But the other image that had been replaying in her mind was Flynn’s solemn, hopeful eyes when he’d asked if she was his new mommy. Each time she remembered, it broke her heart anew.
“If I come with you to your bed right now—” his eyes flared and she steeled herself against the allure “—we’d change in our interactions with each other afterward. Flynn doesn’t have to be here now…he’ll see us together later. He’ll know something’s changed.”
His eyes drifted closed and squeezed tight, as if against a blow, before slowly opening again. “And he’s already watching you too closely for comfort.”
“I’m the last woman you can afford to get involved with.”
There was silence for a heartbeat, two. Then he closed his eyes again and took a step back. “It’s a shame you think ahead.”
“A curse of working in public relations.”
“Since we can only do things that are above reproach, would you like to help me choose a bottle of wine for dinner?”
She glanced around. “I don’t know anything about wine.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, his voice too deep and smooth for a conversation about beverages. With a hand lightly resting on her waist, he guided her to another row. “You were in the champagne section. This is the first of the reds.” He picked out a bottle and handed it to her. “That’s a 1929 Burgundy.”
Suddenly realizing the bottle must be worth a small fortune, she handed it back. “Are they all old bottles?”
“I’m more interested in drinking the wine than keeping it, but I do have a few, like this one, that are worth holding on to.” He replaced it and they moved down the row before he pulled out another bottle. “This is a 2004 Pinot Noir. One of my favorites, so I pick up a few bottles wherever I see them.” He shrugged one shoulder as if they were talking about collecting items no more expensive than her tea mug. “What do you usually drink?”
“If I’m at a restaurant, I follow the waiter’s suggestions of what wine will go with the meal.”
“We can do that. Tell me what was that heavenly scent that hit me when I walked in the door?”
“Crème brûlée for tonight.” Her favorite—rich, creamy and decadent.
“Then I suggest—” he guided her several rows away with that heated palm at her lower back “—we open a dessert wine after the main meal.” He scanned the rows before gently pulling out a dark, dusty bottle. “Perhaps this one.”
As she took the bottle, she looked blindly at the label, but instead of reading, her full attention was on the aftershave that wrapped around her like a cloak, and under that, the scent of Matthew himself, robbing her of logical thought. He took the bottle from her hands and she focused on the action like a beacon, bringing her back to reality.
She moistened her lips. “Do you normally have wine with your dessert?”
“I don’t usually have dessert,” he said beside her ear, “but it’s fast becoming my favorite time of day.”
Before she could process the words, he turned and strode to a shelf along the wall that held an assortment of items and retrieved a bottle opener. She watched his strong hands work quickly and smoothly as he screwed the gadget into the cork, then eased the cork out. The man’s hands were a work of art. How would they feel on her body…? The air around her thickened, becoming harder to draw into her lungs.
He replaced the bottle opener on the shelf and picked up a tasting glass. She watched, mesmerized, as he poured a small amount into the glass, swirled it a few times, then passed it to her.
“Taste,” he softly commanded.
She took the glass and raised it to her lips. “It’s sweet.”
“Very,” he agreed, his gaze on her mouth.
She tipped the glass and the wine flowed over her tongue, rich and sweet, with a depth of flavor. A small purr of approval escaped her throat.
“Now imagine you’ve had a spoonful of the crème brûlée first, and then sipped this.”
She closed her eyes and focused on the flavors and how they would combine and the effect was positively sinful. Then other decadent images flooded into her mind—Matthew’s powerfully built body stretched out before her on his bed; the feel of him pressed against her in passion; the sound he’d make when he found release....
As her eyes flicked open, she found him watching her, unblinking, his pupils large in his brilliant green eyes. More than anything, she wanted to lean into his strength, to take him up on the promise his eyes held. But there had been a reason not to do that—for the life of her, she couldn’t think of it right now, but she was sure there had been one earlier.
“I—I—” She paused to gain control over the stammer that had suddenly appeared in her voice. “I’d better check on the dessert in the oven—it’d be a shame to ruin it now we have a wine to match it.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice like gravel. “You should check on that.”
She turned and flew up the stairs to the safety of the kitchen, hoping like all hell that Matthew didn’t follow her until her equilibrium had time to reestablish itself. And until she remembered that reason she couldn’t crawl into his bed.
Matthew had suffered through the sumptuous dinner, trying to keep his growing fascination for Susannah under control. Yet he hadn’t been able to avoid noticing every time her fork passed between her lips, every movement her creamy throat made as she swallowed. And as she’d walked across the kitchen to serve the dessert, the gentle sway of her hips had his skin tightening. Every night he came home to this torture and it was getting worse each time.
“I’ll pour the wine.” Desperate to find something for his hands to do, he pushed to his feet and grabbed the bottle of dessert wine he’d brought up from the wine cellar earlier.
The change was no improvement to his circumstances. He had to retrieve glasses, which were in a cupboard beside her. As he opened the door and curled his hands around two glasses, a sweet fragrance enveloped him and he stilled to breathe it more fully. Floral, perhaps jasmine. Maybe gardenia.
