SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "So what do we do? Make out in the car?"

  "No. On the porch. That'll give him a better view."

  Gina's heart raced. "Sounds like a plan."

  They ascended the porch, teasing each other with playful little nudges. Deep down, Gina knew this was more than a photo op. She wanted to touch Flint, and he wanted to touch her.

  He jammed his keys into his front pocket. "I'll bet you can't take the keys away from me."

  She glanced at his jeans. "I'll bet I can."

  "Then go for it."

  She reached down, but he caught her wrist. They wrestled like kids, bumping the porch rail and laughing. She managed to free herself and dig into his pocket. And when she latched onto the keys, he grabbed her other hand and pressed it against his fly.

  Her heartbeat went haywire.

  She toyed with his zipper, and he unbuttoned the top of her blouse just a little, just enough to send the brisk March air racing over her skin.

  Suddenly he kissed her—in fury, in power, in a need neither of them could deny.

  The wind kicked up, disheveling her hair and rippling his shirt. He moved his mouth lower, but not low enough. She wanted him to lick the tip of her breasts, to ease the ache, but her clothes hindered him.

  And his clothes hindered her.

  She popped the button on his jeans, then realized what she was doing. A photographer was out there, framing their foreplay.

  "We have to stop."

  "Just one more kiss," he said.

  She clung to his belt loops. Yes, just one more kiss.

  His beard stubble scraped her jaw. His breath warmed her cheek. One kiss turned into two, and she rocked against him, too dizzy to speak.

  He fisted his keys and fumbled with the lock. Finally he made a clumsy connection, and the door opened.

  Together, they stumbled into the entryway, still wrapped in each other's arms. He kicked the door shut.

  And then a moment of clarity hit. The jig was up. No one could see them now.

  He pulled back and dragged a shaky hand through his hair. She tried to focus on his house, but all she saw was a blur of antiques and a maze of color.

  Blinking, she stared at a stained-glass window, but she wasn't able to discern the design. A few minutes later, she shifted her gaze to find Flint watching her with a look so intense he took her breath away.

  "Tell me you want what I want, Gina. Tell me I'm not alone."

  A chill streaked through her.

  "Tell me," he implored, his voice edged with need.

  "You're not alone, Flint. I want what you want." Desperately. So badly, she hurt.

  He moved closer, then stopped when they were inches apart. "Now tell me that it won't matter afterward. That you won't hold it against me."

  "It won't matter," she said, praying that she wouldn't get attached, that she wouldn't long to keep him later. "I promise not to hold it against you."

  He reached for her, and she fell into his arms. For a silent moment he held her, then they looked into each other's eyes and lost control.

  He pulled her blouse open, sending buttons flying. She yanked his shirt out of his pants and worked his zipper. He unhooked her bra; she shoved his jeans down his hips.

  Next, they kicked off their shoes and nearly stumbled in their haste. And somehow, they kissed through it all, their mouths fusing, their tongues dancing, their lungs gasping for air.

  When she was naked, he lowered his head and teased her nipples, taking one and then the other into his mouth. He suckled, filling her with warmth and pleasure.

  And then he slid lower. And lower still.

  Finally he dropped to his knees and looked at her. She gazed at him, struck by his beauty, by the flash of gold she saw in his eyes.

  She touched his cheek, the roughness of his whiskers. Shadows washed over his face, giving an air of mystery to each dark, stunning feature.

  Gina traced his mouth, the masculine line of his lips. But when he nipped her finger, she got a sudden sense of danger.

  Their affair wasn't supposed to be real. This wasn't supposed to be happening.

  "It's too late," he said, as if he'd read her mind.

  "I know." She slid her hands into his hair and combed through the thickness. She craved him. Urgently.

  He licked between her legs, and she went hot. And wet. And gloriously feral.

  Grasping her hips, he held her still. But she fought the stillness and bucked against her lover's mouth.

  Her lover's mouth. Just the thought thrilled her.

