Unnerved, Reese made a move toward the house. “In that case, I’ll just—”
“Stay,” Michael said, a low, husky command.
She obeyed without question.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked her.
“Who says I couldn’t sleep?” she retorted defiantly.
“You’re out here, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just wanted some fresh air.”
“So you roused yourself from a deep sleep just to come outside—where it’s ninety-five degrees—and get some fresh air.” His voice was heavy with amused skepticism.
Reese said nothing. She was glad he couldn’t see the deep flush suffusing her cheeks.
“Wanna know what I think?” he asked softly.
She swallowed. “Not particularly.”
“I think you’re out here for the same reason I am.”
Her pulse hammered at the base of her throat as he stood and came toward her, a slow, deliberate advance. She felt a frisson of fear mingled with excitement.
Resisting the urge to bolt, she held her ground as he stopped just inches from her.
She could feel the heat radiating from his big body, could smell a lingering trace of his cologne underlaid by warm male skin. Her mouth watered, and it was all she could do not to pounce on him and tear off his clothes.
His gaze raked over her, taking in her silk nightshirt and bare feet in one hot, encompassing sweep. His eyes glittered like a wolf’s in the moonlight.
“I think you couldn’t sleep because you were thinking about me,” he said in that sinfully intoxicating voice. “I know, because I was thinking about you, imagining you warm and naked between the sheets, your body calling out for mine. I got so damn hard that I couldn’t take it anymore. If I hadn’t gotten out of the house when I did, you would’ve found me in your bed.”
Oh God, Reese thought as a rush of liquid heat bloomed between her thighs. She started to sway toward him before she caught herself and stepped backward, holding up a hand as if to ward him off. “Michael—”
“Tell me you weren’t thinking about me,” he taunted, daring her.
“I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“Liar.”
They faced each other in the moonlit darkness, the air between them vibrating with a potent combination of tension, frustration, anger and lust.
Needing to put some distance between them, Reese sidestepped Michael and strode to the other end of the veranda, relieved when he let her go. Impulsively she grabbed the beer bottle he’d been nursing, shook it, then raised it to her mouth and downed the rest of the contents.
When she’d finished, she slammed the bottle down on the table with a metallic thud.
“Feel better?” Michael murmured, faintly amused.
“No,” she snapped, keeping her back to him. “Truth be told, I probably won’t ‘feel better’ until I’m back home in Texas.” Safely far away from you!
“Are you homesick, Reese?” His voice was deceptively mild.
She hesitated. He’d misinterpreted her words, but instead of telling him that, she said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am feeling a little homesick.” As soon as the ridiculous lie left her mouth, she instinctively knew he’d make her pay for it.
She heard a whisper of movement behind her.
And then suddenly he was right there, reaching her with a predatory stealth that made her wonder if he really was a wolf in disguise.
She let out a startled cry as he seized her, hauling her against him, bringing her backside into electrifying contact with his thick, rigid arousal. Desire exploded in her veins.
Her heart thundered furiously.
He surrounded her, scorching her with his heat and virile intensity. “Reese,” he whispered, hoarse with need and longing as he tenderly stroked her hair and brushed his lips across her temple. “Beautiful, beautiful, Reese. What are you doing to me?”
Disarmed by his unexpected gentleness and the aching vulnerability in his voice, she let her body relax against his. She trembled as his mouth wandered to the edge of her jaw, seeking the corner of her lips. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into his and opened to the exquisite taste of him, powerless to resist. He kissed her as if their bodies were already joined, deep, hungry kisses she felt down in her wet, throbbing loins. The pleasure was so intense it was almost unbearable.
Suddenly his hands were everywhere on her body, stoking the flames inside her.
When he cupped her bottom, she moaned and gyrated her hips, grinding against the hot, bulging pressure of his erection. He groaned, low and guttural.
“I want you. Want you so bad it’s all I’ve tasted for days,” he whispered raggedly against the curve of her neck. His teeth sank into her tender flesh, sending waves of erotic sensation crashing through her.
She shuddered uncontrollably, her head falling back against his hard chest. Now she wanted to howl at the moon.
He bit her gently, rasping his tongue against her hammering pulse while he reached for the hem of her nightshirt and slowly dragged it up her bare thighs. Reese shivered at the cool kiss of silk against her fevered skin. His big, callused hands slid over her belly and past her heaving rib cage before cupping her swollen breasts. She cried out, raw pleasure rippling through her.
“Mmm,” he rumbled huskily. “I’ve dreamed about these every night since we met.”
Reese groaned, writhing against him as his fingers teased and stroked her erect nipples, deepening the sweet, pulsing ache in her womb. Her clitoris was engorged, and her panties were completely soaked. She wanted him to drag her down to the floor and take her, any and every way he pleased.
