by Cari Quinn
A lot, he decided when his head cleared the final set of steps. The entire perimeter of the roof was framed in wide boxes filled with greens and flowers. His mother would die for this sort of space. In front of the stark black boxes was low, bench-style seating and a partitioned-off section with an umbrella and table in sturdy redwood. The effect was decidedly Asian and soothing. At the same time, it was very feminine without fuss. A style he was quickly coming to associate with Miranda.
He handed her the bag. “Just something light.” He sat down beside her at the large octagonal table, his butt sinking into the plush green cushions of the swivel-based chair. “This is amazing, Miranda.”
She smiled, digging into the bag for a grape. “Business is doing pretty well.” She slipped a fat green grape between her lips, and chewed thoughtfully. “Well, it had been doing well until recently.” She shrugged. “The design world is pretty cutthroat lately. But I invested in the building and wanted a space of my own. The bottom three floors, including mine, are offices and the fourth floor and rooftop are part of my private home.”
Impressed, he tried to relax. He wanted to press her for details, to learn everything he could about her. Most women needed only a gentle prompt to unload, but not Miranda. “I went into Sunny Days downstairs, it’s a cool shop.”
“Did Jade tell you I liked Gerbera daisies?”
He shook his head, pleased that he’d chosen correctly. “No, I just liked the wild bucket full of colors she had near the door. Roses are boring,” he said and dug into the bag. “I guess it was a happy coincidence.”
Her gaze met his, but he couldn’t quite read what she was thinking. “Evidently.”
“Sorry, it’s just plastic utensils,” he said, ripping apart the still-warm artisan bread. Yeasty sourdough and rosemary made his mouth water. “You don’t go to Fertelli’s for the amenities, just the food.”
She looked up at him, the smile back in her eyes. “It’s perfect.”
He spread some of the soft cheese on the bread and popped a grape in his mouth. “I hope it’s okay that I just showed up.”
She tore a hunk of crust off, rolling it around a small triangle of the cheese. “I didn’t think I’d see you until Sunday, but it’s fine.” She sat back in her chair. “Really nice actually,” she said with a bit of a frown before popping the food into her mouth.
Leaning forward, he swiped his thumb over the worry lines between her brows. “It’s just lunch, Miranda.”
“I know.” Lost in thought, she pressed their hands together, palm to palm, her fingertips falling just shy of the last joint of each of his fingers.
His skin tingled and the urge to draw her in was overwhelming. Instead, he leaned into her, drawing in her scent mixed with sunshine. “If you don’t want me around until Sunday, I’d respect your wishes.”
She turned her chair until they were bumping knees. “It’s not that.” She looked down, flyaway curls hiding her face from him. “The other night, I just wanted to explain why I—”
“Rocked my world,” he said with a smile.
She drew her hand away, her fingers twisting into the folds of her skirt. “I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of,” she paused, her knuckles going white, “that I’m the kind of woman that just hops into—umm, well, against a wall I guess.” Awareness and nerves pulsed in the air between them. “I don’t do that…” she trailed off, waiting a beat before her gaze finally met his. “I don’t.”
He was pretty sure he wasn’t getting the whole story, but he drew her closer. “The other night was amazing, Miranda, but if you want to take things slower from now on, I’m okay with that.”
She licked her lips, staring at his mouth. Just being around her made him hard, but when she looked at him as though she was starved for him… Christ, how was he supposed to keep himself in check? “It’s been a long time since I’ve been close to anyone.” Her smile was sweet and held secrets that he wondered if he’d ever learn. “I’m not sure you and me—us.” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know if any of this is a good idea, but I can’t seem to think around you. And slow…” she trailed off. Her teeth sawed into her lower lip until it became a darkened pink.
With a strangled laugh, he shifted in his chair. “You’re going to be the death of me.” The idea of her teasing him to the edge of sanity held a twisted appeal. He wanted back inside her so bad his bones ached. Taking a chance that maybe this time would be different, he lifted her out of her seat and onto his lap.
Her fingers went right into his hair, cupping the base of his skull, her nails scratching lightly. Everything seemed to line up as if they’d been waiting to find each other. He cushioned her with his arm, toying with the belt at her waist, happy to have her close to him again. He brushed his nose against hers. The quick puff of her breath against his lips urged him to give in—to take that last step. Their first kiss had been so harsh and filled with purpose. It was supposed to be an introduction and a gateway between words and actions.
They’d forgotten that part.
He brushed his lips over hers. Her tiny jerk of reaction was like a kick to the chest. He forced himself to keep it slow and soft, to savor her. The tips of their tongues touched and the tang of the grapes chased the fleeting heat. Noses bumped and teased as they learned each other’s texture. The soft, sipping tastes turned greedy with the need to imprint himself on her mouth, to become a lasting memory. He wanted to be more than a quick orgasm in her timeline.
Her other arm curled around his shoulder and the lightweight material of her skirt fanned around his thighs, leaving her hip and thigh tucked against his erection. She didn’t seem to mind he was already turned-on. In fact, it seemed to fuel her.