  His kisses were slick and sinful, wild and aggressive. He continued to taste her, and she knew he was as aroused as she was.

  He wanted her to climax as badly as she welcomed the sensations he incited—the sensual chill tingling her spine, the flutter in her stomach, the wondrous pressure between her thighs.

  "Flint." She whispered his name, and he deepened each intimate kiss, heightening the pressure. The excitement. The sexual power he wielded over her.

  He would be her undoing, she thought. He would steal her resolve, making her crave more and more of his touch.

  She said a fearful prayer, begging the heavens to keep her sane. But a second later an orgasm ripped through her, shattering the last of her control.

  When it ended, she nearly melted in pool of silk. Blinking through the daze that followed, she looked at a stained-glass window, the same one that had baffled her earlier. But this time, the design took shape, and she saw a naked woman, her hair fanned like a swirling rainbow, her body arched like a bow. Kneeling before her was a man.

  A beautiful, dangerous man.

  * * *

  Flint came to his feet. All he wanted was Gina—the woman who confused his emotions, clashed with his temper and made him hunger like a predator that needed to feed its soul.

  "This might happen fast," he said. "I might not be able to hold on."

  She leaned into him. "Just don't stop touching me. Please, don't stop."

  "I won't." Not ever, he thought, realizing how insane the notion was. When their public affair ended, he would let her go.

  He slid his hands down her waist and over her hips, then brought her flush against him. She was so damn beautiful, slim yet lush with curves. The angel he'd given her dangled between her breasts, the diamonds shimmering against golden skin. And her nipples, he noticed, pink and aroused from his touch, beaded like pearls.

  He kissed her, daring her to taste herself. Their tongues met and then mated, and she made a sigh of surrender. She looked dazed, bathed in the afterglow of a skyrocketing orgasm.

  Flint smiled, pleased he'd done that to her.

  "Is that masculine pride I see on your face?" she asked.

  "You bet it is." He backed her against a table in the foyer. Straddling her on the hardwood floor was out of the question, but he didn't think he could make it upstairs to the bedroom. Or even to the living room, where an area rug would provide a small measure of comfort.

  He lifted her onto the table and pushed her legs open. The freshly polished antique held a vase of flowers his cleaning lady insisted on replenishing every week, and the heady scent filled his nostrils like an aphrodisiac.

  Guilt clawed its way to his chest. Women liked soft, fluffy beds. They liked romance—candles, chocolates and heartfelt bouquets. And he knew a vase of decorative flowers didn't count.

  Gina bit her lower lip and watched him. Daylight spilled in from the window, illuminating her in a color-enhanced glow.

  He entered her, and she clamped around him, warm and wet. He groaned, then froze, cursing his stupidity. He'd never forgotten about protection before, but the condoms he kept in his bedroom weren't exactly accessible right now.

  "Gina, please tell me you're using something."

  Her nipples, those pearl-pink nipples, teased his chest, and he shivered, aching to move.

  "I'm still on the pill," she said.

  Relieved, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "Still? Does that mean you have
n't done this in a while?"

  She nodded, and a rush of excitement washed over him. It had been awhile for him, too.

  In the next instant he thrust so hard he made her gasp. But he sensed that she didn't want him to slow down, to ease the rhythm. She wrapped her legs around him and held on for dear life. When she tipped her head back, her hair tangled around his hands, as seductive as wild-seeded vines.

  He got an image of Eve luring Adam with the apple, of a woman bringing a man to his knees.

  But I've already been on my knees, Flint thought. He'd given her selfless pleasure. Now it was his turn to take what she so willingly offered.

  Danger. Temptation.

  Hot, hard, hip-grinding sex.

  She touched him while he moved, while he pumped his raging body into hers. She roamed his shoulders and then flattened her palms over his chest. Her fingers danced across the muscles that rippled his stomach.

  Her eyes locked onto his, and he battled the urge to spill into her. He wanted a few more minutes, a few more seconds to claim his mate.

