his waistband. “You’re a runner, aren’t you?”
“I used to log five miles a day. Lately I only get out about three times a week.”
She ran her palms back up, and as she grazed his nipples, he briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t have a bulky, heavily muscled weight lifter’s body. Simply lean and well defined with a light mat of hair—just the way she liked a man’s body to look and feel.
“I know. Getting soft. I probably need to join a gym.” He picked up a few strands of her hair and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb. “It’s like silk. I’ve never felt hair this soft and fine before.”
He stared at it as if totally mesmerized, letting the strands sift through his fingers and then starting over. His gaze final
ly switched to her face and he smiled. He let go of her hair and used the back of his hand to touch her face.
“You’re definitely not getting soft,” she whispered, making another run up his chest, enjoying the feel of soft, springy hair beneath her palms.
His smile got crooked. “A truer statement was never made.”
She realized the double entendre in what she’d said and laughed. “Oh, really? I haven’t explored that far yet.”
“What’s keeping you?” He lowered his hands to grab a hold of her blouse and gently drew it over her head. Without looking, he tossed it in the same direction as his shirt. His gaze stayed fastened to her peach satin demicup bra. Or more accurately what spilled out of it.
Under the heat of his gaze, she shivered. The intensity in his eyes penetrated every bone in her body until she didn’t think she could keep herself from sliding to the floor. “Why aren’t we in the bedroom?”
He trailed a finger over the top of her bra, occasion ally slipping inside the cup and grazing her nipple with his fingertip, creating a nearly unbearable friction. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”
The teasing in his smile told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her. It called her to action, and she slid her palms to his waist and attacked his belt buckle.
He murmured something indistinct. Sucked in his belly and closed his eyes. She freed the buckle and went for his zipper, but he moved out of reach.
Startled, she returned her gaze to his face.
To her satisfaction, he seemed a little shaken himself.
“Oh, man.” He exhaled loudly.
“What?”
“Wait. I’ll be right back.”
She twisted around to see where he was going. He went into the living room and picked up their wine glasses from the coffee table. She swallowed and looked down at herself, suddenly feeling too exposed.
“Bring my blouse, please,” she called after him, but it was too late. He’d already entered the kitchen.
Alarm darkened his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you—” She shrugged, unwilling to voice her insecurities. “I don’t know.”
“Here.” He handed her the half-empty glass of wine she’d abandoned. “I was abrupt. I’m sorry. No reflection on you, believe me.” He got the bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and then turned back to her with a frown—and one hell of a hard-on. The bulge strained against his fly, and she could barely keep from staring. “I take that back. It’s you. You’re making me crazy. I need a time-out.”
She tried not to smile. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Right.” Snorting, he poured more wine in each of their glasses. He took a quick sip and then put his glass down beside her on the counter, his hungry gaze drawing to her breasts.
She got that warm, tingly feeling again and prepared herself for his touch. It didn’t come. He reached around her and got the carton of pot stickers and a pair of chopsticks.
Last night proved he was quite adept with the wooden utensils, but tonight he fumbled with them, and finally with a sigh of disgust, he cast them aside, fished out one of the dumplings with his fingers and put it to her lips.
She took a small bite, even though she was no longer interested in dinner, and he finished the rest of it.
That she was sitting here wearing only a bra and capris and he was shirtless with his belt unbuckled eating dinner struck her as incredibly funny and she burst out laughing.
He licked the corner of her mouth. “Come on, admit it. This is the way to eat.”
“Trying to steal my pot sticker?”
“I’m after more than that.”
She was about to utter a smart retort when her stomach grumbled loudly.
He grinned and picked out another dumpling. “All you had to do was ask.”
“I’m not really hungry,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I don’t know why it did that.”
“Hungry or not, you need sustenance.” He fed her another bite. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
She swallowed and moistened her lips, the tingling starting again. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” He locked gazes with her and, after a moment, shoved the carton aside. “The hell with this,” he said and scooped her up.
Dallas yelped. At five-nine, she wasn’t the type of woman a man easily managed to carry. She tried to maneuver herself down, but he held tight and carried her into the bedroom. There he let her down gently, holding on to her until her feet touched the plush white car pet.
He lifted her chin, kissed her briefly and then un clasped the front of her bra. He stopped for a moment to admire his discovery with a fascination that stole her breath, then he tugged the straps off her shoulders. The bra slid down her back and onto the floor.
Lowering his head, he kissed one rosy tip and then the other. She blossomed against his mouth, ached for him to suckle her, but he took his time, finally leaning back to look at her again.
“Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are?” He seemed a little dazed, astonishingly earnest, and she didn’t experience the embarrassment she should have. Didn’t make the wisecrack she normally would have about the dim lighting. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. You are real, aren’t you?”
She lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him before reaching for his zipper. This time he didn’t move. He watched her as she slid the zipper down, exposing brown silk boxers, and then shuddered when she touched him.
“Does this feel real?” she whispered, running the back of her fingers over the hard thickness straining against the silky fabric.
He murmured something, his voice too hoarse to understand. Grabbing her wrists, he forced her hands away. Took a couple of deep breaths, his chest heaving.
“Help me,” he said, but she didn’t understand until he moved back and yanked one side of the rust-colored quilt back from his queen-size bed.
She took the other side but gave up on trying to be neat about it when he shoved everything to the foot of the bed, heedless of the rich textured fabric that spilled to the floor.
When he reached for the lamp, she started to protest, preferring the filtered light coming from the living room. But he switched it on dim, and the soft glow bathed the coppery tones of the room in a mellow warmth that helped calm her.
“Need help taking those off?” he asked, lowering his gaze to her capris.
She smiled at the nudge. He was already pulling off his jeans. “I think I can manage.”
He stepped out of them and then without hesitation he slid off his boxers. She froze and stared. She tried not to. Tried to finish undressing. But she couldn’t seem to move. He was truly beautiful. Breathtaking, really.
Swallowing hard, trying to get in motion, she told herself that he wasn’t the best-looking guy she’d dated. In fact, she’d dated some real honeys. One of them a famous local model who’d had a terrific sense of humor. But something about Eric appealed to her like none of the others. Something beyond his good looks and generosity and sense of humor. Maybe it was simple chemistry. Maybe it was about this crazy mystery-woman fantasy of hers.
“I guess you do need some help,” he said, discarding the boxers and approaching her.
She still couldn’t move. Until he was right there. In front of her. And she reached out and touched him. His penis twitched at the contact, and when she circled the glistening tip, he shuddered. She curled her hand around it and stroked down to the base, and he moaned.
A sense of power surged through her, and finding a rhythm, she started to pump him, but he captured her wrist and stilled her hand.
“Wait, Dallas,” he said, his breathing irregular.
She smiled. “Whatever for?”
“This.” He lowered his head and took control of her mouth, forcing her lips open with his tongue.
She didn’t move when he released her wrist and slid his hands around to her backside, squeezing gently while he kissed her senseless. It took a few moments be fore she realized he was
sliding her capris down her hips, past her thighs.
He broke the kiss to pull them down her legs and stopped to nuzzle her breasts, swirling his tongue around one nipple and then the other. She shuddered and grabbed his shoulder, and he held her steady while she stepped out of the capris.
Standing in only a skimpy pair of cream-colored silk bikini panties, she sucked in a breath when he moved back to look at her. Appreciation gleamed in his eyes as his gaze swept her body, lingering at the small, silky tri angle at the juncture of her thighs.
“Take those off,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his hands to his sides, his fists clenching lightly.
She obeyed by slipping her hands beneath the strips of lacy elastic across her hips and then slowly lowering her panties, her palms molding her skin as she slid the silky fabric down her thighs, taking her time, making him wait.
Visibly swallowing, he watched her, his chest rising and falling, his gaze riveted to her little striptease show. His hand went to his straining sex and he touched him self briefly before backing her up so that she fell on the bed. He sprawled over her, hungrily kissing her mouth, her cheek, her eyelids, as if it were impossible for him not to.
She moved her hips and his breathing faltered. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. Her hair fell forward, brushing his chest, and he pushed one side back from her face and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.
“So soft,” he whispered. “So incredibly soft.”
She reached between them, stroking his penis. “So hard. So incredibly hard.”
He laughed, an abrupt gurgling sound, before rolling her back into position beneath him. “Okay, you asked for it.”
She smiled. “Yes, I did.”
To her surprise, he turned away. But then she saw that he’d reached into the nightstand and brought out a foil packet. He ripped it open and then handed it to her. She didn’t know why it never came up, but she’d never actually done this before. The guy she was with always had.
Carefully she rolled the condom down the hard thickness, smiling when he reacted with a small jerk, his stomach clenching.
“Amused, are we?” he asked, his smile turning feral before he held her hands out wide and touched the tip of his tongue to her nipples ever so lightly. Just enough to make her crazy.