He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the soft rise of her cheekbone as she dragged him away from sunlight kisses into the drugging complexity of her taste. He wondered if it was always going to be that way between them. The romance he intended on showing her drowned in their intensity as soon as they met skin to skin.
He palmed her breast, cupping her as gently as he could manage. His thumb found her nipple, grazing over the tight tip. He ached to roll it into his mouth, to hear that little moan of response again, but he settled for an over-the-clothes grope.
She tore her mouth away from him, tipping her head back. He answered her unspoken invitation, scraping his teeth over the fragile column of her throat, mirroring the same attention he wanted to lavish on her breasts. Sipping in that sunshine taste of her, he curled his tongue under the simple necklace sitting just above her collarbone until she gave him a lovely little gasp. He flicked the tip of his tongue into the notch at her clavicle, playing with the tiny star charm hovering there.
Intent on slowing things down, he hissed as she shifted on his lap, turning into him until her chest was flush with his. Frustration welled up inside him as the chair wouldn’t accommodate his bulk and her slim body in this position. She was tight as a guitar string, a mask of displeasure twisting her pretty face.
“Miranda,” he whispered, trying to ease her.
Her mouth latched on to his, their teeth clicking as mounting wants vied for space in their little sphere. She tumbled off him, dragging him to the wide bench with the gently swaying flowers as a backdrop. The day was gorgeous. The busy street sounds were cushioned by all the greenery insulating them.
She pushed him down, his lower back cracking into the flower box. She tore the tie out of her hair, kicked her shoes off and stepped out of her panties before he could get another word out. Shock and a spike of lust nailed him to the seat when she knelt in front of him. His cock went from interested to aching. Her eyes were sharp with purpose and his breath stalled when her thumb flicked open the top button of his work pants and made short work of his zipper.
The sweet intimacy that had hummed around them moments ago dissipated like morning fog
“Miranda,” he tried again, but she was already pushing up his shirt, nipping at his belly. The flat of her tongue chased t
he ridges and hollows of his muscles and skated over his ribs until she found his nipple. The cool silk of her hair pooled into his lap and followed the trail of her hot mouth. She tongued him, sucking hard until his nipple was a tight point.
With a handful of her hair, he pulled her away. She bit her lower lip, opening his pants until she could free his cock. Her nails scraped over his belly in her haste to get her hand around his shaft. He hissed, pushing himself into her hand. He wanted it—wanted her—he couldn’t deny it, but he couldn’t get past the shift change. It was as if it wasn’t her anymore—wasn’t them.
She flicked the tip of her tongue under the head of his cock before she slid onto his lap, her knees pressing into the bench on either side of him. She dragged her pussy along his shaft until his cock was flush to his belly. She rotated her hips, leaning back until all he saw was the enticing length of her neck.
He wanted her face, wanted to see her eyes fill with pleasure as he pushed his way inside her. He tried to pull her forward, his hands gripped her hips as she rocked against him. His brain was aware that something wasn’t right, but his cock was fully on board with her heat wrapped around him.
“Tell me you have something with you,” she panted.
“Shit, Miranda.” He fumbled for his wallet, surging up against her to reach it. The tip of his cock slid under her hood and the wet heat teased his hips to angle inside her. Bells clamored in his head and he managed to stop before thrusting.
He ripped the packet open with his teeth, cursing that he had to push her back and out of the way. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her nipples tight under the miles of fabric she was still wearing. But no smiles, just the serious focus on his cock. She dug her nails into his wrists, tiny dents of need whitening his tanned skin as she watched him roll down the latex.
He knew once he got inside her he’d be done. He’d pound into her until nothing mattered but the fisting pleasure of her around him.
“Stop, he managed to choke out. The mask cracked and he saw the girl from downstairs for a moment. That was the girl he wanted to have scream around him in this pretty garden in the middle of the city. He cupped her face, tracing her ravaged mouth with his thumb. “Miranda.”
Her eyes were a green kissed with gold. She was there with him for just a moment. And then he lost her.
“No, don’t close off from me.”
She pulled his hand away and cupped it around her breast, shutting her eyes. Her breath stuttered out in need. He knew she was as turned-on as him, that wasn’t the problem. It was how blind she needed to be in the moment.
“I want this,” she said, closing her fingers over his until the grip was close to bruising. She rose and bunched the flowing material of her skirt up with her other hand until he could see the little red strip of hair that led to her slit. She swayed forward, teasing the tip of his head.
The need to take and to let her ride him into oblivion roared inside him. But he couldn’t be sure if she wanted it to be him, or her body was just looking for a willing partner. It was as if her body took over and the Miranda he was looking for was cloaked by this temptress.
She was every man’s wet dream as she pushed his hands away and plucked at her own nipples through the silky tank until they were so hard all he could think about was getting his mouth on her. He leaned forward and sucked the tips she offered. Her skirt fell to hide her from him.
