The Devil in Denim

by Melanie Scott

  Maggie caught her breath at the thought of it. Alex in her apartment again. Alex in her bed. Naked. Waiting for her.

  “Personally, I vote for option two. Let’s see what happens. So what say you, Jameson? Want to take me upstairs and show me your etchings?”

  “I don’t have any etchings.”

  His smile was slow, his eyes not leaving her face. “I’m sure you have something that could hold my attention.”

  “I have fifty-year-old Scotch.” It had been a graduation present from one of Tom’s friends. She’d have to write him another thank-you note.

  “That’s a start.”

  “You want something else?”

  “You know what I want. You read the texts. So tell you what. Why don’t you take me upstairs, pour me a glass of Scotch, and you can read some of those again … see if anything catches your interest?”

  Her cheeks went hot as she remembered exactly what he’d written in those damned texts. Thought about him actually doing some of them to her. Knew that as much she wanted to be the smart girl in this situation and keep him at arm’s length, she just wasn’t going to be. Because sometimes there was no way to avoid doing the dumb thing.

  “If you come upstairs, you know I reserve the right to send you home with nothing more than a drink, right?”

  “Maggie, any guy who doesn’t know that is a grade one asshole. I know you don’t always like me that much but I’d like to think I’m not a douche. If Scotch is all I get, then so be it.” He smiled at her. “Though I hope you won’t hold it against me if I hope that it’s not.”

  “I still don’t understand this,” she said, waving her hand as though she could describe the space between them and the weird pull of it with the gesture.

  “Sometimes there’s nothing to understand. Some things just are. No point fighting them.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an Alex Winters philosophy.”

  He tilted his head. “You haven’t known me long enough to know everything about me. Maybe you can grill me over the Scotch.” He nodded his head toward the building. “Are you going to ask me up so I can turn off the engine before I run out of gas?”

  She hadn’t even noticed he’d left the car running so that they still had heat. How long exactly had they been sitting here, having this strange conversation? She didn’t know. She never really knew when it came to Alex. Talking to him was easy somehow.

  Maybe he really was the devil. Luring her in, letting her damn herself. Well, if he was, then so be it. Damnation it was. And at least she had the satisfaction of some fun before she had to deal with the pitchforks and recriminations. She slid free of her seat belt and put her hand on the door handle. “So,” she said, trying for her best sultry voice. “Do you want to come up?”

  “Hell, yes,” Alex said.

  * * *

  He didn’t kiss her in the elevator. He stood a gentlemanly foot or so away and watched her. Watched her very intently with very green eyes. It made her toes curl, as though he was slowly peeling off her clothes with his gaze and doing all the things that she’d been thinking about. Somehow it was even hotter—and more unnerving—than if he had actually kissed her.

  He didn’t kiss her when they got inside her apartment either. No, he merely shrugged out of his coat, and his jacket, and rolled his cuffs back a few times before he wandered into her living room and sank onto her couch. Her very long, very soft leather couch. Plenty of room for her to sit next to him.

  She busied herself finding glasses, messing with the lighting—too much, too little, too, oh god, she was an idiot—and putting on music … selecting something random because she was suddenly too nervous to think about what she even had on her iPod. Luckily it turned out to be something low and rockish. Sexy.

  But then there was nothing left to do but get the Scotch from the cupboard where it lived and carry it and the glasses over to where he sat. She put the bottle down on the coffee table and held out the glasses to him. He took one, his fingers brushing hers. She shivered.

  Alex patted the sofa next to him. “Come here.”

  She obeyed, her knees grateful that she had something else solid to hold her up and that they could give up the ghost. Alex leaned forward and picked up the bottle, tilting it to look at the label.

  “Macallan. Nice.” He unscrewed the cap, tilted it toward her glass, sloshed a good couple of fingers in, then did the same with his own.

  She sat up straighter. “Did you want ice? I have ice.” She was babbling but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Neat is fine.” He sipped the drink slowly, breathed out appreciation, and took another sip. Maggie took what could only be termed a gulp. She knew what the damned stuff tasted like. Right now she needed something to burn some of these ridiculous nerves away.

  “Very nice,” Alex murmured. “And here I thought you were a tequila girl.”

  “Only when I’m having a very bad day,” she muttered.

  “Today isn’t bad?”

  She tilted the glass at him, let herself study his face over the amber liquid. “It’s been okay so far.”

  “Just okay?” He put his glass down. “Watch out, you might wake up my competitive streak.”

  “Oh, do you have a competitive streak?” She swallowed another mouthful of Scotch, then pushed her glass away. Burning away the nerves was okay but she didn’t want to actually drink much. It might dull the anticipatory delight that lay below those nerves. The part of her that wanted to stretch like a cat and wait to be coaxed into purring as she listened to the rumble of his voice.

  “I have been accused of it on occasion.”

  “Back when you played baseball?” she asked.

  “Maybe more recently than that.”

  “You never did tell me when you played.”

  “Later,” he said. “Right now I’m more interested in current events than ancient history.” He shifted on the sofa, so that his thigh pressed up against hers.

