That was something about her he really liked: that everything to do with food, she relished as though she were still six years old. He wondered about how and where she'd grown up. If she had siblings, if her parents were alive. What had made her so cautious, and why only every now and again those flashes of the sensual, sexy Donna came out. Whether she even liked the music they were now listening to, not five feet away from the stage.
Was she naturally that complicated, or had she been badly hurt? Whatever it was, that ladylike reserve just got to him. Her first refusal had annoyed him, and now, though she seemed to be enjoying the set, he couldn't tell anything more about her feelings than when he'd first met her.
Except for that kiss. Oh, yes, that kiss.
And she'd kept him at arm's length since.
She was either smart, cagey, or manipulative, and he didn't like any of those possibilities. On the other hand, what he saw could be really what he got.
Only… when he'd kissed her, what did he get?
Heat. Searing, sensual heat, utterly antithetical to her business persona. A man could build a life history out of a hot kiss and a mouth that sucked chocolate as though it were a carnal treat.
And the way she was pulling at that straw…
Wham… he was gone. His body jolted, he was primed.
And…? And.
She was enthralled by the band, in love with lemonade, and oblivious to the signals. Or pretending to be.
And when he finally took her home, to the small rear apartment in a brownstone in the East Thirties, she told him point-blank she wasn't inviting him in.
"And why is that, Donna?" he asked with just a hint of a dangerous edge to his voice.
She knew that edge, and she knew she was taking a long, hard leap off of it no matter what she said, or what she did.
"It's my policy on first dates, Matt. Take it or leave it."
"What about kisses? It seems like you've made an exception there."
She considered that for a moment. "It does, doesn't it?" she said finally, thinking, Trust him to use that against me. How could she keep the barriers up when they were already down? And how could she lecture Jess when she was on the verge of doing something foolish herself?
He didn't give her another moment to think. He cupped her face and touched her lips. They were smooth, soft, mobile, slightly parted, waiting for him, waiting for the flick of his tongue, anticipating the luscious moment when he settled his mouth on hers and claimed her.
But this time he wanted more; he wanted to hold her, to pull her into his heat. He wanted her body tight against his, cradled between his legs, hard and tight and inextricably entwined with his.
He backed her up against the door, he covered her, he swamped her, and he took all of her that he wanted with a kiss.
She didn't resist; she was with him all the way, her body shot with longing.
This was what hunger did to a person… it generated feelings you thought were long suppressed, and then it swept you away.
And she'd guarded so carefully against it, erected walls to heaven, and after all that, it took nothing to breach them.
Just a kiss. A conflagration.
Still, there was one thing Matt Greer was not going to breach tonight, and she wasn't so blurry with desire that she wouldn't draw the line.
And did.
"Donna…" He rested his head against hers, his body heaving. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Oh, yes, I do," she whispered, but he was not to know how much it cost her. It would have been so much easier to give in— and so not worth the anguish after. It was better this way. She would either chase him off or he'd come back to chase her.
And either way, she would learn something important about him.
"Matt…"
"I know." He didn't know what he knew, except that he hadn't had nearly enough of her.
Or was that the point? To bring him to the most primal point and then drop him on his backside?
Donna?
Sometimes, and maybe just this minute, he wasn't quite sure. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to move away from her and to watch her enter her apartment without him.
This time.
To watch the door close firmly, emphatically, shutting him out.
This time.
And to let her do it, and to walk away.
This time.
Just this once. And never again.
This time.
Chapter Six
"And how was your night out?" Jess asked, following Donna into her office the next morning.
"How was yours?" Donna temporized. She did not want to talk about Matt and that kiss. Or sex. Or anything that had to do with men. Or how stupidly she was probably behaving.
"Oh, I was a regular Miss Prim, just like you said. You would've been so proud. So unlike me. He's a nice guy, Dan, when he's not dodging come-ons. I think you might be right about that. We actually talked." She said the last in a tone of awe.
"That's nice," Donna murmured, shuffling papers. "I had a nice time. We talked, too. Talk is nice."
"Talk is a cheap date. Where did you go?"
"A Village nightspot."
"Oh, really? That's kind of unconventional."
