First Impressions

by Aria Ford

  I waited until he had stopped where he had fetched me. Then I turned in the seat to face him. Looked into his eyes. Let him see the way I was looking at him.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I am.”

  He let out a sigh. Closed his eyes. Then, gently, so gently, he reached for my face. His hand cupped my cheek and he bent toward me, lips seeking mine. Blind and deaf and driven only by the longing inside him.

  I closed my eyes as his mouth conquered mine. His tongue, stiff and imperious, slid between my lips. I moaned and let him taste me. I could taste the sweetness of our shared meal on his lips and I loved the way his tongue filled my mouth, seeking out every crevice of me.

  He had always been like that, I reflected, amazed. It was one of the things I’d enjoyed most. He was never shy when it was us, alone. Other guys I knew regarded their body, and mine, with a sort of impassive indifference, as if the wild forces of nature were something vulgar and shocking. Maddox was a hot-blooded, untamed man.

  He suited me.

  He was moaning, now, and I responded, my own wild passion escaping my throat in a low moan of my own. He took his mouth away from mine and looked into my eyes.

  “Let’s go,” he said softly.

  I nodded. We went out of the car and I walked briskly into my building. He stayed to check things were locked and then, quickly and silent, followed me into the doors.

  We rode the lift in silence. His body was pressed to mine and my arms held him tight, reveling in the way I had to strain to encompass that full, broad, muscular chest. My body pressed his and sighed, feeling his muscly warmth in my arms.

  At the top floor, we slid out. I calmly withdrew my key and unlocked the door while he stood behind me, hands caressing my back. I breathed out raggedly.

  “Let me go,” I whispered, trying to find the right key. “I’m too distracted.”

  He gave a throaty laugh, and we fell in breathlessly into my apartment.

  I walked through the sitting area with a sense of unreality, hanging up my coat and bag and slipping off my sandals. He followed me, and when I was done, drew me into his tight, muscled embrace.

  “Macy,” he whispered. My body melted under his touch as he drew me into his arms, hands brushing down my back. I could feel an improbable lump in his trousers that told me he was fully aroused. I sighed, shivering as I recalled how hard he was.

  “Come on.”

  We found our way to my bedroom in the darkness. I drew the curtains but he put out a hand, stopping me.

  “Just the darkness,” he whispered, “and you.”

  I sighed, agreeing as he drew me into his arms again and kissed me sweetly. His tongue played along the line between my lips, teasing me by not yet entering, tickling the line of my lips.

  I sighed and leaned against him. He pushed back. I could feel his hands stroking down my back, seeking out the fastenings of my evening gown. I sighed and pushed against his chest.

  He gave a soft laugh and pushed against me and we both ended up falling to my bed. I lay on my back, breathless, looking up at the ceiling a moment. Then I felt him stroke my face, heading down my neck to the button at the top of my gown.

  I rolled over a little and let him undo the top clasp, then draw the fastening down to my hips. His hand strayed inside, stroking the bare skin there. I tensed and let out a surprised gasp. He smiled. In the darkness, I could just see the whiteness of his teeth, the shine of his wide open eyes.

  His hands stroked me through the back of the gown then moved forward as he gently, so gently, eased it down my arms and slid the sleeves away, one sleeve at a time. That was the other thing I loved about Maddox—he was so caring.

  I felt him draw the bodice of the gown to my belly, leaving me in my bra and panties. He sat back, studying me.

  “Oh,” he gasped. He let his eyes feast on me and I reveled in the touch of his stare, as intimate as a stolen kiss. He reached out and took a breast in his big hand, making me gasp.

  I bit my lip as he squeezed me and then drew down the white lace cup of my bra, his eyes focused on me. He bent lower and drew my nipple into his lips.

  I closed my eyes as the feeling of that shot through me, blissful and sweet and quite wonderful. I was aware of a rising tremor in my body as he touched my breasts, gently undressing me while he did so. The clasp of my bra came undone without my being aware of it and I felt the coolness of the air in the bedroom touch my skin.

  He sat back, looking down at me. The bra he put aside carefully, then removed my panties.

  I lay there, naked before him, and felt his eyes devour me.

  “Macy,” he whispered. He stroked my side, his big, warm hand stroking my waist and then lower, down my hip to my knee.

  I rolled onto one side to look at him. I smiled.

  “What?”

  I didn’t speak. Just flicked the button at the top of his shirt. He nodded.

  “Yes.”

  As he undressed, more rapidly than I could ever undress him, I stared with amazement. It was like unwrapping a wondrous Christmas present.

  His chest gleamed in the light from the windows, the shadows playing over those hard, firm pecs, glistening off his flat abdomen. His shoulders rippled with muscle and his every gesture seemed lithe and taut, woven with muscle.

  I sighed as he came to join me on the bed. I could smell the musky scent of him and it excited me. He moved to lie next to me and I shivered, feeling his soft skin pressing on mine.