  “You want to talk about the economy?”

  “I thought we could talk technology. Like how the use of text messaging has improved male/female relations in the United States.” He smiled.

  Damn. She was lost when he did that.

  “By allowing partners to remind each other to buy milk?”

  “By allowing them to remind each other about other things. Do you need a reminder, Maggie? You could look back at what we discussed earlier.”

  “Uh, my phone’s in my purse,” she managed. “But maybe we could try the less high-tech version?”

  “Such as?”

  “Well.” She decided to throw caution to the wind entirely and pushed up and swung herself around to straddle his lap. “We could start with some basic techniques.”

  His hands settled on her hips, fingers splayed, the pressure of his grip pressing her down against him. She’d worn jeans to the game. Jeans and long boots and she was suddenly regretting that there were too many layers between them. Still, there was no mistaking that Alex was quite happy to find her in his lap.

  She wriggled a little closer, heard his breath catch.

  But he didn’t make a move. His hands stayed still, though his fingers curled a little harder into her flesh. His pupils had gone wider, darkening his eyes. She’d never thought green could look hot but it did now. His restraint made her want to see if she could break it. She ran her hands across his chest, smiling as she felt the thump of his heart under her palm, and then she let her fingers go exploring, tracing the lines of his face. As one finger drifted over his lips, he sucked at it gently then released her again. Every time they’d kissed it had been hot and fast and unexpected, no time to learn the lines of the man who’d dug himself so quickly beneath her skin. No time to impress the feel of him into her nerves and memory.

  Slow.

  That’s what they needed right now.

  Slow. She laid her hands on either side of his head and bent to kiss him. Soft, slow kisses. Dragging her lips over his, tasting him and the Scotch. His mou
th softened and opened and his tongue met hers.

  The taste of Alex and Scotch was her new favorite thing, she decided. Someone needed to synthesize it, bottle it, turn it into Popsicles so she could take her time, lick it slowly, and let it melt onto her tongue. Her hips arched a little at the thought and Alex groaned as she pressed harder against him.

  He let her go then, hands flying up to tangle in her hair.

  Things were speeding up. She found her own hands working on his shirt buttons, greedy to feel his skin, to see him finally.

  She pulled his shirt apart roughly and then leaned back to get a better look at what she’d bared.

  Hard muscle. Warm flesh. The abs she remembered all too well.

  She traced the path of the dark hair that arrowed down those abs, paused when she reached the button of his jeans, distracted suddenly from what she’d been doing by his sucked-in breath.

  “You’re overdressed,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Fair’s fair. You’ve already seen me. I want to see you.”

  “How about a trade?” His hand went to his waistband, fingers settling over hers just at the button. “My jeans for your shirt?”

  That seemed fair. After all, she was suddenly way too warm and clothing did seem somewhat overrated in this scenario. She shrugged off her sweater and Alex grasped the hem of her top and whipped it up and over her head before she could blink.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just for that…” She pushed herself off him and then tugged him to his feet. “Off with them, Winters.”

  That earned her a lazy smile. He toed off his shoes, bent to pull off socks. When he straightened it was she who sucked in a breath. He looked like something out of a very expensive commercial. Shirt undone and hanging loose, jeans with one button undone. Bare feet. Very nice feet. There were male escort sites all over the world that could triple their business overnight with one shot of this man at this exact moment on their Web sites.

  But they weren’t going to. Because tonight, he was all hers. All hers to appreciate in full. But that meant dealing with the rest of his clothes.

  As good as he looked, she was willing to bet a large sum of money that the view was going to be even better without a stitch on.

  She got to her feet, walked a few steps, then, without really thinking what she was doing, sank to her knees in front of him, tugging at his zipper.

  “Maggie?” he said.

  “Ssh, I’m busy.” She pulled the jeans down firmly and let him step out of them. Leaving him in plain black cotton boxer briefs that were currently having the limits of the manufacturing tolerance of their elastic tested. She smiled. Alex was a big guy. Tall. Well built. Apparently that extended to all of him. Including the parts that were currently telegraphing that they were pretty damned happy to see her.

  “Maggie, as much as I’m in favor of doing anything that involves your current position,” Alex said, “I’m more in favor of finding out exactly where in this apartment you keep your bed.”

  She craned her neck back to look at him. “You sure about that?” She laid her hand over his straining erection, leaned closer, and blew on the fabric right where the outline of the head of his cock was clear against the tight black cotton. “Really?”

  He made a strangled noise. “Really.”

  “But you got to do third base the other day and I didn’t.”

  “We’ll come back to it,” he said with a determined tone. “Trust me, it’s not going anywhere.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “You can do whatever you want to me,” he said fervently. He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Just take me to the damned bedroom.”

  “So conventional.”

  “So much for Saint Maggie.” His delighted smile made her warm all over. “Call me old-fashioned but I prefer comfortable for first encounters. I’ll give you all the unconventional your heart desires after this.”

  “Truly?”

  “Didn’t I say your wish was my command?”