"But nice," Donna said.
"Yes, I see we're very into nice today."
"I'd rather be into business, frankly."
"And we're cranky, too."
Donna sighed. "More like exhausted. I'm too old to run a business and go out all in the same night." And fight my feelings, too. She hadn't slept a wink, but she wasn't going to tell Jess that. "What's on the docket, Jess? We really have to buckle down here."
"Okay." Jess banged the desktop with a paperweight. "Meeting is called to order." And for the next hour they went over the upcoming schedule and who had to do what, and after that there was no time to dwell on anything except the logistics of the next event and the paperwork for some new business that was pending.
"It seems kind of weird that the Boland dinner is over already," Jess mused at the end of the day when they were relaxing in the conference room, Jess with her usual coffee, Donna with hot cocoa. "It doesn't feel like four weeks have gone past."
"I know. It feels like a dream, actually, like a little piece of time cut from reality. It feels like a damned romance novel, actually."
Jess grinned. "Yeah, they could be heroes, couldn't they?"
"Maybe they are. Or Dan is, anyway. I mean, that was some speech."
"That was some everything," Jess said with feeling. "You did a great job, Donna."
"So onward and upward to the next one," Donna said, lifting her cup in a toast. "And here's to all good men."
He was still trying to figure it out. What was it about Donna that had him spinning? She was perfect in his arms, perfect mouth-to-mouth. If she hadn't wanted him last night… then Matt didn't know women. And that was the part of Donna he was most aching to know.
And the part, it occurred to him suddenly, she most wanted to hide.
Still, it was that wicked other self, the one that responded to chocolate and kisses, that made him blast to life with such intensity.
But, he thought, if that self hadn't been clothed in her habitual reserve and perfect manners, would she be intriguing?
God, he didn't know, and for thirty minutes the previous night he hadn't cared because he wasn't going to see Donna Cavalero ever again.
Until he envisioned her across from him at the club, elegant, gorgeous, and sucking that straw.
Damn. That mouth… that body—
Sometimes you just had to wait for the good things.
He picked up the phone.
And then sometimes you had to give them a push so they fell right into your lap.
She didn't have a chance. He'd made the date early enough in the week so she couldn't fudge around that. He wasn't a client anymore, so there was no excuse there. And she really liked him, which was probably the real problem; there was nowhe
re to hide anymore.
He'd done everything right, and Donna admitted it: she was damned scared.
Of who?
Friday afternoon she found herself being propelled out the door of her office by Matt's take-no-prisoners grip.
"Hey— I'm not going anywhere."
"Funny, I thought you were— out with me. Hold that elevator!"
"Don't I at least get to choose where we have lunch?" she complained as they walked briskly toward Fifth Avenue.
"You won't care, as long as we're in a crowd," Matt predicted, which prompted her to look at him sharply. "Come on, we're hopping a bus."
They caught the number five, which went straight down Fifth Avenue, past St. Patrick's and Rockefeller Center, the library, Saks, and Lord & Taylor, and out, to Donna's surprise, at the Empire State Building.
"What are we doing? Ours isn't an affair to remember."
"Hell, I sure thought it was. Or we could make it one," he added hopefully.
Donna's insides melted yet again as she met his disingenuous gaze. "We could make it one." Everything was there, everything at the ready, as she knew full well from the previous week.
He was too seductive by half. For him to take her here, with all the cinematic implications… and to be perfectly willing to court her in a crowd— she didn't stand a chance. This was definitely a man who would always get what he wanted.
And this week, she was it.
It was a little frightening.
And intensely exciting.
To stand next to him and look out over the awesome city below— it transcended everything she felt, and it made everything crystal clear.
This was a relationship; there was no denying it. And he had come to her, on her terms, and he'd given her everything she wanted besides.
No woman could resist that; no sane woman could resist him.
"We should," she murmured, convinced at last.
"I thought so, too."
"You planned everything."
"I didn't plan anything at all," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "Least of all wanting you."
Meltdown.
The words resonated deep in that most feminine place of her body, just unfurled and curled up there where she could feel them and hold them tight.
Everything receded except him, the feel of him, the touch of him, the vulnerability of him, a man so tightly wound, so tightly scheduled that he had to stumble into love.