  He moved to kiss me, his soft lips gently tracing mine and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. It felt safe and warm and secure, his lips warming mine, his body pressed on me. It was different, so different. I was a woman with my own career. He was a man, with his. We weren’t kids. We were grown up now.

  But still, our bodies remembered how we had been, all those years ago. As his hand stroked down my chest, making my entire body shudder with anticipation as he traced his long, firm fingers over my belly and lower still, stroking my thighs.

  I gasped as his fingers moved between my thighs, gently probing my wetness. That was something new—he had matured in the time he’d been away and I felt a throbbing need in me to find out what it was he’d learned.

  His finger slid down between my legs, probing my folds. I cried out as he touched me there, grazing lightly over my clit with his index finger. My body jolted under his touch and, as he gently stroked me there, a slow, repeating touch that started slowly and grew faster, I felt myself shudder and start to shake.

  I was so close to my climax as he sat back and then, so gently, lowered his body between my thighs. Those soft brown eyes met mine. He looked at once naughty and overwhelmed.

  “Yes?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Oh, yes.”

  I drew in a sharp breath as he positioned himself at my opening and then, slowly and exquisitely, pushed in.

  Oh. My whole body relaxed, all the tension that I never even knew it held melting into the delicious sweetness that was having him inside me.

  He pulled back and pushed in again, slowly. My body tingled and throbbed with the sweetness of it as he thrust into me repeatedly, faster each time, riding the waves that were crashing through my body, faster and faster and stronger and harder and…

  I screamed aloud as I came. It was amazing, a sweet, flowing wonder that lifted me and carried me away into the barest consciousness.

  I must have slept. When I next became aware of my surroundings, I was lying with my head on Maddox’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. He was stroking my side and his lips pressed my hair.

  “Mm?” I murmured, turning over in his arms.

  “Macy,” he whispered. His arms tightened around me, and I shifted so that I could look into his face. I looked into his eyes. My own were wet with tears. Happiness and wonder and release. All of them flowed through me into a single feeling so intense that it tightened round my heart and made me cry.

  I kissed him wordlessly. What could I say? There were no
words to tell him what I felt.

  His lips moved over mine tenderly, nibbling and exploring and making me smile, a tender kiss that held new passion in it, and a wealth of feeling.

  I snuggled close to him again and put my hand on his sternum, feeling the hard muscle and bone beneath my hand. It felt right to lie like this. Right and safe and lovely.

  When I next woke, there was morning light filtering in through the window. Maddox was awake. I could hear him walking stiffly across the floor, heading to the bathroom. A moment later, he was beside me again.

  “Morning,” I murmured. I reached out to him with arms deliciously aching from our embrace, my whole body sweetly bruised, inside and out, with the weight of our loving.

  He rolled onto his side and looked down at my face. He gently stroked my hair. “Morning,” he whispered. He kissed me and I kissed him back.

  We made love again, slowly and sweetly. I rested against his shoulder, my passion spent. I looked out over the growing light beyond the window and knew that I had never felt happier in my life.

  He rolled over and kissed me as I twisted onto my side, preparing to get up. I slid out of bed and looked at the clock, stretching deliciously as I stood. “Seven thirty,” I said, stifling a delicate yawn. It was the time I usually got up.

  I looked about the room, seeking out my clothes. When I stood up from retrieving my socks from under the bed, I found him watching me. I grinned.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head, still smiling. Then he stood up and stretched and I found myself staring at his body, so clear now in the early morning sunshine. Every muscle was so obvious, a walking lesson in anatomy except that no anatomy lesson was ever so beautiful. I found my breath catching in my throat as I watched him move, lost in the sheer beauty of that muscled form.

  He collected his clothes and gave me a lazy grin.

  “What?” I wryly said again, smiling back. My body, even though I had thought it impossibly sated, was heating up again just watching him.

  “Nothing.” He smiled at me and came over and kissed my hair. I clung to him, reluctant to let go now that I had him here with me again.

  He gently extricated himself and went to the bathroom. I heard him showering and bit back a smile as I listened to the water sluicing down his body. I wanted to go in and peep, but I didn’t know what he would say, so I stayed outside, waiting while he finished.

  He came out dripping wet and I held him tight, loving the way his clean, damp body felt against my skin.

  We kissed and I went to shower rapidly. I could hear him dressing and when I came out he had his clothes on again, the suit looking striking on that muscled body.

  “Well,” I said, raising a brow as I tiptoed to my wardrobe to get out a fresh pair of panties. “You are handsome, aren’t you?”

  He chuckled, a low rumble that started somewhere deep in his throat, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Nowhere near as gorgeous as you.”

  I smiled and kissed him. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Jefferson.”

  He chuckled.

  I dressed and brushed my hair and when I finished I was surprised to find him by the front door.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  He stroked my hair. “Yes. I should. Early start, you know.” He sighed.

  “I know,” I nodded.

  Before he left, he paused in the doorway. “I forgot. I don’t have a number.”

