by Nina Bruhns
He was right. She did deserve a nice, stable man who wasn’t afraid of commitment. If she was going to take the awful risk of considering another relationship, she had to make sure her heart wouldn’t be broken because she chose the wrong man.
Unfortunately, she suddenly couldn’t imagine herself with any man but Russell Bridger.
Which left her...where?
Fresh out of luck. Because he’d only love her, then walk away. That’s what he had said. He would make love to her, then walk away a happy man.
No, it wasn’t worth it. Better to be just friends.
She eased a smile on her face. If it was a bit more subdued than it could have been, well, it was honest. She did like him as a friend, and was glad she could have at least that much of him.
“Mary Alice?”
She jerked her attention up, and realized he was waiting for her to say something. “Um...”
“So, friend, would you like to help me paint the rose arbor this morning?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered, sensing her taste buds awaken again to the flavor of cheese and salsa. “I’d love to.”
He winked, and she dug into the omelet.
It would be all right. She would be all right. She’d just have to be vigilant. Keep her defenses up around him. Lots of defenses. And she could absolutely not let him catch her off guard. Off balance. Because then she might do something crazy.
And if she did something crazy, there would be no stopping herself. Or him. And she’d be lost for certain.
Hopelessly lost, in love with Russell Bridger.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Uh-oh, Watson has company,” Bridge whispered under his breath to Mary Alice, watching a car turn into the neighboring drive.
She was sitting next to him on the back lawn, cross-legged and leaning over a jumble of newly painted wooden arbor parts. The faded T-shirt and old cut-offs she wore carried smears of white paint, as did her thighs where they weren’t covered.
He’d been severely distracted by those thighs all morning, and nearly forgot what he was saying when he glanced over at her. There was paint across her nose, too.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Do?” Damn. He really had to concentrate. He jumped up and asked in a loud voice, “How about some iced tea?” The woman had definitely scrambled his brains.
“Uh, sure.”
He went as quickly as he could into the house and straight to the spare room where he peeled off his painting gloves and turned up the listening apparatus on the phone surveillance. The small electronic device planted in the receiver unit was also able to pick up conversations in the room where the phone was kept.
Within five minutes he concluded that the visitors were just boating buddies of Watson’s, not connected to the technology thefts at Conrex Data Systems. But he left the recorder on just to be safe. Grabbing his digital camera, he fixed a couple of iced teas and returned to Mary Alice in the backyard.
“Thank you,” she said and raised her brows in question as she took a sip of tea.
He shook his head and pulled the gloves out of his back pocket. “Think I’ll take some pictures when we get a bit further along with the arbor,” he said casually, nodding at the camera.
When Watson’s visitors were getting into their car to leave, Bridge snapped several photos of them under the cover of taking shots of Mary Alice next to their painting project.
Of course, he took a few of Mary Alice, too. She looked so cute with her hair straying from the confines of her ponytail, paint smudges everywhere, wearing a glow of happiness a blind man couldn’t miss. He was pretty sure he was wearing that same glow. They’d been having a fine time all morning, painting and talking about everything under the warm California sun. Everything but what was really on both their minds.
But that was okay. It was dangerous territory, what was on their minds. And they both knew it.
So he had to be content with catching her staring at his face, his chest, his biceps when he reached for the paint, and knowing she might just share the craving he felt every time he looked at her. Once he swore she was about to lean over and kiss him. His body had zapped him so badly he’d had to go into the kitchen for a cold dunking in the sink after she’d disappointed him by pulling a ladybug out of his hair instead.
Oh, man. He didn’t know if he’d make it through the weekend. At least during the week, she’d be at work and out of temptation’s way. His temptation.
“I’ll just take the camera inside,” he said when Watson’s buddies pulled out of the driveway.
In the spare room, he uploaded the photos into the task force cloud storage, and emailed Sam Grayson at the station to run them through facial recognition. He added a note to his growing file on Watson’s activities, then went back outside to continue his watch from the back lawn.
And more sweet torture watching Mary Alice.
After dinner, Bridge volunteered to do the dishes.
They’d both avoided wine that night. He was still on duty, and he guessed Mary Alice had overindulged the night before and didn’t want a repeat. Just as well. The last thing either of them needed was to relax their inhibitions.
They’d had fun together today, combining work and play so seamlessly the day had flown by before he’d realized it was gone. But the electricity that still swirled and crackled about them was unmistakable, and gaining strength by the second. Mary Alice could deny it from here to next week, but Bridge knew she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
Not that he’d do anything about it. He’d made her a promise, and he meant to keep it. Just as long as she kept her hands off him. If she touched him, really touched him, he didn’t know if he could be responsible for his actions.
He took his time with the dishes, and when he finally came out to the living room, she had settled down on the sofa with a book.
“What’re you reading?”
She glanced up and her face instantly turned bright red. The book disappeared into the folds of the dress she’d changed into after her shower. “Oh, nothing.” Amused, he strolled over. “Aw, come on now, you can tell me. I won’t give away your secrets.” With a finger he flipped over the cover she was trying to hide.
