The Sassy One

by Susan Mallery

  On the second floor Francesca saw little more than hardwood floors, windows, and doors before Sam was pulling her along the hallway. At the end he entered through double doors, and pushed them shut behind her. Then he was drawing her close and touching her… everywhere.

  He stroked her back, her rear, her hips, then slipped around to settle his hands on her waist. At the same time he kissed her. His tongue brushed against hers with a passionate tenderness that made her catch her breath.

  She touched him in return. The width of his shoulders. Hard muscles contrasted with the softness of his shirt. She traced the breadth of his chest, then circled to his back. His hands climbed toward her breasts, hers dipped to his rear. They reached their destinations at the same time, and as her fingers dug into high, tight flesh, he brushed against her hard, sensitive nipples.

  They both gasped.

  The ache inside of her intensified. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched there. How many years had it been since she’d felt the pressure of a firm caress on tight, hungry skin?

  He cupped her curves, then broke the kiss to bend down. Through the layers of her dress and bra, she felt the heat of his breath. He bit down gently and she nearly screamed.

  He reached for the buttons running down the front of her dress. At the same time she tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. She vaguely recalled that in the past she’d been somewhat shy and restrained in bed. And she probably would be again. Just not now. Not with the need pounding inside of her like a drum. She ached. Between her legs, the dampness surged until she was wet and slick and ready. She wanted his hands on her—her breasts, between her legs. She wanted his mouth everywhere. She trembled, she shook, she needed.

  He finished with the buttons and pushed the dress off her shoulders. She straightened her arms and let it fall to the floor, leaving her wearing bikini panties and a bra.

  Sam’s gaze swept over her, and he sucked in a breath. “Stunning,” he said.

  “My turn.” She tugged on his polo shirt. “Take this off.”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He went one better. After tugging off his shirt, he unfastened his belt, then his jeans and pushed them to the floor.

  She took in the well-toned muscles, the blond hair dusting his chest, the narrow waist, and his erection straining against his briefs. Big feet was right, she thought, mesmerized by the length and thickness of him.

  Then she couldn’t think, because he was touching her. He explored her shoulders, her rib cage, then her back, where he easily unfastened her bra. When the bit of lace had fallen away, he cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed her.

  The combination was electric. Warm fingers teased her breasts, while his mouth worked its magic on hers. She moaned, she squirmed, she nearly came in her panties.

  She touched him back, wanting to get closer. She ached to wrap her legs around him and have him plunge inside of her. She wanted to beg, to scream, to demand. When he began moving them toward the bed, she nearly moaned in relief.

  Once they arrived, Sam pulled open a nightstand drawer and set a condom on the surface. The sight of something that practical should have brought Francesca to her senses, but she was too far gone. She glanced at it, had a moment of gratitude, then slipped off her panties and climbed on the bed.

  He was right there with her. They surged together, naked, hungry, needing. Even as he bent down to kiss and lick her sensitive breasts, he slipped a hand between her legs.

  At the first brush of his fingers, she pulsed against him. She felt ravenous and wanted to swallow him whole. Need made her pulse her hips impatiently.

  “More,” she whispered, clinging to him. “Touch me—ah.”

  He’d found the spot. That single place of pleasure. He pressed his fingers against it, rubbing firmly, gently, perfectly. She dropped her head to the pillow and sucked in a breath.

  It was too good. It had been too long, and damn if Sam hadn’t figured out exactly what made her shake.

  He circled that tight spot, shifted until he could caress her with his thumb, then slipped a finger inside.

  It was too much. Her body contracted, convulsed, and she was gone. Just like that. Her orgasm swept through her, making her shudder and pant and moan. She lost herself in the pleasure.

  So much better than she remembered, she thought hazily as wave after wave of warm, liquid release filled her. Way too good for mortal man.

  When the contractions slowed, she opened one eye, then the other. Sam looked both pleased and stunned. She couldn’t help grinning.

  “It’s been a long time,” she admitted.

  He continued to gently stroke her. “And here I thought you were going to tell me that I’m really good.”

  “That, too.”

  She studied his eyes, his mouth, the way the blond hair fell over his forehead. She might have had her appetizer, but she was still hungry for the main course.

  She reached between them and took his impressive arousal in her hand. With one slow stroke she had him groaning.

  “I thought maybe we’d take this guy for a test-drive,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “You’re my kind of woman.”

  He grabbed the condom and quickly put it on.

  Francesca felt her body stretching as he filled her. It took every ounce of self-control not to lose herself in the first thrust. When he was in all the way, he shifted so he was staring down at her. His eyes dilated.

  “Don’t hold back on my account,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’re so damn wet and hot, I’m about to lose it.”

  She placed her hands on his back and stroked him. “How do you feel about screaming? I never have before, but I have a feeling I might have to this time.”

  “I consider it the highest praise possible.”

  “Oh, good.”

  With that, he began to move. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the pleasure of him filling her over and over again. Within a few strokes, tension built to unbearable and she couldn’t hold on any longer.

