She relaxed then, understanding and appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “Yeah, there’s no way you could’ve kept up that stamina.”
He shifted to face her. “I’ve never had complaints about my stamina.”
She shifted to face him. “Have you ever had marathon sex for two days in a row?”
He pinched his chin between his thumb and index finger. “Not really.”
“So, in normal circumstances, your stamina is fine . . . for a man your age.”
“Hey!” He grabbed her legs and ripped back the blanket. Before she could process his intention, he’d wrapped strong fingers around her ankles and began tormenting the bottom of her feet.
She howled with laughter. “Mike! I’m ticklish.”
“I remember.”
Though strong, she was no match for his strength and he was merciless. Her lungs burned as she laughed too hard to fully take in air. Finally, he released her feet, only to move to her sides. She wiggled, arching her back and lifting her hips in an effort to displace him, but froze when she found his face inches from hers.
His breath feathered across her cheek. Submitting to the tingling in her fingertips, she reached up and slid her hand through his tousled hair, swept her fingers across his brow. His gorgeous eyes—a blue so beautiful they would forever be her baseline for the hue—searched hers, growing more molten by the second. Reading her assent, his head descended at an achingly slow pace until—finally—their lips touched.
God, he could kiss. It was a skill he’d mastered. He knew how deep to take it, how wet to make it, how slow to go. In a blur of movement, he shifted their positions, so he was sitting on the sofa and she straddled him. They sighed in unison when their bodies connected, like two interlocking pieces. Coming home.
He moaned and deepened their embrace. The force of his desire was palpable and it would’ve frightened her, except her own longing was just as intense, just as needy. His lips left hers and trailed down her neck. He sucked at her rapidly beating pulse, the scruff of his stubble an exquisite bite against her skin.
“I thought I’d imagined it,” he murmured.
“Imagined what?” she panted.
“How good you tasted.”
He captured her mouth again and she lost herself in his kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, breaking down any barriers, insistent on not allowing her to hold anything back, while his fingers massaged her bare skin beneath her shirt. She melted, grinding the heat of her core against the hardness of his erection.
His hands gripped her hips, meeting her halfway.
She would never get tired of this feeling. Of receiving pleasure from this man and giving it in return. What would it be like to have access to these sensations anytime she wanted? To have him inside of her anytime she wanted?
Uh-oh.
She recognized the route these thoughts were traveling; knew they culminated at a dead end.
Shades of their weekend all over again. She’d just cautioned herself about being too close to him. A few minutes longer, they’d be as close as two people could physically be.
She severed the kiss, her lips tender and achingly swollen. He palmed her face and pressed his forehead against hers, the sound of their heavy breathing harsh in the silence between them.
“We can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“I’m carrying your baby. You have a girlfriend. I still plan to leave. Take your pick.”
“Indi—”
She pushed him off her, aware that his reluctant acquiescence made it easy, and stood. “Thank you for the tea and crackers. I’m going to go back to bed.”
He remained seated on the sofa, his hands clasped between his thighs, his head bowed. She’d almost reached the hallway when his solemn voice stopped her.
“If I’d woken up in time and asked, would you have stayed?”
If your own mother didn’t love you enough to keep you, why should we?
Her heart fractured, but she told him the truth.
“No.”
Chapter Twelve
INDI SAT ON the granite countertops, his navy blue bed sheet wrapped loosely around her naked body. Soft music emanated from wireless speakers and she arched her back, swaying sensuously to the beat.
They’d fallen asleep after a morning of energetic sex and had awakened ravenous . . . this time for food.
“So I’ve got milk, bottled water, coffee, cereal, bagels, and cream cheese,” he said, reading from the list on his phone. “Anything else?”
“That should be good for now. We can always order again.”
“Good point.” He completed the list and submitted his order. “I love grocery delivery services.”
“They have those in most major cities, right? I’ll have to call the next time I don’t feel like going out to shop.”
“It’ll be about an hour.” He let his gaze travel from the rounded smoothness of her shoulders, along the line of her slim thighs, down to her polished peach toenails. “What will we do to pass the time?”
Her bright eyes sparkled. “Let’s play a game.”
He braced his arms on either side of her thighs, leaned in, and captured a kiss. “What, like Monopoly?”
It wasn’t what he’d had in mind but—
“Never have I ever.”
He frowned, nibbled on her ear. “Played Monopoly?”
She laughed, her shoulder ascending to dislodge his caress. “No, the game. Never have I ever.”
His head jerked back. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I haven’t played it since college?”
She smiled softly. “In college, you haven’t lived enough for it to be truly worth playing.”
She was so fucking sexy. He couldn’t get enough. He dipped his head again, nuzzling the satiny glide of her jaw, inhaling her warm vanilla scent. “Refresh my memory. It’s been a while.”
She rested her arms on his shoulders and delved her fingers into the hair at his nape. “I say ‘never have I ever’ and I name an action. If you’ve done it, you take a drink.”