Mistake. Big mistake. It depicted a nearly bare-breasted redhead swooning in the arms of one of his mother’s Native ancestors. Ho-boy. He licked his lips, briefly imagining what he’d look like in long hair and a loincloth.
“Looks, uh—”
There was no possible way he could sit in the same room with Mary Alice and that book cover. His imagination was far too active.
Her eyes were large and liquid, gazing up at him with a mixture of embarrassment and...something else. Something he shouldn’t even think about.
He let the cover flip back. “I need to get some work done. I’ll be...”
Letting his words trail off, he did an about-face and strode to the spare room, lecturing himself the whole way.
For the first time, he noticed the several bookshelves lining the walls, filled with early childhood education texts—and romance novels. He stared at them for a full minute before forcing himself to sit down in front of the various monitors and his laptop.
He’d be far safer surfing the ’net than having one of those suggestive covers in his hands, prodding his fantasies further into dangerous territory. They’d already gone far enough all on their own.
His email had built up from neglect, so he took a couple of hours to answer it, sent notes to his mom and dad, then checked in on a few blogs and forums he kept up with. He ran through the recording from Watson’s phone conversation, just to make sure there was nothing on it that he’d missed the first time around. Finally, having run out of distractions, he grabbed the perimeter beeper and headed for the bathroom. He took a shower, intending to kick Mary Alice out of the living room so he could toss and turn on the sofa for a few hours before getting up for his usual nocturnal reconnaissance of
Watson’s property.
Standing naked in the middle of the bathroom floor, steam from the shower swirling around his legs, he rubbed his hair dry with a towel, trying to decide what to wear. Suddenly the door flew open.
Mary Alice halted halfway through.
He froze. Her mouth opened to exclaim, but no sound came out. Her eyes fastened on his body.
Kick-starting his momentarily paralyzed brain, he resumed drying his hair. His pulse hammered. Normally he wasn’t into exhibitionism, but at her reaction to his nakedness, something primitive took over. An erotic wave licked through his belly. Excitement surged.
“Sorry, I forgot...” Her words faded as his obvious arousal grew. Her grasp on the flaps of her long flannel robe tightened. But her lips parted. “Oh, my,” she whispered.
“You should leave, Mary Alice,” he warned, his voice low, and rough as a granite boulder. “Right now.”
“Yeah.” But she didn’t move a muscle. Slowly, she catalogued his body parts.
Every last one of them.
He waited several beats, then said, “This isn’t smart.”
She swallowed. “No, it’s not.”
He wondered where he got the fortitude to resist just ripping that robe right off her and tossing her to the floor.
Then it came to him. He wanted—no, needed—the decision to be hers. Completely hers. He cared too much for her to have it otherwise.
A burst of surprise shot through him. Holy crap. He cared for her. Gut-deep cared. When had that happened? The realization almost scared the physical craving right out of him.
Almost, but not quite.
“Something I can do for you, Angel?”
She blinked, tearing her attention from his body. His pulse pounded.
“How about some iced tea?” she asked weakly.
He almost laughed at his own words from this afternoon. But this situation was too loaded for humor. He shook his head. “No.”
She gazed at him. “What would you like to do?” she finally whispered.
It was pretty damn obvious what he wanted to do. His cock was at full stand, straining toward her.
“You.”
The following silence in the small, steamy room was deafening.
She swallowed heavily. Her grip on her robe loosened. As her hands fell away, so did the robe, revealing a long, narrow wedge of bare skin.
His temperature spiked. “Jesus,” he choked out. He should chase her off. Now.
She took a step toward him.
“Mary Alice...” he began, searching her eyes for a hint of her intent.
She stepped back, knocking into the door. It smacked shut behind her.
Tossing his towel over the rim of the tub, he eyed the gap in her robe. She nervously smoothed her hands down the flannel. But didn’t pull it closed.
Step by step, he approached her, until they were practically touching. “This really isn’t smart,” he repeated.
“I’m tired of being smart,” she whispered.
A potent mixture of fear and excitement swirled in her eyes. Her body called to him, an irresistible siren song that left his best intentions scattered.
He slowly, deliberately, opened her robe and pushed it off her shoulders, then let it drop to the floor. Taking one more step, he braced his feet apart. Her naked body grazed his. The hard points of her breasts whispered across his chest as his arousal nestled in the hollow of her abdomen. He could feel the light tickle of her curls between his thighs. Every muscle screamed at him to pick her up and carry her off to bed.
“Sweetheart, are you sure?”
She looked up into his eyes, a little dazed. Hesitantly, she lifted her hands and ran her fingers down his damp chest, stopping at his waist.
His skin burned from her touch, but his mind howled with warning. They should not be doing this. It was a huge mistake they’d both regret in the morning. And yet, he couldn’t tear himself away to save his life.
“Please,” she whispered.
Her quiet plea snapped his willpower in a thousand pieces. He grasped her hips and pulled her a shade closer. “No assumptions?”