  “Oh, Sam,” she breathed, then lost herself in the pleasure. She surged against him, dropped her hands to his rear and pulling him in deeper and deeper.

  Thick, powerful contractions rippled through her. She gasped, she writhed, she surrendered. She might have even screamed.

  And still her orgasm went on. It crested at the moment he shuddered and stilled. His body tensed, then he collapsed against her.

  Francesca lay there, under his body, and slowly opened her eyes. She felt good. Better than good. She felt capable of performing miracles. The lovemaking had been great. Amazing. Sinus-clearing. She wanted to do it again. She wanted—

  Reality chose that moment to crash her party. One second she was basking in afterglow so bright she could tan by it, and the next she was hardly able to breathe. Panic swept through her, making her squirm slightly.

  Sam raised himself on his arms and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to squash you.”

  “It wasn’t that,” she said, trying not to push him away and bolt for freedom. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to school her expression as well as she would like.

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She swallowed, then knew she had to come clean. “Everything. I just…” She sucked in a breath. “There’s absolutely no way I want to get married.”

  5

  Sam’s dick chose that moment to shrink to the size of a peanut. Sam pushed up into a kneeling position, pulled out of her, and slid to the edge of the bed. When he’d tossed the condom, he turned back to Francesca.

  She lay on her back, her mouth swollen, her skin flushed. She was gorgeous. Sexy as hell. And quite possibly crazy. Damn.

  He knew better than to make love this soon. He’d given that up nearly a decade before. He preferred to get to know a woman before getting into her pants, and with good reason.

  Francesca bit her lower lip. “That came out wrong. I m
ean I know you didn’t propose or anything.”

  “Okay.” That was a step in the right direction.

  He stood and grabbed her panties, bra, and dress, then tossed them to her. He collected his jeans and pulled them on, not looking at her until she slipped into her dress and started on the buttons.

  When she’d secured the front of her dress, she sank back on the mattress. “This was really great,” she told him, motioning vaguely to the bed, then to him. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while and…” She stopped and sighed. “So my sisters made me promise…” She stopped again.

  He was still wary enough not to approach the bed. “You said you didn’t want to get married.”

  She brightened. “That’s right. I don’t.” She smiled. “What I mean by that is I’m not looking to get involved.” She shook her head. “I’m not really into the whole romance-marriage thing. I was married once, and I didn’t like it. After Todd died, I tried dating some, but guys always want to take things to the next level. Does that sound too horrible?”

  “No.” Some of his wariness eased. “You think because I slept with you I’ll want to marry you?”

  She covered her face with her hands. “That sounds so horrible.” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked at him. “It’s just that I gave up on the whole male-female thing because it was such a pain. I’m guilted enough by my family. They want my sisters and me to settle down and have dozens of babies. I live with the guilt because I can’t seem to let it go, but it’s not enough to make me do what they want. I have my school and a great career just a couple of years away. Until recently, that’s been enough. It’s just I sort of miss, well, um…” She cleared her throat and shifted on the bed.

  He got it immediately. “Sex,” he said with a grin.

  “That would be it, yes.”

  His wariness faded completely, and he mentally apologized for thinking she was crazy.

  “You don’t want to get involved with me,” he said.

  “You’re very nice,” she told him. “A really great guy.”

  He chuckled and moved closer to the bed. “Be honest.”

  “Okay, I don’t want hearts, flowers, or forever.”

  “Uh-huh.” He sat next to her and took her hand. “But you wouldn’t mind a little slap and tickle.”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t think I’d like any slapping.”

  “Spanking?”

  “Only if I get to do it to you.”

  He grinned. “No way. I’m the dominant male around here.”

  She angled toward him. “I’m sorry I blurted out the marriage thing. The sex was so good and then I panicked.”

  “Me, too. I thought you’d gone postal.”

  She chuckled. “No. I was overwhelmed by my physical response is all.”

  He touched her face. Beautiful, responsive, and not interested in forever. And honest. The one quality he valued above all others.

  “I’m into serial monogamy myself,” he said as he cupped her cheek. “No plans to get married.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I didn’t like my experience, either.”

  She drew in a breath. “Okay. At the risk of moving too fast, would you be open to a monogamous sexual relationship with no emotional ties?”

  He didn’t have to think twice. Not when the woman in question was as appealing as this one. “Absolutely.”

  Francesca thought her experience with Sam had peaked with her orgasms, but maybe she’d been a little hasty in her judgment. Was it possible to have everything she wanted and nothing she didn’t?

  “We’ll see each other when we want,” he said. “Good conversation, lots of laughs, and plenty of time in bed. When one or both of us want to end it, we will. No expectations. No hard feelings. Deal?”

  She felt wicked. She felt excited. God was probably going to punish her, and if the Grands ever found out, they’d have her hide. But it would be worth it.

  “Deal.”

  • • •

  When Francesca arrived at the hacienda for brunch the following morning, she had a bad feeling that everyone was going to guess something was going on with her. She felt radiant, her skin was glowing, and she just couldn’t seem to stop grinning.

