Emma’s lips turned down in a pout that almost worked. Luckily Kennedy knew better. Give this girl an inch and she’d take a mile.
“Come on, Kennedy. Just stay for a little while longer.”
But Kennedy was already backing up, making her way toward the door with another apologetic wince. So sorry, gotta go.
It wasn’t until she hit the cold air outside that she allowed herself a long exhale of relief. Thank God, she’d escaped. She should never have let Emma talk her in to going to a party. Ever, but most especially on this day of all days.
You need to get out there, Emma had insisted as Kennedy had poured herself a bowl of cereal for dinner. You need to meet people.
Why? Why did she need to meet people? Emma had never given her a satisfactory explanation for that one.
If she had to guess, she’d say Emma, like most of her friends and family, was hoping that she’d meet someone.
Someone other than Patrick.
But Kennedy had no plans to meet someone new. She and Patrick had a good thing. Or they had before they’d decided to take a break while Patrick went off to get his MBA in Boston. Just like their relationship, their decision to press pause on their relationship was practical. It made sense.
But try explaining that to Emma.
Practical, she’d repeat with a look of disgust. What does practicality have to do with romance?
But what Emma could never seem to grasp was that Kennedy didn’t want romance. She didn’t need it. Maybe she had some sort of genetic flaw or something, because she’d never been one for love stories and fairytales. What she wanted out of life, and out of a partner, was respect, autonomy, and a well-defined path.
She had that with Patrick, just like she had that with her career. And that was no accident. She’d plotted her career in human resources to follow a clear-cut trajectory, just like she and Patrick had planned out their life together based on their mutual needs and desires.
It all made perfect sense, really, including their decision to take these two years to focus on their individual pursuits rather than bog themselves down with the logistics of a long distance relationship.
Of course, Emma didn’t understand any of that. Kennedy could talk until she was blue in the face and Emma would still give her that same puzzled look—the one that made her eyebrows draw together and her nose crinkle up. It was adorable, really. Adorable and annoying. She was tired of having to explain herself and exhausted by nights like tonight when her well-intentioned friend tried to get her out of the apartment.
“Good luck.” A guy’s voice next to her called her out of her reverie and brought her to the moment.
The man beside her was huddled in on himself, as if hunching would make the cold go away. He was cute in a scruffy way. Dark hair, scruffy beard. That was about all she could tell from her view of his profile.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
He glanced over and she temporarily forgot to breathe. Oh fuck. He wasn’t cute. He was hot. No, he was gorgeous. Like, somebody ought to put this guy up on a billboard kind of gorgeous.
She found herself blinking rapidly. Good Lord, her eyes couldn’t take in this much masculine beauty all at once.
He nodded toward the street. “Good luck getting a taxi. I’ve been waiting forever.”
His words managed to cut through her haze of awe. Oh. Right. He was standing there waiting for a cab.
She held up her phone automatically. “I’ve got one coming.”
His scowl was hot. How did he manage that? He pulled his dark eyebrows together and his perfect mouth turned down at the corners. “I tried ordering a cab and it keeps saying there are none available.”
He said it as an accusation. As if she’d worked some kind of voodoo to summon a ride. She thought about informing him that she’d hailed the cab nearly an hour ago but changed her mind. Instead she shrugged and gave him a smartass grin. “I guess they just like me more than you.”
He made a snorting noise that made steam billow in front of his face like one of those horses in Central Park. For some reason that image made her laugh—no one in their right mind would compare this guy to a horse.
Not unless he was hung like one.
She let out a little huff of laughter at her own raunchy joke and watched as his scowl intensified.
“I’m so glad my misery amuses you,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, grumpy.”
He bristled.
God, this guy was too much fun to annoy. Inexplicably, his growing irritation made hers diminish. The more annoyed he got, the more amused she became. Thank God, because she’d been ready to hurt somebody after putting up with all those drunken morons back at the bar.
Not that Kat was a moron, but her friends seemed to be.
Or maybe she just hadn’t been in a party mood. But then again, had she ever been in a party mood? She honestly had to mull that over. She was so lost in thought, she kind of forgot that grumpy hot dude was still standing there.
But he was, and apparently he was still annoyed with her. “You know, a nice person would offer to share her ride.”
“This nice person sounds like an idiot.” God, this guy was funny when he was pissed. Maybe because it seemed so wrong on him. He didn’t seem like a gruff, grumpy guy. His shockingly blue eyes looked hurt, and his mouth pursed in a pout.
He looked like a little boy who’d been told he couldn’t play with his favorite toy.
That image made her grin widen as she crossed her arms to keep out the cold.
“Why is she an idiot?” He sounded personally offended.
Was he serious? Now it was her turn to scowl. “Because what kind of dimwit shares a ride with a guy she doesn’t know? Your hypothetical nice girl is just asking to be murdered by a serial killer.”
He blinked at her and she saw some of his miserable gloominess lift for a moment as amusement flickered over his features. “Sounds like someone is a scaredy-cat. Is that your way of saying you think I might be a serial killer?”