  “Makes me wish I had a gray silk tie handy,” she quipped.

  “Wouldn’t that mean I was the one doing the commanding?” he said.

  She grinned at him. “That depends what I do with the tie, now, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess so. Okay. I hate ties but I swear I’ll go shopping tomorrow if that’s what you want. Only, bedroom. Please. Now.” He bent and picked up his jeans, pulled his wallet from the back pocket.

  “Are you planning on leaving me a tip?” she teased.

  He fished in the wallet, pulled out two condoms. “Planning on leaving you unimpregnated.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “I do like a man who comes prepared. But I’m on the pill.”

  “Planning on not leaving you with anything else either. Not that I have anything else,” he added hastily. “Had my last physical when I was setting up the financing for the Saints. One hundred percent certified in good working order. And the condoms are new.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Feeling sure of yourself, were you?”

  He grinned. “Not sure. Hopeful.”

  “Good to know.” She reached over and plucked the condoms out of his hand. “Still, better safe than sorry.”

  “Woman after my own heart. Except for your steadfast refusal to show me the damned bed.”

  “Patience is a virtue.”

  “You’re the saint, I’m the devil, remember? I have no virtue.”

  Her eyes drifted down toward his boxers again. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  He shook his head. “Okay. That does it.” He bent down and scooped her up. “This damned apartment can’t be that big. I’ll find the bed myself.”

  She twined her arms round his neck. “Excellent plan. But I’ll give you a hint. It’s the last door on the right at the end of the hall.”

  “Good hint. Now shut up so I don’t drop you while I decipher it.”

  She laughed as he moved faster than she would’ve thought possible for a man with an armful of woman toward the hall. Thankfully she’d left her bedroom door open and there was no need for him to put her down to negotiate the door. At this point she wasn’t sure she wanted him to ever put her down again.

  Then they got to the bed. She looked down at the peacock-green comforter, thought about everything that they could do on a mattress versus her current position.

  “Unhand me, devil,” she said.

  “Whatever you say.” He tossed her onto the bed, shucked off his shirt, and crawled up the mattress toward her. She tossed the condoms she’d been gripping onto the bedside table and rolled onto her back, reaching for him.

  “Come back here.”

  Their noses bumped as they came together for a fast and frantic kiss. Suddenly, here in the bedroom, they were all elbows and fingers and incoherent sentences as they lost underwear and slid and rolled and twisted, desperate for skin on skin.

  Surely someone had let a bomb off beneath her skin? Heat rushed through her as she pressed against Alex, kissing him madly, drinking him down and letting him devour her in turn. An explosion would explain the roaring in her ears and the heat and the dizzying swirl of her senses. But if there’d been an explosion there wouldn’t be the pleasure singing beneath it all. The pleasure beating between her legs and pulsing in her breasts and flooding her skin everywhere he touched. The pleasure that was gradually becoming louder and more insistent and drowning out everything except the urgency.

  She rolled and reached and groped for a condom, tearing the foil open with her teeth and rolling it onto the length of Alex’s cock with as much speed as she could muster. She wanted to take her time. Wanted to explore the contrasts of him more. Hard muscle. Hot skin. The glorious masculine solidity and scent of him.

  But that would have to wait. Because the song had changed to a frantic beat of “now now now” and she found herself on her back once more, drawing him down and twining herself around him as he positioned himself and then thrust
into her.

  God. Yes.

  For a moment the world stopped. Frozen. Just the two of them. Just hot green eyes meeting hers with a look of dazzled pleasure and the pulse of him inside her. One long moment and then the urgency built again. Alex began to move, slow and steady and sure at first, mouth on hers, one hand slipping between them to find her clit and push her further … higher. Deeper. She couldn’t catch her breath, wasn’t sure of where she was anymore. Didn’t know anything except the man above her and the sensation inside her and the need to stay here and now and move with him as his breath roughened and so did hers and they went faster and harder. Messy and sweaty and so, so good.

  He pushed her right out of her head. Out of all the worry and the thinking until she was just Maggie. Maggie drowning in pleasure and tensing, reaching for the sensation that was building and building and building until it hit and she held onto him as she went over the edge and disappeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The clattering buzz of his phone woke him. Alex squinted one eye open and then looked toward the phone where it was jiggling over the surface of the bedside table. Not his bedside table. He registered the warm weight against his side.

  Maggie.

  She murmured something in her sleep and curled closer against him, and he was suddenly far less interested in whoever was on the other end of the phone line. Surely they’d give up?

  As if to validate his theory, the phone went still and silent. Alex started to roll back to Maggie when it buzzed into life again.

  Shit.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  He scooped the phone up and looked at the caller ID. Lucas.

  He pushed himself out of bed, grabbed his boxers off the floor, and headed for the bedroom door, not wanting to wake Maggie. “Yes?”

  “Are you near a TV?” Lucas asked.

  “Not exactly. Why are you calling so early? It’s Saturday.” He tried to hold the cell still while he pulled on the boxers.

  “It’s nearly nine,” Lucas said. “Hardly early.”