  We looked at each other and giggled. He was right—neither of us had a contact number. I sighed and told him my number. He told me his and I reached for my phone, keying it in. That felt better.

  “Good,” I said. He smiled.

  “I think so too.”

  We kissed again and when his lips moved away from mine I felt it like a physical ache. I wanted him so badly. I didn’t want to let him go.

  All the same, as I heard his feet slowly walk down the hall and the sound as the elevator door opened, I felt a glow of pure joy fill my body.

  I had spent the night with Maddox. And, I realized as I made my coffee, a song on my lips as I moved about the kitchen, I was as close as ever to completely, utterly and totally, falling for him.

  In fact, I thought as I stirred my coffee, lost in sweet memory, I had already done that. It was a wonderful feeling. I didn’t think I’d ever stop smiling.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Maddox

  I drove to my apartment in half-awake haze of wonder. I wasn’t aware of anything—the cars, the buses, the pedestrians, the grayish fog of early morning as the sun slowly rose. All I was aware of was my own sweet memories.

  So many memories of her. The way her body felt under mine. The way she tasted when I kissed her. The sweet sound she made when I entered her.

  I went into my apartment and blinked. It was exactly the same as it had been when I left it the previous morning, but everything seemed so alien, as if someone else lived here for the last three years; someone I’d seen before and knew but never was.

  I am not the same person as I was when I went out.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. It was me, alright—the same hooded eyes and thin-lipped mouth, the strawberry-pale hair, and the same slightly tight-fitting suit. But inside I was different.

  Last time I was here, I was still trying to tell myself I didn’t care about Macy anymore.

  This time, I knew that I loved her.

  “Wow.”

  It was all I could say. I went through to make coffee and, while the kettle was on, I changed out of the suit into my normal work gear. I checked my schedule—I had to meet a client for a run at nine. It was 8:40 A.M. now. I quickly slid on my running gear and scrambled around the kitchen for a quick breakfast.

  As I left the house, running to the bus stop to warm up, I relived the memories from that night. It had been completely surreal. From that magical evening when I had sat with her, talked with her—when I had danced with her, for goodness’ sakes—to the drive home and all that happened next. I felt as if something magical had happened; some ray of sunshine from another world breaking in on my ordinary life.

  In the park, I saw my client, George Blake, waiting. I waved.

  “Hey,” I called. A tall, spare man with the body of a marathon runner—if only he could find more time away from his work as a high-powered financier—he waved back.

  “Hey.”

  We set off together. I was trying to keep an eye on my client, trying not to push him or let him sink into the habit that he had of dragging his left leg that always resulted in a bad strain afterward. My mind wasn’t letting me do my job very well, though. It was preoccupied with memories of that night I’d just had. That unbelievable night.

  As we rounded the edge of the park and headed out onto the street, sticking to the nice wide pavement on the right, I felt my own legs stretching and checked the time. We’d been at it for about half an hour already. George was looking surprisingly peaceful. When I first met him, he would have been sweating by now, but now he barely looked strained. I nodded to him.

  “Great,” I said. He nodded back, breathing deep and regularly. As I thought earlier, he could be a great runner if he had time.

  We rounded the block and headed back, planning on a circuit of the park again. When we finally stopped, stretching and sweating, my legs cramping just a little in the early morning cold air, he smiled at me.

  “You look happy this morning,” he said mildly.

  I blinked, surprised it was so obvious. “Thanks,” I said. I felt shy about it and found myself looking at the path, dotted here and there with patches of dew.

  “A lovely morning,” he continued, bending to stretch his hamstrings.

  “Uh huh,” I agreed, lunging to ease out the cramp in my calves.

  “Springtime’s here, I reckon.”

  “I think so,” I replied.

  “Well, then,” he said when we were through with our stretches. “Thanks very much. Same time next time?” He shrugged
a light pullover on over his running things, ready to go.

  “If it suits you,” I agreed.

  “Yup,” he nodded affably. “Always free on Thursday mornings.”

  “Great,” I replied. “See you then.”

  As he left, I wondered whether it was as obvious to everyone how happy I felt. I walked back through the park with an enormous grin on my face. Everything was beautiful today, from the kids playing on the lawn, to the dogs running around the flower beds, to the swallows, flitting high above the city just below the overhanging mists. I just felt wonderful.

  As I drove back home again, the doubts started to set in. What was I thinking? Did I really expect that Macy Trent, executive at Trent Incorporated, was going to be interested in me? I sighed. Unlocked the door to my small, unassuming apartment and sat down heavily on the couch.

  “Macy Trent,” I sighed. “You can’t really fall for me, can you?”

  I looked around the apartment from the viewpoint of the sofa. My eye lingered over the cracks stain on the rug. The general impression of having been decorated in the late Eighties and left undisturbed. It was old and, let’s face it, a bit grim. The taps in the bathroom, I knew, still had the star-shaped handles that taps had when I was a kid, and the light in the kitchen had a chain pull that almost came out of the ceiling if you pulled it right.