Before she could respond, he reached up and scratched at his scruffy beard. “Is it the beard? Because that’s kinda the look I was going for.”
She squinted at him like he was a crazy person, because he obviously was. She was torn over whether to scold him for calling her a scaredy-cat or laughing at his sudden glee.
Laughter won out. She shook her head and turned back to the street. “You’re nuts.”
“Maybe, but I’m not a serial killer.”
She turned to glance at him and he brought three fingers up. “Scouts honor.”
“I bet that’s what all serial killers say.”
He smiled and she had to turn away so he didn’t see the effect it had on her. Quite frankly, the effect was embarrassing. That dazzling smile was like a bolt of lightning to her core. Her belly sizzled, and she had to press her thighs together to relieve a new and unexpected ache of longing.
What. The. Hell?
This was so not okay. Yes, maybe it had been a while since she’d gotten some action, but she wasn’t some pubescent teen boy who got horny at the drop of a hat.
She shifted, her body screaming with desire and calling her a liar in the process. Clearly it had been way, way too long.
Maybe Emma had a point, after all. She’d been trying to get Kennedy to go out and have fun while she still could. “While she still could” was Emma’s not so subtle way of telling her that she found Patrick to be boring and asexual.
While it was true that he wasn’t exactly the life of the party, their sex life was perfectly adequate. Or at least, it had been until they’d taken a break.
She understood that sex was a necessity in life, and it wasn’t like she was some prude. She’d just never gone without it for so long because she’d typically been in some sort of relationship. Her stance on boyfriends was simple. When there was an opening, she filled it. But these days, thanks to her break with Patrick, she was in an unexpected hiring freeze.
But maybe Emma was
right. No one was enforcing this hiring freeze. She and Patrick were both free to pursue sexual pleasures.
There was an opening in the sex department and the demand was clearly there.
And maybe she’d been in human resources for too long if she was applying those terms to her sex life.
The hot bearded guy rubbed his hands together and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I just came from this party,” he said, nodding toward the bar. “I saw you in there, so clearly we have friends in common, which means I’m not technically a stranger.”
She couldn’t stop watching his mouth. God, what man had lips like that? She wanted to taste them. Her mouth watered and she resisted the urge to lick her own lips.
Jesus, what was happening to her?
His words registered belatedly. Friends. They were friends? “I don’t know your name.”
“But I bet you know my friend Kat,” he said.
She must have given something away with her expression because his face brightened. “See? You can ask Kat about me, we’ve been friends forever.”
She believed him, but keeping him waiting was amusing to her. Crossing her arms as well, she tilted her head up and narrowed her eyes, studying him with feigned suspicion. “Okay, hotshot, what’s her boyfriend’s name.”
“Bryce Dalton.” He smirked. “That’s an easy one.”
She found herself fighting the urge to smile. He looked so proud of himself, that boyish pouting had turned into boyish glee.
“Okay, what’s her middle name?” She had no idea what Kat’s middle name was but she was having fun toying with this guy.
“Easy, Penelope. Come on, give me a hard one.”
She couldn’t fight the laughter much longer, but just then a car pulled up.
Her ride.
It was decision time. It was now or never. To stick with her current nun-like habits and head home, or take a walk on the wild side for once. Would she heed her body’s demands over her common sense?
She looked over at the man in question and her body made the decision for her. Me want, it seemed to say.
What the hell? She had no reason to feel guilt over pursuing her baser needs. It was her prerogative as a temporarily unattached woman. Emma had been right about the fact that once Patrick returned a fling with a sexy stranger would no longer be an option, so why not take the opportunity while she had it?
A thrill raced through her at the prospect of what she was about to do—so impulsive, and passionate, and…so entirely out of character.
But her decision was made and she wasn’t about to turn back. The risks versus rewards had been weighed and the choice was simple, really.
She was going to get laid.
Before she could overthink it any further, she scrambled into the back of the cab, glancing back as she shifted in her seat. “Well?” she called out to him. “Are you coming?”
Chapter Three
This woman was clearly nuts. He couldn’t read her at all, and as an actor Caleb prided himself on his ability to read people. But this woman? She’d gone from irritating to irritated to amused to smoldering and then back again. She was all over the place.
She was fascinating.
Not in a true love kind of way, obviously, but in a case study sort of way. She was hard to read and for Caleb, not many people fell into that category. He’d made a habit of studying people, and most people were easy enough to pin down.
But not this woman, whose name he still hadn’t learned.
He kind of liked that, though. He’d been thinking of her as the mystery woman from the first moment he’d spotted her and it was oddly fitting that she remained anonymous.
He found himself staring at her profile as the cab took off in the opposite direction of where he was headed. But then, he’d been on his way home and she was heading….
“Where are you headed?” he asked. This was something he should have asked before getting in the car, he realized that now.
