by Julie Miller
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.
“Sure.” He pushed the button to lock her door.
She pursed her lips and sighed, stirring those wisps of mahogany hair against her forehead. She turned in her seat, crossed her arms and rested them on the open window frame. “We still haven’t sealed our bargain. A two-week, all expenses paid trip to fake fiancée-ville?”
So she hadn’t forgotten the kiss. Something warm and grateful eased his frustrations and doubts. “Anything I can do to make this up to you, you let me know.”
“We’ll see.”
“Good night.” He lowered his head to her upturned face and dropped a quick, no-hands kiss on her lips. They were soft, sweet and delicious, but he allowed himself only a taste.
J.C. grabbed his wrist as he pulled away. “Ethan. We’re sealing a rather important agreement, not playing tag. We have to do better than that to be a convincing couple.”
“I suppose. We should get used to those familiar touches.”
“Then try again. Convince me.”
Maybe he wasn’t supposed to understand this modern, complicated fireball of a woman. Maybe he shouldn’t even try. Whatever her hang-ups might be, and despite the fact he was better trained to serve his country than to court a lady, there was no denying the physical chemistry between them.
Besides, he was a man who knew how to take an order. And if the woman demanded convincing that they could pull this off, he was the go-to man to deliver.
Ethan cupped her jaw and slid his fingers into the silky fringe of hair beside her ear. When he kissed her this time, it was a slow, reverent, get-acquainted activity. Her lips parted beneath his and a whisper of warm air and chocolaty coffee teased his tongue. He closed his eyes and inhaled with lazy satisfaction as he explored every dip and curve, drawing the rich, enticing scent of the woman herself deep into his senses.
With her willing response, Ethan moved the kiss beyond acquaintance status and made himself a welcome friend. The good doctor’s sensuous, offset mouth might well be the tastiest damn thing on the planet. It was like eating ambrosia. He felt godlike. He couldn’t get enough.
He nipped and she pressed. He suckled and she teased. He licked the rim and she reached out and captured his tongue with hers. And all the while he felt his powers growing—his senses sharpening to every nuance of taste, every mew of sound, every grasp of needy pressure as she wound her fingers behind his neck and scraped her palm across the sandpapery stubble of his ultrashort hair.
His pores opened to release heat, his nostrils flared to suck in oxygen, his blood thickened and traveled straight to his groin. But when Ethan instinctively thrust forward, all he got was unbending contact with the car’s steel chassis. He wanted something warm against his body, something responsive. He wanted her.
Leaning farther inside, Ethan sifted his fingers through the sassy spikes of her hair, then skimmed along the soft velvet of her nape and length of her back. Without breaking the feast on her mouth, he used his hands to admire the strength of her muscles, the delicacy of her bone structure, the soft swellings of shape that made her decidedly all woman.
But he was a man on a mission. He was searching for that strip of skin he’d seen in the moonlight. J.C. wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself off the seat and into the kiss as he dipped his fingertips into the waistband of her jeans. He tried to work the sweater out of the way with his thumbs, but her mouth distracted him. She’d sucked his bottom lip between her teeth. He tried again and lost contact with the flare of her bottom. Impatiently he tugged up the hem of the nubby cotton material and flattened both palms against the smooth expanse of skin along her spine. She might be cool to the touch, but there was something scorchingly hot about her incendiary response.
J.C. gasped against his mouth, calling his name in a throaty whisper and pushing her breasts against his chest. Her soft mounds pillowed and spread, increasing the contact. The hard tips branded him through their clothes.
“Ah, Doc… Darlin’…” Ethan ground his hips against the car as a nearly overwhelming bombardment of sensations surged through him. The hell with this.
Strengthened by their passion, crazed by the fever of it, Ethan reached farther into the car. He slipped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her right out of her seat. J.C. tucked her head and held on as he set her in the open window frame and wedged her hip against his aching shaft.
He felt right at home by the time he’d taken the sweater off over her head and wrapped her up in his arms. Rubbing himself shamelessly against her, Ethan proceeded to touch every exposed inch of skin his hands could find. He rewarded her with a kiss each time he discovered something he liked, so he was touching her everywhere, kissing her constantly, consuming her.
“Ethan?”
He loved when she said his name like that. A rush of breath, a husky plea. He rewarded her for that, too.
“J.C.” He wasn’t much more articulate as she untucked his shirt and skimmed it up past his pecs. She rolled his own tender buds between her fingers and he groaned at the prickly shots of lightning that arced into his swollen dick. He wanted her hands on him, every part of him. He thrust against her hip, wanting it to be her hand there, wanting to be inside her.
He slipped one thumb beneath the lacy cup of her bra and flicked it across her hardened tip. “Ethan!” she gasped. Her fingers dug into the hair on his chest.
“Ow.” He kissed her on the mouth. Kissed her again. “Watch it, baby.”
While he stroked her breast, while she fed his hungry lips, he unsnapped her jeans. Her thighs eased apart as he lowered the zipper. He cupped her through the denim and whatever she wore underneath, accustoming her to his more intimate touch. She was nothing but sweet, sweet heat as she pushed against his hand. She moaned into his mouth, reached behind him and clung to his shoulders.