He focused on circling one nipple first then the other through the silken barrier. He wanted her to scream. He bit the tiny tip, welcoming her shudder when she transferred her hand to his hair and held him tighter. Opening wider, he took as much of her as he could, flicking his tongue over her nipple again and again.
He wanted to hear his name on her lips.
In the middle of trying to rationalize what they were doing, she took advantage and slid down until her pussy stretched for him. Surprise cut into the hazing pleasure. She wasn’t wet enough and he knew it had to hurt as she fisted down around him. Immediately, he bunched the skirt up and eased a knuckle between them to find the hard bead of her clit. He circled it until her hips bucked above him. There was no stopping her now and all the years of wanting her took over as he drove into her.
Her slim hips rotated on the downswing and took him deeper. Again, she knew just what to do. There was a terrible beauty to how she took him. As if she was doing the steps to some long-ago choreography that only she knew and he was supposed to enjoy.
Stroking her furiously, he tried to make her come before his body betrayed him. Her rolling hips finally lost their rhythm and he felt the silky grip of pleasure coat his cock. Surprise and fear burst into her witchy cat eyes.
She tried to pull back, he could feel it. She pushed at his shoulders and then his hips as the fear settled in her eyes even as her body accepted him more readily. He whispered her name and grabbed first one wrist and then the other, drawing them behind her.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Her chest heaved as the first orgasm broke through her but she didn’t look away from him this time. He linked their fingers and rolled his hips so that her pelvis bone crushed into his. The friction and the clasp of her were unreal. She was right there with him for a few sweet moments, then she closed off and he cursed.
“Fuck,” he growled and poured himself inside her. The release was like the pop of a growler latch over flat beer. Pressure gone, but nothing to look forward to.
Drained and pissed, he lifted her off him and redid his pants. “Goddammit, Miranda.”
Instead of running away this time, she just sat there, her hair hiding her face. He stalked across the quad and dug his fingers into the concrete ledge of her rooftop, staring into the perfect view of the towering buildings that dipped and stretched as far as the eye could see. Everything that kept him tethered to San Francisco was here in her skyline.
And behind him, the woman he’d wanted for so long was somehow exactly right and incredibly wrong for him at the same time.
Fisting his fingers into his hair, he blew out a breath.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
He swore and turned back to her. As he knelt in front of her, his wide, work-roughened hands looked so big and clumsy compared to her soft skin and pretty pink skirt. Gripping her knees lightly, he tried to get a hold on himself. Sex and cocoa butter tickled his senses, drawing him back into her. God, he still wanted her even when she’d simply used him like a damn dildo.
How fucked-up was he?
Maybe she didn’t know she was doing it?
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tipped her head up until their eyes met. “Do you want to be with me at all? Or are you just looking to scratch an itch?”
She shook her head, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “I’m not looking for a score, I swear it.”
Even the wording didn’t match the woman who sat in front of him. It was as if two different people inhabited her when they got skin to skin. “Then why do you close off?” He gripped her waist, stroking his thumb over her belly as she unconsciously undulated against him. Everything about her was a dichotomy. So instinctively sensual and so smart, and yet so repressed and stupid at the same time.
“We all come with baggage, Nate.”
He searched her eyes, sadness and wary acceptance replaced the hunger. “Were you hurt before?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
Again, not a shred of information. He sighed, pressing his forehead to her knee for a minute before he reached up to kiss her softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You don’t know that.”
He searched her eyes. They were naked with pain but the distance was gone. “I’m willing to figure this out, but maybe we should take sex off the table for a bit.”
“Don’t you want me?” Her eyes were stricken and his gut twisted with acid.
“God yes.” He was already half hard for her even with anger and confusion charring his insides. “I guess I’m just an old-fas
hioned guy, but maybe we need to get to know each other a bit more.” If she trusted him first the rest would follow. It had to.
When she didn’t say anything, he leaned in and brushed her mouth with his, letting a little of the pent-up frustration free. She gently touched his face as the kiss spun out. Instead of being drugging and mindless it remained sweet. His Miranda was back. Reluctantly, he pulled back. “I’ve done hook-ups, Miranda. You and I are better than that. I can feel it.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. I finally got you to see me, didn’t I?”
His bad joke had the desired effect. She slid forward and hugged him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. She held on tight enough that the churning in his belly eased. He wasn’t sure how he was going to find a way inside her protective shell, but he was determined to do it.
Chapter Seven
Sunshine and sex should have been two qualifiers to make it a damn good day. Instead she felt stupid and inadequate. Dammit, she wasn’t built for relationships. She should just tell Nate to take himself and his feelings and go back to his truck and drive until she was just a memory.
But his arms felt good and it had been so long since she’d even wanted to lean on someone. What right did he have to come into her life and demand more?
I don’t see you running.
She closed her eyes against that voice in her head that could be MJ, could be just her conscience for once, or was it some other part of her that had been choked down year after year?
Bunching her fingers in his shirt, she pressed her face into his neck and drew in the warmth and the citrus scent that would always be Nate. Even when she managed to find some way to chase him off, she’d always associate lemons and oranges with him.