“No assumptions.” She looked serious. Like he could trust that she really did know what she was letting herself in for.
The question was, did he?
He rolled his hips against her in a sensual rhythm that left no doubt about what he was asking. Her soft breasts pillowed against him. “Just tell me you don’t want me and I’ll let you go.”
She licked her lips and tilted her face up. “I—”
He pulled her tighter against him. If she changed her mind now he’d die. Simply keel over dead.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her green eyes grew dark as a forest in a storm. Her hands slipped an inch further around his waist. “I don’t want—”
He knew a moment of pure panic. With steel restraint, he leaned down and drew his tongue along her jaw. “You don’t want...?”
From her hip, he let one hand snake around her waist and crawl up her back. She drew in a sharp breath. He painted over her lips with his tongue.
“I don’t want you to—”
Her words were lost on a moan as he took her breast in his hand. With a thumb and forefinger he gently rolled the tip. She arched, and her body pressed into his, fitting like a fine weapon in the hand of a man who loved to shoot.
“Baby, tell me.”
“I don’t want...”
He urged her mouth open under his, plunging deep inside with his tongue.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said on a gasp when they came up for air, minutes later.
With a triumphant growl he lifted her off her feet, burning a path of kisses down her throat.
She would be his.
He drove his fingers into her silky hair and tugged it out of her pony tail, letting it cascade around her shoulders.
He knew this was all wrong, insane. But he couldn’t stop himself.
He wanted her. No, he needed her.
Needed to feel her goodness, clasp her sweetness close to his heart. He could deal with the consequences. He would give her as much of himself, of his heart, as he possibly could, for as long as he could. And try like hell not to hurt her. He’d do anything not to hurt her.
“Where’s our first prize box?” he asked hoarsely.
She nodded at the drawer under the bathroom counter. “There.”
In two steps he’d carried her over, and tore the drawer open. With one hand he reached for the box and flipped up the lid. “You choose.”
For one horrible second she hesitated, and he really thought she would change her mind. But then she dipped into the box and pulled out a packet, placing it in his hand.
“God, I want you,” he murmured, folding her in his embrace. “From the first moment I saw you. I’d use that ridiculous stop sign to hold up traffic, just to flirt with you twice a day. I’ve wanted you like crazy.”
Damned if it wasn’t true. He’d never felt this way about any woman before. Ever. He was ready to burst from wanting her. Just her. Not some random feminine body, warm and willing. Only Mary Alice would do.
And that scared the hell out of him.
But he wasn’t about to analyze it right now. Or let it stop what was happening.
He kissed her deeply, and he could feel her nervousness in her darting tongue. While he prepared himself for her, he could feel her pulse hammering in her wrists as they circled his neck.
He slid the drawer shut with his thigh, pushed aside his beeper, lifted her bottom onto the marble counter, and stepped between her legs. “Tell me this is really okay. That you want me, too.”
“I want you, Bridge.” She softly kissed his lips. “I’ve tried to tell myself I didn’t. That I wouldn’t do this. But I’ve known all along, deep inside, what would happen. Some things are just meant to be.” Looking down to where their bodies met, she wrapped her legs around his hips. “I want you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.”
His heart melted in his chest, then swelled till it hurt. It would be all right. Somehow, they would make it all right. Together. For a while, at least.
He wrapped his arms around her, covered her mouth with his, and drank her in. She trembled, and gave herself over to him completely. He could feel her sweet surrender in the way her body turned soft and pliant, molding itself to him, responding to his every wish almost before his body asked.
Hot, primal need roared through him. He would claim her now. Claim her as his.
His alone.
“Hold me tight around my neck,” he urged, then hooked his hands under her knees, pulling her legs up and wide apart.
She gasped at the way he exposed her. “Bridge!”
It only inflamed him more. “Don’t get shy on me now, baby. Hang on.” It was an incredibly turn-on to know she trusted him enough to do something that was apparently so out of her experience. The primitive male in him shouted in triumph. A fierce need for absolute possession coursed through his blood. “Guide me in, Angel.”
Hesitantly, beautifully, she reached down and placed him right where he wanted to be.
So wet. So hot.
“Oh, yeah.” He leaned into her, pushing in to the hilt.
He groaned in ecstasy. So good. As he’d known all along. “You feel so damn good.”
She threw her head back, her face etched with pleasure. He pulled out once, then thrust in.
Her eyes shot wide open. “What is that?”
A grin fought itself through the sweat beading his lip. “Ribbed condom.”
She gasped as he pulled out again, and plunged back into her. “My God,” she said breathlessly.
He pulled out and thrust in again, loving the way her eyes fluttered at the unusual sensation of the ribs.
“Oh. My. God. That’s...” Her words faded on a low moan.
He loved that he was the one making her feel such pleasure for the first time. He wanted to hold her close, so damn close, and never let her feel anything but pleasure again in her life.
If only that was possible.
Pushing away that unsettling thought, he covered his mouth with hers and explored her with his tongue as he thrust in and out. She groaned. He plunged harder.