  The table shook under the pressure of their joining. The vase of flowers rattled. Sensation slid over sensation, blinding him to everything. Everything but need.

  She bit her nails into his back, and he welcomed the sting of lust, the draw of blood. Somehow, he knew she'd never done that to another man before. She'd never been this unbridled, this free.

  He pushed harder and deeper, until his body went taut and he convulsed in her arms. She buried her face against his neck and made a sexy little sound, but he was too far gone to know if she'd fallen over the edge with him.

  All he felt was his seed pouring into her, as warm and fluid as the climax flowing through his veins.

  * * *

  Eight

  « ^ »

  As Flint withdrew his body from hers, Gina became acutely aware of missing him, of wanting to keep him there.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Did she look as confused as she felt? She'd never understood women who clung to a man after sex, and now she struggled with that emotion. "I'm just fine."

  He skimmed her cheek. "So, I didn't hurt you?"

  "No." Gina rose, then put her arms around him, succumbing to her emotions. She needed to cuddle, to burrow against him. "You didn't hurt me."

  He nuzzled her neck, and she caressed his sweat-slicked back. He was strong and muscular, and the power he emitted made her heart beat much too fast.

  Don't fall for him, she warned. Don't get attached.

  Gina took a deep breath and glanced at the stained-glass window. While she held Flint, she searched for the naked woman and her lover, but the images didn't appear.

  How could that be?

  "I could have sworn…"

  Flint lifted his head. "What?"

  "I thought I saw a picture of a woman on that window, but now she's gone." And so was the man, she realized.

  "Really?" He turned, and together they studied the translucent panels. "It was just an illusion," he said. "Stained glass has a way of creating magic."

  "It seemed so real." She tried to bring the woman back to life, but all she saw were abstract shapes.

  The lady and her lover had disappeared, reminding Gina that her affair with Flint would soon seem like an illusion, as well. Magic that wasn't meant to be.

  She picked up her panties off the floor and slipped them on, then went after her bra.

  He followed suit and reached for his boxers, but that was as far as they got. Before she could don her blouse, he took her hand.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked. "We can fix a snack and climb into bed for a while."

  She couldn't refuse, not his charming smile or his cozy suggestion. "That sounds perfect."

  Dressed in their underwear, they rummaged through his kitchen and prepared a tray of whatever they could find. Flint produced a loaf of French bread, and Gina sliced a block of Cheddar cheese into thick, sandwich-size squares. He poured her an ice-cold soda and grabbed a beer for himself. She opened a can of fruit cocktail and spooned the contents into two bowls.

  After they ascended the spiral staircase and entered the master bedroom, goose bumps raced up her arms. His room was nearly identical to hers. And even though she'd been forewarned, the impact of seeing it overwhelmed her.

  But just momentarily. He set the tray on a nightstand and coaxed her into bed, where she slipped into the gentle, post-sex comfort he provided.

  He handed her a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese, and she spilled crumbs onto the quilt, realizing they'd both forgotten napkins.

  "We should probably work out the details of our final fight," he said.

  "Our final fight?"

  "The public breakup."

  A sharp pain lanced her chest. Had he done that deliberately? Had he meant to spoil the intimacy? To remind her that none of this was real? "That's your area of expertise," she said, hoping she sounded more unaffected than she felt. "You're the spin doctor."

  "I guess it could happen at the Gatsby party my stepmother hosts every year. I'll make sure some reporters are on hand." He studied his beer. "Better yet, I'll start a rumor that Tara might show up. That'll have the press clamoring for an invite."

  Stunned, Gina could only stare. "Won't that ruin your stepmother's party?"

  "Are you kidding? It'll make it the place to be. The event of the season."

  Jealousy gripped her hard and quick. Why didn't he just invite Tara and make the rumor come true?

  "We'll stage a fight at the party," he said. "Then you can break up with me. I'm sure you'll be able to come up with a few legitimate gripes. Some reasons to dump me."