Grimacing, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Screw that. After last night the tequila is still flowing through my veins.”
“It doesn’t have to be alcohol. What about water?”
“Water? I thought it was a drinking game.”
“It’s actually an ice breaker.”
He trailed a finger along the edge of the sheet and crooked his finger in the cloth above the valley between her breasts. “I don’t think we’ve had any problems getting to know each other better.”
She pushed his hand away. “Do you want to play or not?”
He sighed and straightened. “Fine. You start.”
“Okay. Never have I ever masturbated in front of my partner.”
His heart stuttered. “You’re starting there? No easing into the game?”
She bit her lip, her eyes lowering. “I didn’t take you for an ‘easing into it’ kind of guy.”
Warmth engulfed him. He clenched and released his hands. “I usually am, but you’ve turned me into a total horndog. I’ll have to make it up to you. Start over.”
“Huh?”
His lips quirked. “The game. Say it again.”
She smiled, placed her foot against his stomach, and pushed him back. “Never have I ever masturbated in front of my partner.”
Neither moved.
She tilted her head, dark brown waves trailing over her shoulder. “You haven’t?”
He shook his head, his gaze never straying from hers.
“A first for both of us,” she murmured, letting the sheet drop.
Mike watched it tumble down her chest, catch on her pebbled nipples, and pool around her waist.
/> He shivered. “You take my breath away.”
She tossed her hair back, touched trembling fingers to her neck and slid them down to rest against the tops of her breasts. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned forward. “You ready for this?”
Oh, hell yeah. His heart thumped against his rib cage, a rhythmic call to arms. He reached for her, but that cock-blocking foot intervened again.
She nodded to his pants. “Show me.”
Impossibly, the pace of his heart intensified. Could a man die of pleasure?
He released the button on his pants, slowly drew down the zipper. He stole a glance at her, saw her tongue dart out, watched her eyes follow the metal teeth’s reveal. . .
He slipped his hand inside and pulled his dick free. He rubbed his hand along its hardened length using the precum already beading on the tip to lubricate his stroking.
“That’s it,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Now, come here.”
Not even the strongest gravitational pull could’ve kept him away. She pushed her fingers into his mouth and his tongue slid along the slim digits, getting them wet. She pulled them out and replaced them with a quick flick of her tongue, before leaning away from him.
Without breaking eye contact, she took her wet fingers and rubbed them on her nipples until the brown nubs glistened. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes rolled backward, and a moan slipped from between her lips.
His knees threatened to give way. “Babe, you’re killing me,” he groaned.
“Good. Don’t stop.”
He rocked his hips forward, his cock heavy in his hand, as she let her thighs fall open. His breath came in pants.
“Can you help me again?” She held out her fingers.
Abso-fucking-lutely. He sucked them. Hard.
She trailed her fingers down her belly and through the dark brown curls, to the node of pleasure nestled within the folds. Tweaking her clit, she allowed her head to fall to the side while she rubbed herself in a circular motion. She raised her left hand to squeeze her breast, rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
His senses were on overload. The musky sweetness of her desire, the siren sound of her moans, the pulsing hardness in his hands. And the sights? His gaze rested nowhere, bounced everywhere. The jiggle of breasts, her parted lips, the nimble kneading of her fingers, the shadow of her lashes against her upper cheeks.
They flew open, revealed her striking eyes glazed with passion. She slid two fingers inside.
Fuck.
Their eyes met. Melded. He couldn’t look away. This was sexier than anything he’d ever seen, anything he’d ever experienced. Her eyes held the answers to every question he’d never known to ask. It could take a lifetime to sort through them all.
And she was leaving tomorrow.
Her shoulders seized. “Mike. I’m coming!”
In a show of sinfully erotic choreography, her back arched, her torso undulated, and her body spasmed. Moans issued from her in a stream of verbal pleasure so intense, it made him light-headed. He grabbed a condom from his back pocket, tore the wrapper with his teeth, and covered himself before she’d caught her breath.
“Never have I ever seen anything as hot as that,” he said, hooking her knees over his elbows and surging into her tight passage. “We’ll try for slow. Next time.”
MIKE COULDN’T SHAKE the residual sensuality from his dream the night before. Technically, it’d been a memory of the sexy game he and Indi had played their weekend together. He smiled to himself. He’d never think of the drinking game in the same light again.
Play. That was an accurate way to describe their interaction. Sure she drove him crazy with her need to oppose him—for no discernible reason he could see!—but she also brought out a lighthearted side of him. He winced. Had he actually made boxes of tea sing and dance the other night? Yeah, he had. For her.
Even when they’d stood listening to the Youth Alliance choir, in an empty lot out in the suburbs, he’d been content, far happier than at all the society galas in San Francisco. He looked forward to being in her company more than anyone else’s . . . even Skylar’s.