With a start, he realized he was standing beside her with his hand in an open cupboard and she was looking at him curiously. Her lips were slightly parted and he remembered tasting them as if it had been mere moments ago.
“I was going to serve the crème brûlée with whipped cream on the side,” she said, her voice uncertain, as if filling the silence.
“Sounds good.”
Roughly grabbing the bottle, he stalked across the room, and poured the wine. He had to stop obsessing about Susannah Parrish. Surely her effect on him was merely proximity? Being in his house, sleeping down the hall, making herself at home in his kitchen. Beside his family and his personal assistant, he hadn’t spent this much time with any woman since Grace’s death.
Whatever it was, it was purely physical. He would never develop any stronger feelings for a woman again. Wasn’t sure he was even capable of it. But desire? Oh, yeah. He was sure capable of that right now. And then some.
She reached in front of him to lay his plate on the table, and he tracked the progress of her arm—the skin was smooth and pale, and he was certain it would feel soft. Luxuriant. Then, at the last moment, as she released the plate, he saw her hand tremble. He raked his gaze over her, noticing every detail and realized she held a tension in her body that matched his own. A flush spread from her neck down till it disappeared under her blouse.
He held back a curse. This would be so much easier to ignore if it was an unrequited desire.
She sank into her seat and gave him a tentative smile, and all he could do was offer a tight nod in return before sampling her brûlée.
The first taste slid over his tongue with wicked richness and he almost groaned. It was sex on a spoon. He glanced up at Susannah—did it have the same effect on her?—but her eyes were studiously focused on her plate as she ate.
Perversely wanting her to react, wanting to see if she was in the same hell he’d been condemned to, he lifted his glass. “Try the wine. It’ll bri
ng out the flavors.”
She glanced up, her tongue darting out to lick a speck of sticky golden dessert from her bottom lip and the blood drained from his head. She lifted the glass and sipped, then took another spoonful into her mouth, and it was as if a cloud of bliss enveloped her. Her pupils dilated and her skin glowed.
He wanted that. Wanted to see her entire body reaching for nirvana.
With him deep inside her.
He held back the harshest oath he could think of and shoved the plate away. “You have a talent.”
With skepticism clear in her gaze, she looked from the plate to his eyes. “Yet you didn’t finish it.”
“I’ll have it later. I need to go for a run.” If he pushed his body to the point of exhaustion, maybe he’d get some relief from the relentless need for her. There were shoes and running clothes in the car, he’d grab them on the way out. He stood and took his plate to the sink, heart thundering, then gripped the edges of the counter, summoning the strength to walk out the door.
“You’ve just eaten a full meal and you want to go for a run?” The soft voice came from behind him.
Unable to look at her, he focused on the shadowy trees out the window above the sink. “If I don’t do something drastic and soon, I’ll carry you to my bed.”
He heard her gasp and turned to face her, not bothering to hide the hunger that filled his body. “Remind me again why it’s such a bad idea? Tell me why we’re fighting something we both want. Because unless you can give me a solid reason in the next seven seconds, I’m taking you upstairs.”
Susannah shivered. He was serious. And she didn’t want to stop him. She wanted all the raw passion that exuded from every square inch of him. But they’d had reasons for not taking this extra step, reasons that had made good sense earlier.
“Because…” She paused and cleared her throat. “Because I’m only here temporarily. And things are complicated enough between us, and Flynn, already that we don’t want to confuse them any more.” He prowled forward and she stepped back, stopping when she hit the counter.
“I’ll be leaving soon…” she finished uncertainly. It had sounded much more convincing the last time she’d said it—now it seemed flimsy.
“New plan.” He leaned fists on the counter on either side of her, holding her in place. “You come to my bed now.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he laid a finger across her lips. “We go into this with no illusions, and no one will be hurt. We’ll keep it separate from Flynn and he’ll never know. You’re leaving soon, so this will be short-term. We’re both adults, we can deal with that. What we can’t deal with is fighting this attraction,” he said fiercely. “It’s too damn strong. At least, it is for me.”
“Doubly so for me,” she said through a dry throat. Yet, a rebel part of her mind protested…she’d never slept with someone knowing it would go no further—purely for the physical pleasure. Could she do it? Indulge her desire for him and not let her heart get involved?
If the choice was between never experiencing Matthew’s lovemaking or trying something new in having a short-term physical relationship, then the decision wasn’t difficult at all.
“All right.” She met his gaze. “Let’s go with your new plan.”
A shudder racked his large frame. “For days, I’ve barely been able to look at you without imagining touching your skin. I’ve wanted to kiss you right here—” his lips touched the place where the column of her throat met her shoulder “—so badly it’s been keeping me awake at night.”
The heat of his tongue on the vulnerable skin was intoxicating, drawing her under his dark spell. She brought her hands up to his shoulders so she didn’t fall…and for the simple pleasure of touching him.
“What’s been keeping you awake at night?” he murmured against her skin.
