by Law, Kim
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
Clyde gave another nod. “Then I’ll bring everyone in early for a quick run-through before we go live.”
The heavy smell of flowers filled the kitchen as Cat dug through the cabinets to find yet another vase. She’d not only come home with two dozen yellow roses from Brody, but three other people she didn’t know had given her roses as well. She’d been loaded down with them.
Brody had stuck around only long enough to help her to her car, carrying the majority of the flowers for her, but then he’d disappeared. He’d given her a quick hug and muttered something about seeing her at the house.
She plunked the last dozen into the oversized glass she’d pulled from one of the cabinets, then stood, hands on her hips, and turned in a circle. She didn’t see him at the house.
Not that he’d said he would see her tonight. She’d just hoped he would.
Actually, she’d hoped he would invite himself over. Especially after that kiss she’d laid on him at the theater. She hadn’t meant to do that—still couldn’t believe she’d done it in the middle of all those people—but as the play had ended, she’d been so amped that all she could think about was finding Brody.
Then all she could think about was being in his arms.
So she’d put herself there.
And she’d kissed him.
Which had not been one of her smarter moves. Especially since they’d already made the papers once that day. But she had to do something with all that energy built up inside her. And when a hot, studly professor looked at her as if he wanted nothing more than for her to be in his arms?
Well, a girl could only hold back so much.
She’d wanted to invite him over, but the look in his eyes as he’d loaded the flowers in her car had warned her away. It had almost been as if he was upset with her. Maybe because she’d botched so much of his play?
But she hadn’t meant to. She’d forgotten her lines! She’d had to improvise.
The crowd had seemed okay with it, though. Most of the time. But still, she should have rehearsed more. It wasn’t like her to slip up in public, and she didn’t particularly care for it. She’d work extra hard tomorrow to make sure the same thing didn’t happen again.
If only Brody would show up so she could explain.
She sank into a chair at the kitchen table, sitting in the midst of three bunches of the flowers, and sighed. Her foot bounced up and down on the floor as she opened her laptop. Her kids would be hours asleep, but maybe JP or Vega would be online and she could video chat with them. Or possibly she’d gotten an e-mail asking how the night had gone. Anything would be better than sitting there alone.
When she got the laptop booted up, no one seemed to be around.
She checked her cell. No texts, no missed calls. Not even another message from her mother.
Ugh. She couldn’t just sit there. She was too hyped on adrenaline.
Making up her mind, she grabbed her cell and a small flashlight and headed for the back door. It was well after ten and heavy darkness outside, but she refused to sit inside bouncing off the walls. She would go for a walk on the beach. The fresh air would help. Hopefully.
Only, when she stepped out her back door, there was Brody at the base of her stairs.
He’d changed out of the suit he’d worn to the theater and into heavily washed jeans and a dark green pullover. His feet were bare, his glasses were nowhere to be found, and his hair once again stood on end. One hand was on the railing, while the other held a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
She blew out a breath.
Thank goodness he hadn’t left her alone tonight.
He looked up the stairs, his expression unreadable in the shadows, and held up the hand carrying the champagne. “Want to celebrate?”
“You bet I do.”
He took the three steps up to the deck, but before a single drop was poured, set everything on the small table and reached for her. She slipped into his arms.
His mouth settled over hers and she poured every ounce of energy she had into the kiss. Electricity sizzled through her body, seeming to shoot out through the tips of her toes. She licked his bottom lip. He groaned into her mouth.
Then she smiled against his lips.
In the next instant, he reversed their positions and lifted her to the narrow railing. This put her at a better height, but she had to hold on to his shoulders to ensure she didn’t tip over and fall to the ground.
When he stepped between her thighs, she quit worrying about falling. She simply hung on and let him have his way.
Neither of them said anything as she tugged upward on his shirt, and he went to work on the row of buttons running down her chest. His shirt hit the deck flooring, then he pushed hers from her shoulders. It slipped down her arms and silently disappeared into the dark behind her.
She did have the momentary thought that they were out on the deck and there were solar lights glowing all around them. However, the lights only added to the ambience.
If anyone happened to be watching from a distance, it would look only like two people making out. As opposed to the fact he was currently tugging at the fabric of her skirt, trying to get it below the cheeks of her butt. She held tight around his neck and let him lift her just enough to pull the skirt free. Then he plopped her back down. She sat on the deck railing in her matching hot-pink demicup bra and bikini panty set. They’d been a birthday present she’d bought for herself earlier that year. Just in case this ever happened again.
Heat from Brody’s bare chest taunted her, and she slid a hand over him. He was hot and solid and taut. Everywhere. She wet her lips, thinking about putting her mouth to him, but wanted to explore with her hands first. He was like a clay-sculpted model put out in the sun just long enough to bake to perfection.
She’d never realized daily jogging could do that to a body.