Ethan pleasured her that way until she bucked against his touch. Then he slipped inside her panties and zeroed in on her hidden, feminine crevice. She was slick and tight and dripping on his fingers.
“Is this okay?” he managed to ask on a stuttered, feverish gasp beside her ear.
In answer, she squeezed his shoulders and lifted herself, granting him access to the very heart of her. Ethan dipped one, then two fingers inside and did to her what he wanted her to do for him.
He found that secret nub, thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her thighs clenched and tiny muscles fluttered all around his fingers. The delicate contractions intensified. J.C.’s breath rushed out. She threw back her head and Ethan gloried in her lusty response to his wicked touch. He twisted his fingers and she buried her face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. She dug her teeth into his shirt and caught a bit of the skin underneath, stifling her cry of release as she—
Honk!
J.C. jumped in his embrace as her foot hit the car’s horn a second time. “Aagh!”
Ethan quickly removed his hand from her pants and caught her before she fell to the ground. But, startled from the climax of passion, his movements were jerky and uncoordinated. He ended up smacking his head against the car roof and dumping her in on the seat.
“I’m sorry. Damn.” Ethan threw his hands up into the air and stepped away. “I’m sorry.”
“What am I doing?” J.C. huddled behind the steering wheel, her arms wrapped in protective cover across her chest. Her bra strap had slipped off her shoulder and caught in the crook of her elbow. Even in little more than moonlight, he could see she was red from the swell of that barely revealed breast all the way up her neck. What the hell had just happened? How did he make this right? She flipped on the interior light, then just as quickly turned it off. Her focus darted around the interior of the car. “Where’s my sweater?”
“Hell!” One quick glance and Ethan spotted the top on the asphalt beneath the car. Swearing at the pain behind his zipped-up jeans, he bent down and retrieved it. “If it’s ruined, I’ll replace it,” he promised, handing over the wrinkled mess.<
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“Forget it.” She snatched the sweater from his hand. He pulled the strap back onto her shoulder, trying to help, but she swatted him away. “I said forget it!”
Ultimately, Ethan backed off. He braced his hands at his waist and tipped his head to the moon, feeling the frustrated hormones rage through his body as his conscience and common sense kicked in way, way too late.
Public place. Possible audience.
And though they were masked by shadows, and the drunk across the way was snoring on a pile of newspapers, Ethan wasn’t too far gone to realize the horrible blunder he’d just made.
What had happened to rational thought? Planning? Purpose?
Self-control had vanished as if it had never existed. And if that damn horn hadn’t have honked, he would still be making a spectacle of himself—and of J.C.—for God, the spring night, and anyone else in the world to see. So much for discretion. So much for keeping his distance or treating her like a lady.
So much for thinking he could be as casual about sex as his brother Travis seemed to be.
Ethan’s lust for Bethany Mead had nearly destroyed his career. It had certainly done irreparable damage to his heart. Josephine C.—whatever her middle name was—Gardner was supposed to be his professional salvation.
But until he got to know her better, until they had the details of their arrangement ironed out, until he could firmly remember that he’d only asked for two weeks out of her life—he couldn’t afford to lose his focus or anything else.
Sexual frustration he could live with—if he could get to a cold shower fast enough. But a guilty conscience, professional regrets and blown chances were more than he could stand.
With his manhood still pointing due north, Ethan’s brain was finally fully functioning again. Sometime during his self-damning version of a pep talk, J.C. had slipped back into her sweater. Her lips were swollen, her skin red with the depth of his need.
“I’m sorry.” His instinct was to touch her, hug her. But he suspected that was the last thing she wanted right now. “I didn’t mean for that kiss to get so far out of hand. Certainly not here. Certainly not on our first night…together.” He swallowed hard and asked the tough question. “We are still together, aren’t we?”
She nodded. “I promised you two weeks. And stop apologizing. We’re both adults. I wanted all of that…kiss. I just didn’t realize I’d want it all so soon.” She gripped the steering wheel in both hands and looked at his reflection in her sideview mirror as she spoke. “Apparently that familiar touching thing you mentioned won’t be a problem for us.”
Ethan groaned. No problem at all.
And that could prove to be a huge problem if he let this woman and his attraction to her become more important than his future with the Corps.
6
BLISS IS THAT oft-elusive nirvana where conscious thought ends and one is left simply feeling the joy, the passion, the pleasure of the moment. Sure, there’s a physiological element to it—increased blood flow, a slight rise in body temp, the release of hormones. But there’s no analytical reasoning to explain the rapture that consumes your body; it just is. That’s what an orgasm is all about, ladies.
Pure feeling. Pure heat. What a rush.
Bliss. Bliss. Bliss.
J.C.’s fingers froze on the keyboard. She opened her eyes and read the words on her laptop screen. “Oh, God, I can’t publish this.”
She highlighted the last three paragraphs of her article and hit Delete.
Leaning back against the pillows of her purple chaise lounge, she scrolled through her laptop screen, trying to find where stream of consciousness had taken over from clinical opinion and common sense. She’d intended to write a cautionary piece, advising her readers to be wary of a military man’s dogged determination to accomplish his goal—in the relationship arena as well as against the enemy. She’d included humor with some direct quotes—“I’ll show you my tattoo” and “Women love to see my sword. You wanna?”