“Please…” she begged, trying desperately to remember why what they were doing was so wrong. “We can’t… We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why not?” His voice was rough with leashed fury. “Because of him?”
She swallowed and bobbed her head weakly.
“Well, he’s not here,” Michael snarled. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. So you’d better get damn used to it.”
Her heart thumped violently. “Michael—”
He slanted his mouth over hers, silencing her with a fierce, plundering kiss that left her quaking from head to toe.
“Does he want you the way that I do?” he whispered savagely, his hands tightening over her breasts, kneading and caressing them. “Can he sleep? Can he breathe? Can he think about anything other than being buried deep inside you?”
Reese moaned as her knees threatened to buckle.
“When he makes love to you,” Michael relentlessly demanded, “does he worship your body? Does he know when you want it hard and fast, or when you want to be taken nice and slow? Does he know you?”
A pathetic whimper escaped her.
Gripping her by the waist, Michael sank to his haunches behind her. Her pulse thudded, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on her skin. She licked her lips, dizzy with desire and anticipation as he reached under the nightshirt and grasped the waistband of her panties. The damp scrap of lace rubbed her swollen clitoris as he dragged the underwear down her legs, the friction making her mewl in wanton response.
Trembling, she braced her hands on the table and bowed her head, her hair hanging over her face as he caressed the swell of her bottom, crooning softly in masculine appreciation.
“What about now, Reese? Still feeling homesick?”
His words were taunting, but she heard the unmistakable arousal in his deep voice, felt the coiled tension in his body. He was as close to losing it as she was, and just knowing that whipped her into a near frenzy of lust.
He slipped his hands between her shaking thighs, coaxing them apart. She was so sensitized that the faintest brush of his knuckles almost made her come right then and there.
Slowly, provocatively, he ran his finger down the cleft of her bottom, tormenting her as he inched ever closer to her drenched, pulsing sex. Just when she was on the verge of climbing out of her
skin, he parted the slick folds of her labia and slid his long finger inside her. She cried out wildly, arching her back and raising her butt higher against him. His low, rumbling groan of pleasure thrilled and inflamed her.
“You’re so wet,” he purred in ruthless satisfaction. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you, Reese? Not him— me. ”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, her mind and body completely turned over to his will.
As his finger pushed deeper inside her, she let out a shuddering moan and undulated her hips against his hand, craving more of the erotic, gliding friction. He murmured softly in approval and eased another finger inside her, stretching her. A broken sob caught in her throat. Her thighs trembled as he expertly worked her tender flesh. Her inner muscles tightened and clutched around him, straining for release.
And then he pressed his hot mouth to her sex.
A strangled cry erupted from her throat.
She bent low over the table, gripping the edge so hard she broke a nail. He tasted her, stroking his tongue up and down her labia before pulling her clitoris between his lips.
It was too much for her.
She shot to her tiptoes and came with a violent shudder, biting her lip to stifle the keening wail that rose up in her throat. A wail that would have awakened the entire neighborhood.
It was the most earth-shattering orgasm she’d ever had. She rode it out hard, her body convulsing for what seemed an eternity.
It was only when she’d grown still that Michael took his tormenting mouth from her and moved back.
As the fog of lust gradually cleared from her brain and sanity returned, a wave of shame engulfed her. Her newfound resolve to resist temptation hadn’t even lasted a day.
When Michael silently held out her lace panties, her cheeks flamed with humiliation. With as much dignity as she could muster, she took her underwear from his hand and turned away to slide them back on. Her hands shook as she pulled down her nightshirt and smoothed it over her thighs.
After taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned to face him.
He had risen to his feet. He seemed even taller as he towered over her, though she didn’t know whether it was a trick of the moonlight or a perception contrived by her shattered nerves.
She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step backward in cowardly retreat.
Squaring her shoulders, she said evenly, “Look, I understand what just happened here.
After the way I ignored you tonight, you wanted to prove to both of us that I’m still attracted to you. Fine. Mission accomplished. But that doesn’t change anything between us, Michael. As you confirmed today, I am in a relationship, and until that changes, you and I have to keep our hands—and mouths—off each other. Deal?”
A shadow of a smile curved his lips, and he shook his head slowly at her. “You don’t understand, sweetheart.”
She sighed impatiently. “Don’t call me—”
“That was just an appetizer,” he continued huskily, his dark eyes glittering with illicit promise. “It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have you for the main course.”
Reese’s stomach bottomed out.
They stared at each other for a long, electrified moment.
And then, without another word, she turned and fled back into the house like the coward she was.
