“There are low-shed dogs, yes, but you’re talking again,” she said sourly.
“Sorry.”
“Number Four—I’ve never been married or had children.”
“Children and husband are behind dogs?”
“Well, dogs don’t talk and get on your nerves, do they?”
“True.”
“Number Five—I’ve never taken that RV trip across this beautiful country of yours. Nor have I seen Alaska or Hawaii.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted.
“Number Six.” She trailed off.
A husky new tone in her voice had him listening hard. He waited, watching as she ducked her head and swiped her hand through her hair again, ruffling the curls into a delightful halo around her blushing face.
“Number Six,” he prompted, damn near holding his breath with suspense.
“Number Six.” Her bright gray gaze flickered back to his, and it was so hot and direct that every muscle in his body tightened and hummed with lust. “I regret that I blew you off in the terminal, Marcus. And I intended to do something about it.” She paused, and in the deepening silence between them, he could hear the shallow rasp of her breath. Or was that his? “If you hadn’t bumped into me tonight,” she continued, “I’d planned to find you back in New York. As soon as possible. I was just about to search for you on Google.”
* * *
Marcus kept his mouth shut, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze firmly on the tips of his shoes as they got into the elevator, stood side by side and stared at the numbers over the door. He was determined to be a gentleman, even if his blood was running hot and he felt off-kilter, like a caveman who’d thrown on a tuxedo and gone to the ball.
Who was he fooling, though? Not himself, certainly. So what that he wasn’t begging her to come to his room or running his fingers up the back of her neck and into her hair? The air was still thick with desire and unspoken words, and he was quite certain that Claudia was sensitive enough to feel it.
Overhead, the lights switched. Second floor.
Claudia, who was staring at the numbers as resolutely as he was, shifted on her feet, restless with energy.
She smelled like spices, shampoo and sensual woman.
Cursing his overactive nose, he balled his hands into fists and tried to remember the important things here. That they’d just met. That she was skittish and had clearly had bad experiences with men. That as much as he wanted her, he needed to be strategic about how he handled things. Earlier he’d been sure he’d never see her again, but fate, or something like it, had given him another chance. They’d spent a little time together. They’d see each other again in New York because they both wanted that.
A surprising win all around, right?
Why couldn’t he be grateful and leave it at that?
Why was it so hot in here?
Why was it so hard for him to keep his hands to himself?
Third floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia look in his direction and open her mouth as if she wanted to say something.
Fourth floor.
Do the right thing, man, he told himself, trying to ignore the spiraling desire low in his belly. It wasn’t that hard. Do. The. Right. Thing—
“Marcus.”
Screw it. If she thought he could keep his hands off her when she spoke his name with that kind of husky longing, she was sadly mistaken.
He turned, staring into her stormy-gray eyes. His hands came out of his pockets and went straight to the sides of her head, to the velvety sweetness of her cheeks, the silky column of her neck and the sleek locks of her hair.
She shuddered helplessly, covering his hands with hers, and there was something so raw and electric about the connection between them that he knew he had to look away from her face or risk being badly burned.
And so, bypassing the lips he desperately wanted to taste again, he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear, “I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she said.
“Then come to my room with me, beauty.”
“I can’t. It’s such a bad idea, and I’m smarter than that.” She sighed helplessly. “I’m trying to be smarter than that.”
“Claudia. Sweet love.” He traced her tender earlobe with the tip of his tongue and relished the responsive croon that hummed in her throat. “It’s not about smart or dumb. It’s about inevitable.”
She tipped her chin up, surrendering, a hint of a smile touching her lips and—
With the worst conceivable timing, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
Sixth floor. Claudia’s floor.
She went rigid and stepped out of his arms and out of the elevator.
Facing him from the other side of what felt like an abyss, she looked breathless and turbulent. “I can’t,” she said again, but there was no conviction in her tone. “I’m not going to jump into bed with some man I just met.”
“I’m not some man and you’re sure as hell not just some woman,” he said, holding the door open with his hand. The hoarse urgency in his voice was beneath him, but Claudia was worth the dings to his pride. There was no question in his mind that she was worth it. “I’m in 762.”
Claudia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
Buzzing with frustration, Marcus cursed softly and dropped his hand. The doors slid closed in his face, blocking out the sight of her as she hurried to her room.
Chapter 6
Marcus stalked back to his lonely room, yanked his clothes off and, not knowing what else to do, stepped into his second shower of the evening, with the water turned to polar ice cap. After three or four minutes of this torture, his privates had shrunk back to a size that was manageable, if not completely indifferent to Claudia’s charms. He brushed his teeth, threw on some boxers, glared at the digital clock, which was blinking 10:30 at him in what promised to be a long and miserable night, and pulled out his laptop.
Since he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well work. And that meant reviewing his notes and file on Judah Cross’s coveted and extremely valuable collection of memorabilia from his thirty-year career.
Judah Cross. Yes, he needed to focus on Judah Cross, whom he’d be seeing tomorrow.