The other woman was fantastic. Chic, refined, intelligent. They enjoyed the same things and had much in common. Skylar was a calming presence; she kept him grounded.
Indi made him soar.
When the elevator doors opened on Computronix’s executive floor, Anya’s pursed lips and foot-tapping form was the first thing Mike saw. It wasn’t unusual for the brand manager to pop by his office for a quick consult. But waiting for him before he’d even cleared the threshold . . .
His stomach churned with apprehension, and for good reason. He wasn’t a stranger to Anya’s displeased reception. During the early days of Adam’s preparation for the HPC presentation—when the genius’s response to Anya’s promotional strategy had often reduced her to clenching her teeth so tightly sparks shot from her molars—Mike had assumed the mantle of her human complaint box, a service she’d utilized early and often.
“When did you plant it on me?”
She stopped short, her set jaw and alert gaze fading into rapid blinking and a furrowed brow. “Excuse me?”
“The tracking device.” At her continued blank stare he elaborated, “How did you know I was on my way up?”
“Oh.” The metal stud beneath her lower lip jiggled. “I told Norm to call me the second you drove onto campus.”
Note to self: Remind the gate’s security guard that Anya wasn’t the one who authorized his biannual bonuses.
“Adam’s not here and the HPC is selling well. Why are you reinstituting our walk-and-talks?” He nodded to the receptionist and headed down the corridor to his office suite.
Anya hurried to keep up with his long stride. “I understand that most of your life is private and none of my business. But you have to understand that Adam’s presentation and romantic declaration to Chelsea, the HPC, and their fairy-tale wedding has put Computronix—and by association, both of you—in the national spotlight. You’re celebrities whether you want to be or not.”
Adam and Chelsea’s love story had generated a lot of interest. It was impossible to determine if that exposure translated into sales for the HPC, although the device was so revolutionary it didn’t need it. Still, he’d encouraged Adam to lean into the publicity.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Adam is the face of this company and his relationship with Chelsea has captured the public’s curiosity. You—your lives—have become part of Computronix’s brand and the care and feeding of the company’s brand is my concern.”
These were the times he missed Adam’s directness. “And?”
“Did you not understand what I said?” she asked, her tone shrill and abrasive.
He shot her a censoring look. While he was never one to throw his title around, he ran this company and worked hard to be worthy of the respect that came with the title.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a busy morning.”
Mike frowned. “It’s only eight-thirty.”
“Even though Computronix has never put out a statement, it’s common knowledge that you and Skylar Thompson have been seeing each other—”
Skylar? Is that what this is about? Had she mentioned him in passing to the press while in New York? Had some old picture of the two of them resurfaced?
“—so you can understand why the press, being the vultures they are, would scent fresh blood in the air, especially given the parallels with Adam’s relationship with Birgitta.”
What did the nasty scandal involving Adam and his ex-fiancée—a model who’d cheated on him and broken off their engagement after Adam had informed her of his Asperger’s diagnosis—have to do with him and his relationship with Skylar?
“Anya, I have no id
ea what you’re talking about and I don’t have time to play twenty questions. If you require my response to or action on anything, you have about one minute to give me a concise rundown. I have a conference call with a company in China starting soon.”
The color deserted her already pale visage. “Then you haven’t seen this?”
With one hand, she flipped open the cover of her tablet and ran the nimble fingers of her other hand over its surface. She angled the device so he could see the screen.
Everything in him iced on the spot.
The hideous headline—“Has Finance’s Famous It Girl Been Replaced?”—isn’t what captured his attention. It was the picture below it. On the left side, a photograph of him and Skylar on a step and repeat at a gallery opening two months ago. In formal attire, her arm nestled in the crook of his elbow, they looked polished, successful, cohesive. On the right, him and Indi watching the teenagers from the Youth Alliance during their serenade. Except whoever had taken the picture had captured them watching each other instead of the performance. Even if they hadn’t been holding hands, there was no mistaking the longing and awareness that sizzled between them. He wasn’t observing two strangers bonding over a good concert. He was staring at a man and woman who shared a palpable connection.
A point that would be apparent to anyone who saw the picture.
Son of a bitch!
He took the tablet and skimmed the article. The video of the kids singing had been uploaded to YouTube, reaching over three million views in the past few days. Some intrepid reporter had seen the video and recognized him, noticed the trucks in the background, and decided there was a story to investigate. Although Griffin had kept his promise with a terse “No comment”—the reporter had put two and two together, disclosed his belief about the donation, and stirred speculation about the “new” woman in his life.
He pulled out his cell phone. He needed to give Indi a heads-up, let her know photographers might be camped out in front of his building. They’d only identified him, but it wouldn’t take them long to name Indi. Especially once this week’s issue of People magazine landed on the shelves. The last thing either of them needed was a picture of her entering or leaving his home.
Along Came Love Page 14