She turned to face him and he was struck by how dark and luminous her eyes were in the dim light of the car. Her lips were darker too, and so deliciously pouty, like they were made to be kissed.
“I’m headed home,” she said.
Was he imagining that sexy come-hither tone in her voice? He sure as hell didn’t remember her sounding so breathy and sexy when they were on the sidewalk.
She was goddamn Jessica Rabbit in the backseat.
His cock strained against his jeans at the sound of that voice. When her eyes met his he nearly groaned. Her look was hot and heavy and so fucking sexy it hurt.
“Are you coming with me?” Her lips curved up in a little smile that was part amusement, like she was laughing at him, but part sexy allure as well. Like she was beckoning, calling to him.
This woman was a goddamn siren.
A siren in a pantsuit.
He shouldn’t do this. He didn’t do flings to begin with, and tonight he definitely wasn’t in a good state of mind. But there was no way he could say no to this kind of temptation. The air crackled with sexual tension. The car seemed small and her hair smelled heavenly.
Everything about her seemed heavenly right now. Those long, lean legs, the black curls that gave her an air of glamour, the vivid red lips, so at odds with the corporate attire.
Holy shit, he didn’t think he’d ever been more turned on in his life.
“It seems that way,” he muttered, making her laugh softly.
The laugh was intoxicating. It was low and husky and filled with triumph. Like she’d won.
Fuck, he didn’t even know her name but she’d wrapped him around her little finger. She had won. At this particular moment, he would follow her anywhere and she hadn’t even touched him… not yet, at least.
He was dying to kiss her but he kept to his side of the back seat, as did she.
They seemed to have an unspoken agreement to keep things platonic until they reached their destination.
Her home.
Holy shit, was he really going home with some mystery woman he’d just met? He didn’t do this sort of thing. It completely went against his code.
But the fucking code went out the fucking window every time his gaze met hers. She was calling to him without saying a word. He couldn’t look away. Only when her lips parted did he tear his eyes away so he could soak in the sight of those bright red lips, wet and ready for kissing. His brain flashed an image of those lips wrapping around his cock, those dark eyes looking up at him.
He sucked in air, tearing his eyes from her before he came right then and there like some sort of horny teenager.
Get it together, man. He had a whole night ahead of him and he aimed to make it good. He cast a quick glance and saw her biting her lip as she watched him, a matching need clear as day in her eyes.
Hell, he needed to make this better than good. He needed it to be great. The best she’d ever had.
Why? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed this woman to feel the way he did, reckless and overwhelmed by desire.
When the car came to a stop outside of an apartment building downtown, he got out and then helped her out. The feel of her hand in his was electric. Her warmth flooded him, her scent filled his nostrils.
Jesus, he needed her more than he needed air.
He followed her into the building, then up a flight of stairs. He was right behind her as she fumbled with the keys, and then they were inside and it was game on.
He spun her around the moment they were inside, pressing her up against the front door as he lowered his head, his lips finally, finally meshing against hers. Hot and fierce, her mouth met his, their lips and tongues tangling and tasting, probing and licking as they went at each other.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as he held her tight, crushing her against the door, the length of her pressed against him. But it wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes, too much between them.
She seemed to feel the same if her frustrated sounds were anything to go by.
Panting and gasping, they broke apart. “Come with me,” she said, as if he wouldn’t follow. As if he was capable of staying away from her.
He followed at her heels like a puppy, too eager, too excited. The short walk to her bedroom felt too long. As soon as the door shut behind them, he was fumbling and so was she. She was shoving at his jacket, buttons unfastening and zippers coming undone.
Fuck, he was so hard for her. His whole body ached for this. For her. She was smooth and taut everywhere, her skin like silk, her muscles supple beneath his hands.
She was incredible. She was fiery. She was electric in his arms.
When she parted her legs for him, he knew bliss. Sliding inside her, his mind went blank as sensation took over. Sweet warmth. Arms wrapped around him. A soft moan in his ears.
An overwhelming sense of homecoming.
He’d come home.
They moved together in perfect synchronicity, her limbs entwined around him, holding him close. She arched her hips to meet him as he moved inside her, his face buried against her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her.
They both came quickly, tumbling one after the other until they were panting and spent.
After a few minutes, he heard her mutter, “Holy fuck.”
He grinned, still pressing his lips to her neck. “Holy fuck,” he echoed.
Really, there were no other words.
The next morning he woke to find her getting dressed.
“Morning,” she said with a tight smile.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to adjust to the fact that she was showered, wide awake, and watching him like he might try to steal her jewelry.
He scratched his stupid, ugly beard. He probably did resemble a hobo in the cold light of day.
“I’ve got to catch a train this morning,” she said, her voice cold and filled with expectation. It was the sort of voice he expected from the waiting room nurse at his doctor’s office—cold, brisk, and impatient.
She continued to stare at him until he realized what she wanted.
Him gone.
“Oh, right,” he said, scrambling to get out of bed and pull on his pants in one move. It was not his most graceful moment.
Desire for Days Page 2