Judah Cross, the reason for his eventful trip out West to Jackson Hole.
Where he’d met Claudia.
Claudia.
He collapsed into the desk chair, flipped his laptop open and waited for it to power up.
So she wanted to come, but she wasn’t coming tonight. Big deal. Not the end of the world. He’d get over it and there would, hopefully, be other nights. Soon.
Absolutely no big deal.
Except that his skin was too tight and his pulse was too fast. His left leg wouldn’t stop jiggling.
And his laptop was too freaking slow.
Pushing away from the desk, he turned out the corner lamp. It was too bright with the nightstand lamp already on. Then he found the remote and clicked on the TV, because it was too quiet. Then he turned down the volume, because the commercial was too loud.
He wasn’t going to get any work done tonight. Any fool could see that.
He’d just watch some TV.
Flopping down onto the king-size bed, he flipped channels. CNN. ESPN. Discovery, CSPAN, the networks. Oh, and Adults After Dark.
That looked cheesy but promising.
He ran a hand over his erection, which was sprinting past semi and heading for concrete. Porn had never really been his thing, not since college, anyway, but he needed some relief because his balls were blue and his brain was in serious danger of blowing out of his skull. Thanks, Claudia, he thought. So, yeah, that was what he’d do: he’d watch Harlem Harem, jack himself off and relieve enough tension to be able to lie quietl
y in bed, if not actually sleep.
Great. He had a plan.
A humiliating plan, true, but a plan at least.
Hang on—had he bolted the door when he came in?
Probably not. It wasn’t as though he’d been clearheaded at the time.
Muttering to himself, he got off the bed, padded to the door and reached for the brass lock.
Something made him hesitate, hand raised.
He cocked his head and heard nothing.
But he held his breath and opened the door anyway.
Claudia was standing there. Realizing that she’d come, after all, was the biggest surprise of his life and yet, simultaneously, no surprise at all.
Inevitable, as he’d said.
Her gaze was alight with something so soft and warm that it made him ache in a way that had nothing to do with the physical. A remote corner of his brain tried to warn him that he might be biting off more than he could chew with this one, but that seemed like an insignificant consideration compared to the way he felt—the deliriously alive way he felt—when he was talking to her, or looking at her, or standing quietly with her, just like this.
“I’m trusting you,” she warned.
“Good. I won’t abuse it.”
“See that you don’t.”
He didn’t want to fall on her and devour her like a kid going for candy, but his self-control was at such a low ebb that that was pretty much what happened. Pausing only to take her hand and pull her into his room, he kicked the door closed and helped himself to everything about her.
His hands went first to her head, tilting it way back so he could have full access to her minty-slick mouth. She gave her mouth with a delicious mewl, opening for him with an absolute surrender that drove him wild. He tasted her in thrusting sweeps and nibbling bites, frantic in his determination not to leave one inch of her lush lips unexplored. They laughed, playing with each other as they fit their lips together in every combination he could manage, and her throaty delight spurred him on.
He kissed her deeper, making sounds that were as unabashed as they were animalistic. He backed her into the nearest wall, swept her cottony top over her head and filled his hands with her warm skin. Underneath, she wore a sheer black bra that revealed the perfect heavy ovals of breasts tipped with engorged dark nipples that demanded some serious attention. Off went the bra. Palming her breasts, he stooped just enough to lick the first tight bead and then move to the other, sucking it deep into his mouth.
She responded with a sharp, breathless cry that thrilled him so much he’d probably be hearing it in his dreams for the rest of his life. Then she arched her back and he squeezed her breasts together, pressing his face into that soft valley and breathing her in. Another husky laugh distracted him, making him look up, and from that angle he could appreciate the way her gold chain sparkled against the smooth column of her neck. What else could he do but lick his way up that thrilling flesh, back to her mouth?
Everything he did seemed to trigger another round of enthusiastic coos and hitches in her breath, and these responses made him want to do everything to and with her, and do it now. She was as aggressive as he was, wrapping him in her tight grip and raking her nails across his bare shoulders, up his nape and into his scalp. And then her hands ran back down again, gripping his ass and anchoring him against her thrusting hips. Rubbing against her yielding core, naturally, made him harder. Concrete hard. Unbearably hard.
And then, just to make sure she totally unmanned him, she hooked one thigh around his waist, drawing him even closer.
“Not fair,” he muttered in between kisses.
“I can stop,” she answered, circling her hips.
“We’re not stopping. You made that decision when you showed up at my door.”
“True.”
Clamping both hands on her tight butt, he hefted her off her feet, and up into his arms. She wrapped both legs around his waist—man, he loved her long legs!—and he swung her around. In his excitement, he careened more than walked, eventually running into the bed.
They tumbled down together, laughing again, and he went to work on her stretchy pants, pulling them down her legs and off because he wanted her spread beneath him. She wriggled for him, lifting her hips when he needed her to, and then, there she was, her head on a pillow and her long, toned and curvy body stretched before him with only her bikini panties and his boxers between them.