  "Yes," she agreed. "I'm sure I can."

  For a moment he fell silent. Then he took a swig of his beer. "Do you want to rehearse what you're going to say?"

  "What's to rehearse? You're a shallow jerk who refuses to settle down. That ought to be enough."

  He had the gall to look wounded. "I'm not shallow. And I plan on settling down. Just not with someone like you."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Someone like me?"

  "A woman focused on her career."

  If the bed had opened up and swallowed her whole, she wouldn't have been more surprised. "That's the most chauvinistic remark I've ever heard." And she couldn't believe it had come out of his mouth. "I intend to get married and have children someday," she told him. "But that doesn't mean I should sacrifice my career in the process."

  "That's a pretty selfish attitude, don't you think?"

  No. Gina thought it was progress, the way of the modern world. "Get a grip on reality, Flint. Wake up and smell the century."

  He rolled his eyes, and she dropped her food onto the tray. She didn't intend to spend another minute in his company. But when she attempted to leave, he grabbed her arm.

  "Where in the hell do you think you're going?"

  She struggled to pull free. "Home."

  "Oh, no, you're not." He yanked her onto the bed and she landed on top of him with a thud.

  Face to face, chest to breast, they stared at each other. And then he flashed his spin-doctor smile.

  She wanted to thrash him with her fists, to pound that damn smile right out of him. "What are you grinning at, you big ape?"

  "You, you little ape."

  He tapped her chin in a playful gesture, and she knew both of them were losing the battle. She wanted to be in his arms as badly as he wanted her there.

  He stroked a hand down her back, calming her, soothing her with affection. "Stay with me, Gina."

  She closed her eyes, afraid of what he was doing to her, of the tug-of-war, of the hope and harrow he unleashed. "We have such different ideals. We don't agree on anything. We're not right for each other."

  He traced a lazy hand down her spine. "I know, but I'm not asking for forever."

  "You're asking for uncommitted sex. For as much of it as you can get."

  "I can't help it," he said, his voice going rough. "You're like an addiction.
A drug. An ache I can't control."

  His admission slid over her, as hot as burning wax, as daring as candles melting over bare flesh.

  She opened her eyes and breathed in his scent. She could feel his pulse beating against hers, a rhythm much too unsteady to ignore. "I'm going to break up with you at the party."

  "I know." He rolled her onto the bed, so they lay side by side. "But what about the time in between?"

  "I'll be with you. And then, when it's over, it's over. We won't let it linger."

  He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, but his voice was still rough. "I wish it could be different."

  "It doesn't matter." She didn't want to dwell on impossible wishes. They both knew they weren't meant to be.

  "Do you still think I'm shallow?" he asked.

  "Do you still think I have a stiff nature?" she countered.

  His lips twitched, and she knew he was going to smile. "I've been calling you an ice princess in my mind, but now I'm not so sure the term fits. I haven't quite figured you out."

  "Me, neither. With you, I mean." She didn't understand why he wouldn't marry a career woman. He seemed like a modern man, but that wasn't the case. His outdated values confused her.

  He reached for a lock of her hair. "I'm going to miss you, Gina."

  She would miss him, too. Desperately. "We're not done with each other yet, Flint."

  She slid her hand down the front of his body, then pressed her thumb to his navel. His breath rasped out, and his stomach muscles bunched and quivered.

  "Are you going to make the ache go away?" he asked.

  "Yes." She would feed his addiction, the hunger he claimed he couldn't control.

  She looked into his eyes and saw them turn a glittering shade of gold. He touched her cheek, and she smiled.

  Slats of sunlight streamed in from the window, sending shadows across the bed. The day was chilled yet warm, breezy yet calm.

  She moved closer, and they kissed. He took her mouth, and she took his.

  But that wasn't all they took. Somewhere deep inside, they stole each other's souls. Not for eternity, she thought. Just for the moment.