An image flashed into her mind—the bare skin she’d glimpsed on his neck when his top buttons had been undone that first morning. With fumbling fingers, she undid his shirt buttons to halfway down his torso and splayed her fingers on the warm skin she uncovered.
“This,” she whispered, running her fingertips over the crisp hairs that were scattered across his chest, the heat inside her building.
He drew a sharp breath between his teeth. “Just that?”
“Starting with that.”
In one smooth motion, he grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head and discarded it. The expanse of muscled chest that stood before her sent sharp anticipation zinging through her veins. His arms slid around her waist, and she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the skin just above a flat brown nipple.
“Susannah,” he rasped then pulled her face up to kiss her hungrily. It was as darkly decadent as their first kiss, but this time it was so much more. There was no need to hold back; she could give free rein to all the passion she’d been holding in check, all the primal need that reared up inside her.
Although this kiss wasn’t merely about giving—it was about taking what she wanted. And she wanted Matthew.
He wrenched his mouth away and began making a damp trail down past her chin. His cheek, covered in evening stubble, created a delicious abrasiveness as it brushed along her throat. She was caught in a whorl of desire—fire licking her veins, sensual fog filling her mind. Had she ever needed anyone, anything this desperately, this deeply?
Her fingers found the smooth planes of his back; felt the flex and release of his muscles as he moved. When his teeth gently sampled the skin of her collarbone, she dug her nails into the flesh near his spine.
“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he said, his tone half entreaty, half demand.
She put her hand over his heart and found the beat—it thundered like hers. Then she took his hand and placed it over her heart. “Both hearts racing. I want you, Matthew.”
He replaced his hand with the velvet brush of his lips, then his teeth as he softly bit the flesh on the slope of her breast through the fabric, before his fingers tugged impatiently at the buttons on her top. Once he’d parted the sides of her blouse, his hot gaze lingered on her breasts, his fingers tracing over the white lace of her bra. Pressure coiled out from her belly to every square inch of her body. She moaned softly, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Too much,” he said, his jaw tight. “It’s too much.”
With gentle roughness, he swept her up, onto the large wooden kitchen table, bunching her skirt to her hips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He swore when she pressed herself against the bulge in his trousers, but he didn’t move away. His darkened gaze locked on hers with unwavering intensity and time stood still as, disconcertingly, her heart unfurled a fraction. She struggled against any scrap of emotional connection—this was purely physical. They’d agreed. Then he pressed himself closer and the moment was thankfully lost to the sensual thrall he so easily incited.
Needing to feel him properly, she reached for the button on his trousers and released it before pushing the zipper down and letting them drop to the floor. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down the same path and finally she could hold his silken heat in her hands. He groaned and she allowed her fingers to explore the rigidness, to play, to tease.
A hand clamped around her wrist. “I’m too close—if you keep doing that, I’ll embarrass myself.”
He was close? His breathing was ragged, his pupils dilated. Yes, she’d known he wanted her, but seeing the extent of his desire gave her a jolt of feminine power.
His arms were around her, releasing her bra. She shrugged out of it and tossed it over a chair. He filled his palms with her breasts and she pushed closer, wanting even more contact. She wanted everything he had to give. He leaned down and took the peak of one breast in his mouth and she moaned his name.
As he transferred the attention to the other breast, his hands worked her panties down her legs and thrust them aside before coming back for her skirt. Not waiting for him to find the zipper at her side, she loosen
ed it and lifted her hips so he could pull it out from under her.
Once it was gone, he smoothed a hand over the delta of her thighs then parted her with his fingers. Hypersensitive from wanting him for days on end, the touch jolted her and she bucked against him. He slid his fingers against her, and she became boneless from the intensity, from the pleasure.
But he didn’t linger—he was back kissing her again, his arms holding her firmly against his body, and this time when she wrapped her legs around his waist, there were no barriers between them.
“Don’t move,” he rasped then pulled away and disappeared for endless moments. Her skin began to cool and she hoped to heaven that he’d gone for protection—any other reason would be too devastating to consider. When he reappeared seconds later, he was sheathed and ready, and she went a little dizzy with longing. She reached for him, found his arm and dragged him closer, but he needed no encouragement. His head came down and kissed her with breathless urgency, while his hands slid under her hips, tilting her toward him.
He broke the kiss, and between ragged breaths, said, “I can’t wait.”
“Then don’t,” she said. She’d already been waiting too long for him—it might only have been days in real time, but it had felt like an eternity.
He slid inside her and all the breath left her body. He was everywhere—filling her vision, filling her body, filling her mind… Finding and matching his gliding rhythm, she clung to him, climbing higher.
One of his hands left her hips and snaked behind her shoulders to bring her up to meet his mouth. Her insides wound tighter, too tight, but she couldn’t slow the momentum while Matthew’s relentless, exquisite pace reigned.
Impossibly soon, she was on the edge, wanting to wait, to linger, to relish every second, while also wanting to soar higher, but he took the decision away with his uncompromising pace and she burst free, floating above the world, boundless. Even as she soared, she felt him follow and reach his own summit with a guttural cry.
What Happens in Charleston... Page 7