He paused, kneeling between her bent legs, and took a long and breathless moment to appreciate the view. She stared back up at him, panting. Neither of them were smiling now.
“This is crazy, Marcus.”
“I know. It’s also right.”
She hesitated, just for a second. “I know.”
Taking his time about it, he stretched out over her, levering onto his elbows so he didn’t crush her with his weight. The full-body contact was so exquisite that he shuddered. She stared up at him with her beautiful eyes, running her gentle fingers up and down his arms.
“Goose bumps,” she told him, dimpling.
“You don’t say.” He couldn’t look into her face for too long, not when they were this close and his feelings were this exposed, so he nuzzled her neck and circled his hips. She let out a serrated sigh. “I’m going to need you tomorrow night, too, Claudia. And the night after that. Just so you know.”
“Aah, Marcus,” she whispered, eyes rolling closed, and he could tell he was losing her in the heat of the moment. “I’ll have to check my calendar, love, and see if I can squeeze you in.”
He raised his head, because now was so not the time for jokes. “Claudia.”
She opened her bright eyes and focused on him. On his dead seriousness. When she stilled, he knew she was starting to get the picture.
“Is that okay with you?” he asked.
There was a pause during which he gave himself several swift mental kicks for trying to bring her too far, too fast, because he was stupid, stupid, STUPID. But then she surprised him.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Wait, what?
He cocked his head, wanting to make sure he’d heard right.
“Yeah?” His face was already splitting into a ridiculous grin. “You’re serious?”
She grinned, too. “You’re not going to require a blood oath, are you?”
Laughing, he scraped his teeth down her neck, making her buck and writhe, which he really liked. Grabbing her hands, he anchored them over her head to hold her still. “I might. How long are you going to be in Jackson Hole? You never said why you were heading out there.”
“Marcus!” she squealed with laughter, trying to get away from him. “Stop! I’m trying to land a tremendous new client—will you stop!—who’s got a collection of first editions and sheet music that could really give my career the boost it needs now that I’ve joined a bigger auction house. Well, out of the blue, he contacted my new employer and requested me specifically, because he’d heard about my experience with rare books. You’ve heard of him, I’m sure—Judah Cross?”
Chapter 7
Stupid, stupid, STUPID, Claudia thought late the next morning as she settled into the back of the sleek black SUV that Judah Cross’s people had dispatched to fetch her from the airport. She was so freaking stupid. Thirty-two years old, and she’d learned absolutely nothing from her time on the planet. She could not be taught, and no amount of hard-earned experience would overcome her criminal idiocy.
She was, truly, too lack-witted to live, and if a meteor one day threatened mankind with extinction, and only a few essential souls could seek shelter in an underground bunker, she should just put up her hand and volunteer to stay aboveground and take the hit. The human race would, clearly, be smarter without her, because God knew she wasn’t contributing anything to the gene pool.
&nbs
p; “I’ll have you at the ranch before you know it,” the driver told her as they pulled away from the curb. “Nothing for you to do but sit back and enjoy the view.”
“Thanks so much,” Claudia said vaguely.
The thing was, she’d completely lost her mind over Marcus last night. Completely! Despite having had three failed relationships—three!—in the past four years. Despite swearing to herself that she’d stop leaping into bed with men until she knew them better. Despite the emotional trampling she’d inflicted upon herself and her poor wrecked heart over and over again, in an endlessly looping romantic version of that silly old movie Groundhog Day.
That’s right. She felt like the black female version of the Bill Murray character, doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again until she learned better. Which, in her particular case, meant forever, because, as she’d previously established, her stupidity was such that she was incapable of learning from her mistakes.
“Those are the Grand Tetons,” the driver said. “The ranch sits right on the Snake River.”
So now, here she was, once again, nursing a newly wounded heart, which was no less than she deserved. She’d have to chalk it up to a lesson learned—ahahahahahaha; good one, Claudia!—and a crisis averted.
Because that was the bottom line, wasn’t it? Thank goodness a little ice water had been splashed on the proceedings before it was too late last night. Thank goodness she hadn’t fallen into bed with a man who was in direct competition for the business of a potential client who could, in one fell swoop, make her a star at her new auction house. And thank goodness she hadn’t given in to a man who was more intriguing than any man she’d ever met and, therefore, far more dangerous to her foolish heart than the average idiot she usually fell for.
All that was assuming, of course, that Marcus had been remotely serious about seeing her again after last night—an awfully big assumption when one considered that men would often say anything when their penises were doing the talking.
As if he’d thought she was something special. Please. What man ever had?
But, Marcus...now, he was special. Or at least he had seemed special at a first, hormone-laden glance. With those intense, dark eyes, ridiculously amazing body and, worst of all, keen intelligence and humor. What mere woman was supposed to resist all of that? And on the heels of their shared near-death experience and kiss?
Sinful Attraction Page 5