She’d balanced her stats about the number of men who’d approached her—including the one who’d worn a wedding ring, the one who’d offered her a hotel key but couldn’t get her name right, the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer—with a genuine compliment about how fit and healthy each man had been. She’d even admitted that some of them knew a few amazing kissing techniques.
Right there. She pointed to the traitorous, all too personal words on the screen. Don’t misread me here. If all you want is a night of sex, fine. Take precautions and have fun. You’ll find plenty of able volunteers to choose from.
But I’m still holding off on recommending these guys for the long-term, ladies. In port, off base, on leave—time is a precious commodity to these guys. When their bulging biceps and overeager efforts to seduce didn’t pique my interest, they quickly took their act on to the next available female. It wasn’t ME they were interested in. It was the conquest. The chance to get laid. Any woman would have met their need. And we deserve better than being a matter of convenience, don’t we?
And, hey, let’s be honest, there was really only one kiss out of several offers and a couple of samples that made me want to come back for more.
And come and come…
“Ho, boy.” J.C. shoved her fingers into her mop of toss-and-turn hair and cursed her talent for remembering details.
Vividly.
She’d found the problem. Kissing in the Major Leagues had evolved into a testament to Ethan McCormick’s sex appeal. Her article had taken a sharp left turn from chatty advice column to true confession, sharing all the juicy details about the way Ethan had made her feel. Safe. Hot. Raw. Orgasmic.
Bliss.
“Idiot.” With a heavy, restless sigh, J.C. closed her laptop. She swung her legs over the side of the chaise and walked to the window to inspect the view, reorienting herself to the real, waking, rosy spring morning. The world was alive outside and warm with the sun that couldn’t yet penetrate her glass. There were already rowing crews training out on the river, joggers and walkers exercising on the pathway beside it, cars and their occupants starting their Friday commutes.
She still had on the T-shirt and flannel pants she wore for jammies. Her cooling coffee sat untouched on the table behind her and her usual instinct to rise early and dive into work had abandoned her this morning. After four hours of fitful sleep, she’d finally left the uncomfortable tangle of sheets on her bed and come out into the living room to write.
But her words sounded more like some starry-eyed lover’s diary about her first date with destiny than a savvy journalist’s perceptive take on the real world of men and women. Instead of warning her readers about grabbing the pleasure of the moment without considering the consequences of the future, she’d gone on and on about her body’s wanton, wild response to the major’s wicked hands.
J.C. flattened her palms against the cool pane of glass, trying to ease the heat that flushed her skin and mocked her resolve. Her research last night had lacked a definite scientific detachment.
Instead of disproving Lee Whiteley’s claim, she’d confirmed the myth that a man in uniform made a great lover. He was ultramale. Potent. Strong in both need and physical abilities.
J.C. was no flyweight. Her love for dancing and long walks had given her a muscular set of thighs and some generous hips. She liked her chocolate, too. But Ethan had lifted her right out of the car. He’d given her an anchor to cling to while he…while he kissed…while his hand…
Her thighs clenched and her fingertips dug into the windowpane as her mind conjured a jumble of erotic images—some, vivid memories—others, untested fantasies. The desire she’d felt last night instantly rekindled, leaving her feeling all prickly and unsettled, inside and out.
She stroked her cool fingertips across her sensitized mouth, recalling the tactile memory of Ethan’s lips. She let her fingers slide down her throat to the neckline of her shirt. Did he have any idea how good he was? She’d had full-blown intercourse with former lovers that h
adn’t yielded as explosive a climax as the major’s hands and mouth had given her.
The big lug had been distant and polite—awkward even—sitting in the coffee shop and getting acquainted. But then he pulled out that kiss, those hands, that magic—as if he was brandishing some sort of secret weapon. And she’d fallen prey to it. Boom. Just like that.
Boom?
“Oh, God.” J.C. backed away from the edge of the windowsill where she’d been rubbing herself. She clutched her hands into fists and hugged them around her middle, praying no one had been watching the unintentional show in the third-floor window.
How pathetic could she get? Lonely woman fondles self in weak effort to recreate the best sex since—ever. “You need to get laid, girl,” she advised herself. She needed to get that man out of her system and off that virtual pedestal her hormones had placed him on. She massaged the guilty tension gathering between her eyes. “I need to at least get a life. No wonder Lee worries about me.”
J.C. forced her brain to concentrate on watching the bustle of activity outside. An elderly couple strolled hand in hand down the river’s walkway. A family of tourists clumped together, then ran apart, switching positions as they tried to take a photograph with the domed Jefferson Memorial in the background. She looked closer to home, taking note of her building’s daytime security guard arguing with a black-haired man over the way he’d parked his car on the curb outside the parking lot gate.
Norman Flynn was a grouchy old codger who would bend the rules for a friendly smile and some home-baked cookies. The dark-haired man could shake his fists all he wanted. If he didn’t say please and thank-you and grease the retired M.P.’s palm with some oatmeal scotchies, there was no way he was getting through that gate.