Sterling Wolf considered himself the luckiest man in the world.
He had his health, he lived in a beautiful house that was the envy of his neighbors and he enjoyed more of an active social life than many men half his age. But what Sterling was most grateful for, what he treasured most in the entire world, was his family. Not only had he been blessed with two of the best sons any father could ever ask for, but he now had a wonderful daughter-in-law and two grandchildren he absolutely adored. The Lord had blessed him indeed.
So he didn’t need a woman by his side to make him feel complete. After the way his marriage had ended nearly thirty years ago, Sterling figured he was better off alone, anyway. Not that he lacked for female companionship. Even a man his age still had needs, and he indulged them discreetly whenever possible. But in the years since his divorce, no woman had ever made him consider taking another stab at marriage. Until today.
The strangest thing had happened while he and Asha were playing with their grandsons that evening. One moment he’d been tossing Matt into the air; the next moment he was staring into Asha’s laughing eyes and feeling like he’d been sucker punched in the gut. And Asha—who oozed more sex appeal than any woman he’d ever known—had given him the shy smile of a virgin on her wedding night.
Hours later, Sterling was still scratching his head, trying to make sense of that odd little exchange. It was no secret to anyone that he and Asha detested each other, to the extent that if Sterling ever did find himself in the market for a wife, Asha would be the last person on earth he’d ever consider marrying. She was bourgeois, selfish, manipulative and too damn used to getting her own way. Her world revolved around hosting ritzy fashion shows, running her clothing empire and jet-setting to Paris at the drop of a dime, while the highlight of Sterling’s social calendar was the annual fishing trip he took with his retired police buddies. Asha liked champagne and caviar, while Sterling couldn’t fathom why any sane person would willingly eat fish eggs.
They were as opposite as any two people could be, and had absolutely nothing in common.
With one exception. They both doted shamelessly on their grandsons.
While Asha would be the first to admit that she’d been a lousy mother to Samara, no one could dispute what an excellent grandmother she was. The boys couldn’t ask for a more loving, attentive grandma.
So it shouldn’t have surprised Sterling to find Asha sitting quietly in a corner when he crept into the twins’ bedroom late that night.
Matthew and Malcolm had been born premature, requiring a monthlong hospital stay that had put everyone—especially Marcus and Samara—through the wringer. Though both boys were now as strong and healthy as could be, Sterling had taken to checking up on them in the middle of the night whenever they came for a visit.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one.
The tender expression on Asha’s face as she gazed upon their sleeping grandsons made something tighten in Sterling’s chest.
When she glanced up and their eyes met, a strange current of awareness passed between them.
He froze, staring at her in the warm glow of the lightning-bug night-light. She sat in the big rocking chair Sterling had bought for the nursery after the twins were born. She wore a silk kimono and matching slippers, and her thick black hair fell in soft disarray about her shoulders. With her face scrubbed clean of expensive cosmetics, she looked even younger than usual. Softer, almost wholesome.
Sterling thought she’d never looked more beautiful.
As he stepped into the room, she raised her finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet.
He scowled. As many times as he’d snuck into the twins’ bedroom, he’d never woken them up. Stealth was practically part of his DNA.
Feeling Asha’s gaze on him, he walked over to the matching fire-truck toddler beds where his grandsons slept peacefully. Normally he stayed and watched them for a while, basking in the adorable little noises they made in their sleep. But with Asha watching him from across the room, he suddenly felt too self-conscious to linger at the boys’ bedside. So he settled for kissing their foreheads and adjusting their brightly patterned blankets.
Asha followed him out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind them. “I think Matthew does karate in his sleep,” she whispered with a soft smile.
Sterling chuckled. “Michael was the same way. That boy slept so wild we could never keep a blanket on him.”
“Hmm. That’s the sign of a restless spirit.”
“Think so?” Sterling pondered his firstborn son, who changed girlfriends the way he changed underwear. If that didn’t qualify as “restless,” nothing did.
“He needs a
good woman,” Asha murmured. “Someone to keep him grounded.”
Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “I hope to hell you’re not volunteering yourself.”
Her chin lifted in defiance. “And if I were?”
“Woman, have you lost your damn mind?”
“Keep your voice down!” Asha hissed, glancing up and down the darkened corridor.
Gritting his teeth, Sterling said in a low, controlled voice, “You’d better not have any crazy ideas about sinking your claws into Michael. You’re not right for him.”
“Says who?”
“Me!”
Without realizing it, they’d walked toward the master suite on the opposite wing of the second floor. “If I were interested in dating Michael,” Asha said seethingly, “that would be none of your damn business, Sterling Wolf. You have no say—”
Recipe for Temptation Page 13