  Not that it was all her fault. After striking their deal, she and Sam had spent the entire night making love. They’d crept downstairs about midnight to grab something to eat and then had retreated to the quiet, sensual darkness of his bedroom.

  The only way she’d been able to drag herself from his presence was the realization that if she didn’t show up for her weekly brunch with her family, the Grands would set the FBI on her trail. And she couldn’t very well bring Sam with her. The sight of her in the company of an eligible man would fill the house with the sound of wedding bells. Something neither of them wanted.

  Francesca climbed out of her truck and headed for the back door of the big Spanish-style house. It was early June, which meant every form of plant life was lush, green, and growing. Tall trees provided shade over the rear of the house. The vegetable garden by the garage soaked up the bright sunshine. In the distance acres and acres of vines rustled and danced in the light breeze.

  The flowers on the grapevines had dried up, while the small pea-sized grapes had appeared. From what she had seen on her drive up to the hacienda, they were going to have a banner year. But there was still a lot of time left until harvest, and Brenna would be happy to tell her all the things that could go wrong between now and then.

  The back door burst open. “Francesca!”

  She glanced up and smiled as Grandma Tessa held out her arms. “Come, child. We have missed you.”

  Francesca ran toward the house and up the three steps, then hugged her grandmother close. “How are you? Feeling all right?”

  “I’m old, eh? Things don’t work as well as they used to, but I’m here. That’s enough.” She released her granddaughter, reached up, and pinched her cheek. “Still a pretty girl. But you’re not so young anymore. You need to be married, Francesca. You need bambinos. It is time.”

  Normally she found the family pressure a little exasperating, but today nothing could puncture her good mood. “Before I’m too old, right?”

  “Single women over thirty,” her grandmother said knowingly. “I read. Easier for you to be taken by aliens than find a man. You only have three years, Francesca. Don’t waste them.”

  Francesca laughed. Her cheek stung from Grandma Tessa’s enthusiasm, but the pain was as familiar as the entreaty that she marry and produce offspring. Over the past three years the hints had become much less subtle. Fresh off the success of her older sister’s engagement, the family had increased the pressure.

  If she mentioned Sam, they would get off her back about finding a man. Of course, they would also want to meet him and find out if a wedding date had been set. Knowledge of her “no commitment” agreement with him would send both grandmothers scuttling for their rosaries and force her parents to have a long talk with her. Better to play along.

  “Talk to her,” Grandma Tessa said as they entered the open and airy kitchen.

  Grammy M—Mary-Margaret O’Shea to the rest of the world and Francesca’s maternal grandmother—glanced up from the dough she’d rolled out on the granite counter.

  “Francesca! My darlin’ girl.” She wiped her hands on the apron she wore.

  Francesca walked over for another hug—this one without a cheek pinch—and bent down to embrace the tiny woman.

  “Grandma Tessa wants me to get married again,” Francesca said with mock surprise. “What do you think?”

  Grammy M shook her head, causing her white curls to bounce. “You’re supposed to be respectin’ your elders, young lady, not makin’ fun of them. We want you to be happy.”

  “You want me pregnant.” Francesca snatched a scone from a cooling rack.

  “Married and pregnant,” Grandma Tessa corrected.

  Grammy M grinned, her blue eyes dancing with humor. “Oh, I
don’t know, Tessa. I’m thinkin’ we could probably find it in our hearts to forgive Francesca if she found herself with a wee one in the oven.”

  Francesca chuckled, but didn’t even try to get in the middle of that conversation. Instead she broke the still-steaming scone in half and took a small bite. The firm, golden-brown crust gave way to a soft, perfectly baked, orange-flavored center that made her mouth water even as it dissolved on her tongue.

  “Amazing,” she breathed. “Grammy M, we’re going to have to try another scone lesson. I want to be able to do this at home.”

  Her maternal grandmother gazed at her fondly before shaking her head and returned to the dough she’d rolled out.

  “You’re a lovely girl, but you don’t have much success in the kitchen.”

  “I took that cake-decorating class a couple of years ago.”

  “Your father nearly choked to death on that piece he ate,” Grandma Tessa reminded her.

  Francesca knew they were right. She was a disaster when it came to cooking, although she continued to take classes. Mostly because despite a degree in psychology, she couldn’t seem to talk herself out of the guilt she felt for not caving to family expectations about marriage and kids. So she substituted a quest for excellence in the domestic arts.

  “The flowers on the cake were pretty.”

  “That they were,” Grammy M agreed. “And you make a lovely radish rose.”

  Francesca took another bite of scone, then crossed to the cupboards above the dishwasher and grabbed a glass. “Is this your way of telling me my cooking has style but no substance? I was thinking of taking a class on Chinese cooking this summer.”

  “We’re telling you that if you want to win a man’s heart, come by and pick up some ravioli,” Grandma Tessa said cheerfully. “I always have them in the freezer, along with a nice, thick meat sauce.”

  Winning a man’s heart was not a place she wanted to go. “Did Mia’s flight get off all right?” she asked to change the subject.