The thought made her suck in her own gut. She didn’t look bad, but she had birthed three babies over the years. There was no doubt her offerings weren’t nearly as chiseled as what she was getting in return.
Too bad.
She bit her lip to keep from leaning forward to kiss his skin, and dragged a finger down the middle of his stomach. It slipped right between his six-pack, and her insides quivered. They were about to do naughty, naughty things.
And then she realized that she was the only one actively participating.
“Brody?” She held her breath. Surely he hadn’t changed his mind.
He still had his pants on, but there was a bit of distance between their bodies now, and he’d stopped all movements. He hadn’t protested as she’d explored him, but his hands had not taken their own path over her.
“What?” His voice held a sharp edge.
“You okay? You . . . uhhh . . . stopped.”
“I haven’t stopped.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “I’m simply watching you as you touch me. It’s hot as hell.”
“Oh,” she breathed out. Her lips were dry again. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth as her tongue darted out to her bottom lip. “So you don’t want to quit?”
He chuckled softly, and it felt like what they were doing took on a new degree of danger. “I might die if we quit.” His voice was so raw that a shiver wracked her body.
She left her hand on his abdomen but spread her fingers wide, pressing her palm flat to his skin. The feel of his pulse pumping so close to the surface had her closing her eyes. She felt suddenly shy. It had been a long time since she’d done this.
“I think I’d rather you touch me at the same time,” she whispered. She hated the note of insecurity in her voice.
She opened her eyes and caught a question in his. He was asking if this was what she wanted.
She nodded. She did. She was just nervous.
Then he took a ha
lf step forward and pressed against her once again. His legs were hard and solid against the softer skin of her inner thighs, but his jeans were butter soft. He placed a hand at her waist, gripping her securely, and dropped his other hand to the top of her thigh. His fingertips skated lightly over the surface. She shivered. And then he kissed her.
This kiss wasn’t quite like their first one. It still said that he knew what he was doing, and that included ridding her of her clothes. But it also said he was going to take his time doing it. He savored her. He took small tastes of her lips, the space between her eyes, her forehead. Then he nibbled the spot directly behind her ear.
An uneven sigh dragged from between her lips.
His mouth edged under her jawline and headed toward her chin, urging her head back as he went, so that she tilted her face up to the black sky. When he reached the spot just under her chin, he slipped an inch lower and held her there, her neck arched back, her eyes closed, feeling everything he was doing to her.
As he kept his mouth right at that spot, his heated breaths washing over her, his fingers suddenly touched her just below her belly button. She sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. He’d essentially blinded her by keeping her face tilted away from what he was doing. It heightened her sense of touch.
“Shhh,” he whispered against her, soothing her with his words as his fingers swished back and forth where they lingered against her stomach.
Then they dipped lower. This time sliding along the lace of her panties.
She whimpered. Her nipples reached for him. They ached. She wanted to lean into him. To force him to touch her breasts.
But she didn’t move for fear he would stop something else he was doing. She would have to trust him to do things right.
His mouth nipped very softly just off center of her throat and then his fingertips slid under the lace and slipped easily between her thighs. She gasped and arched her back. Her chest pushed forward, and if his other hand hadn’t still been holding her at the waist, she would have tumbled backward into the dark.
“Brody,” she begged.
“Shhh.” His fingers swept softly over her. “Just feel.”
“I am feeling, but it’s—” She stopped talking, panting instead when he rubbed back and forth over the most sensitive, swollen part of her. Oh God, she couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so good. Her whole body tensed as if readying to take flight.
“Brody,” she whispered again, this time more urgently. “I’m not going to be able to . . .” She sucked in a sharp breath at a movement below. “It’s been four years,” she moaned out.
His hand stilled. “Since . . . you’ve been with a man?” he guessed.
She tried to nod, but he still had her head pinned back. “My husband,” she murmured. “I have kids. I can’t . . . not easy to . . . date,” she finished.
He eased slightly away from her but left his hand where it was. She lifted her head until she was once again looking at him through the night.
“Not four years since you’ve had an orgasm. Surely?” He said it as a question.
A hoarse laugh came from the back of her throat. “No,” she assured him. “But it’s been a while for that, too. I’ve been busy.”
He watched her steadily, then his thumb swished over her once more and she shivered in his hands. “So what you’re telling me is that you’re going to come really fast?”
She nodded, embarrassed.
“Sweetheart.” He leaned in and put his mouth to her ear. His lips brushed over her as he spoke, and goose bumps lit down the side of her neck. “That’s nothing at all to worry about. In fact, it’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
When his words stopped, his fingers started.
She said nothing else, deciding to simply go with it. But she did tighten her arms around his neck and press into his chest. The feel of his hard muscles soothed her aching breasts, but only temporarily. He shifted back to her lips and kissed her, covering her mouth with his and smothering the moans she made each time his fingers made a faster, tighter circle.
Her hips were tense, and she felt as if she would jump out of her own skin at any minute.
Finally, with a pulsing press of his thumb right into her core, she slipped over the edge of control. She groaned and thrust against his hand. And then she shot off into her happy place. She rode the wave, shaking and begging, almost crying at the pure pleasure coursing through her.
It lasted for what seemed a very long time, yet ended way the hell too soon.
As the contractions dissolved, she went limp in his arms, thankful once again for the hand at her waist. She tilted forward and put her forehead to his bare chest. Then she smiled lazily at the vibrations of his soft laugh.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she groaned. “It’s been way too long since a man has touched me.”
“Sweetheart,” he whispered. His head was resting on hers, his cheek lying against the top of her hair, and his arms now wrapped around her back. “I would never make fun of something like that. I might try to make it happen again, but making fun of it, never.”
She nuzzled her cheek against his warm chest before lifting her face to his. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I appreciate the help getting rid of some of my adrenaline.”
He gripped her behind both knees to wrap her legs around his hips and scooped her up in his arms. “As long as you don’t think we’re finished.”
He turned for the house, reaching for the champagne and glasses at the last minute, and she laughed languidly at his words. She was too relaxed to do more than hang on.
“I seem to be your prisoner at the moment,” she said. “Do with me what you will.”
CHAPTER TEN
BRODY LOOKED DOWN at Cat as she clung to him, and wondered what she would think if he told her he wanted to lock her away in his house for the next two weeks, just to see if there was a chance he could get her out of his system.
He feared there wasn’t, but he would man up and give it his best shot.
Because if he was calculating right, they had just about two weeks. And that was all.
From what he’d overheard at the playhouse tonight, her children would be arriving in exactly thirteen days. Which meant he had no time at all to waste.
He stepped inside her back door, and before he could ask, she pointed to an open door on the far side of the room. He headed that way. Once he reached the room and could see the precisely made bed inside, he glanced down at her before stepping across the threshold. “You’re okay with this?”
He’d honestly meant to have a conversation when he’d first come over. Talk about the pros and cons of an affair. Make sure it was what both of them wanted. But then he’d seen her through the glass of the back door, her eyes a little too wide, her face still flushed from the excitement of the evening, and he’d known he couldn’t wait.
He wanted her. And he hadn’t wanted to waste another minute making it happen.
Thankfully, she seemed to be on the same page. But now that he had a small moment of sanity, it was the polite thing to do, he supposed, to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage.
She lifted her head slowly, as if it were too heavy for her body, and locked her blue eyes on his. “I’m wrapped around you like Christmas paper, Brody Hollister. Do you really think I don’t want to do this?”
He smiled, and the trickle of blood that remained in his brain headed south.
When they reached the bed, he set the champagne and glasses on a side table and deposited her in the middle of the mattress. At his nudge, she lay back. Then he feasted on the sight of her. Her blonde hair tousled around her face, her eyes glazed, and some of the pinkest underthings he’d ever seen.
His gaze roamed over her curves, anxious to start exploring with his hands. He made it down her legs, all the way to her toes. Then he headed back in the other direction.
<
br /> By the time he got to her chest, it was heaving beneath the tiny scraps of pink.
“You might have been wrapped around me like Christmas paper,” he pointed out, innate understanding settling in that though this was as casual as any other encounter he’d had in the last ten years, it was worlds apart, “but you’re the present.”
He took a moment to uncork the champagne—going slow and a little clumsy because he could feel her watching him—then poured them each a glass before settling down on the edge of the bed. She shifted her position, lifting to one elbow.
“You did amazing tonight.” He clinked his glass to hers. Liquid splashed over the rim. “Congratulations.”
They each took a sip, her eyes locked on his, then her finger slipped inside the waistband of his jeans and she pronounced, “You need to take off your pants.”
Champagne burned up his nose as he spat out his laughter.
“Woman,” he said, shaking his head. “I never know what you’re going to say.” He put his champagne flute on the nightstand and stood, starting on his pants while she rolled to her side and watched. “One minute you seem so sweet, maybe a little shy. And the next, I wouldn’t be surprised to find you with a whip in your hand, ordering me to do you bidding.”
Her eyes eagerly watched his movements as he pushed his jeans to the floor. When they returned to his face, they glinted with mischief. “Whips are an option?” she asked.
“No.” He laughed. He climbed into bed and slid a palm up her leg. “Whips are not an option.”
“Awww,” she murmured, pouting. “How sad.”
She was the sexiest damned thing he’d ever seen.
She rose to her knees then, and pushed him to the bed. He still wore his boxer briefs, but she had the look of someone about to shed him of that particular piece of cotton. She straddled him, and his dick surged, trying to reach up for her, but she stayed on her knees.
She took another sip of champagne, eyeing him steadily as she did, before tilting her glass over his chest. The liquid dribbled over his skin, and he sucked in a breath at the coldness, quickly letting it burst free as her mouth followed the champagne down.