Love…?
She was falling, falling, falling, and the only thing she could hold on to was him.
She didn't plan this. She hadn't planned anything at all, least of all falling for someone like him….
He brushed her lips and a bolt of lightning shot through her and reverberated in him.
"Let's get out of here."
Yes. Of course— it would come to that, and she was ready, Donna thought. She was. How often in a lifetime was there a man like this?
Or had she said that about Paul, too?
Out into the lunchtime crowds and brilliant sunlight on Fifth Avenue, and another surprise: he hoisted her onto a sightseeing bus.
"No one can find us here," he said with satisfaction as they settled themselves on the upper tier. "No cell phone, either."
"I thought you could never be out to lunch," Donna said.
"All you do is think about food. Here." He handed her a chocolate bar. "Emergency rations until we can eat."
"What a guy." She unwrapped the candy and took an emphatic bite. Did she imagine that movement of his body in tandem?
"Mmm…" She handed him half, and watched covertly as he devoured it quickly, efficiently, the way, she imagined, he did everything.
Devoured…
She felt as if she were being devoured right there, right then, and he hadn't said a word, hadn't made a move. Hadn't even kissed her yet.
"What exactly are we doing this afternoon?" she inquired after a while. The bus was just gearing up and moving out into traffic. Big traffic. Slow-moving traffic. Hang-you-up-so-you-don't-get-back-to-work traffic.
Which said to her that something was up.
He was up. It didn't take much, he thought. But it took Donna to make him realize he had to take time and make time for relationships, for life, for her.
"I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm slowing down for a couple of hours. I had a revelation. They can do without me."
Could they? Could she?
The thought leaped, unbidden, into her mind. It was the crux of everything.
The moment of truth was at hand.
She slanted a look at him, a man on his way.
But where?
With her?
Her choice.
Nothing was ever certain, nothing guaranteed.
But he noticed. He brought her candy bars. He made her comfortable while he kept her off balance. He was already making time.
Something was going on here, and she could either get off the bus, or settle back in her seat and enjoy the ride.
And she was shocked that she still wasn't sure which one she wanted to do.
What was it about Donna?
People turned and stared at her as they walked into the restaurant where he'd planned a leisurely lunch. The waiters seemed to smile at her as she took care to look over the menu and made sure to smile and to thank them for each little service.
She was interested in everything, bored by nothing.
She was both quiet and talkative, but when the food arrived, she was all business. He'd never seen a woman who loved to eat like Donna.
And then there was that chocolate mousse, rich, creamy, mouth melting, and watching her eat it sent his nether region into hyperdrive.
And this was just lunch.
He decided neither of them was going back to the office this afternoon. And both of them were going to bed.
Although he wouldn't be quite that crude.
Or maybe he would.
It was in the air between them as they exited the restaurant and turned toward Fifth Avenue.
She felt it; she knew it. All afternoon she had known this was coming, if she wanted it. If, if, if…
Hang on, Donna, and just enjoy the ride….
"Yes," she said, forestalling the awkward moment. Or maybe it wouldn't have been, but— the thing was on the table. Dessert really wasn't going to be chocolate mousse. It was going to be her. "I'd love to see your apartment."
He was amused. "Didn't you take the words right out of my mouth?"
"I'm trained to know what people want before they even know it. Besides, how many people do I know who live on Washington Square?"
"Hopefully only one," he countered as they entered the big, old-fashioned lobby that was painted green with gilt moldings, and furnished with lobby pieces from the 1930s.
This was a stage set, Donna thought appreciatively, and it suited him. For some reason it just really suited him.
His apartment was on the fifteenth floor, a modernized square that encompassed a kitchen to the left of the entry foyer, which was also the dining alcove; a large living room with a fireplace straight ahead, with the windows giving out onto the balcony; and to her right, the bathroom and a fair-sized bedroom that also served as his office.
It was furnished in a mix of modern and antique pieces. A large tufted leather sofa was across from the fireplace, fronted by a glass coffee table on a marble base. Two deep, comfortable-looking occasional chairs faced the window with a floor lamp between them. An antique caned rocking chair was on the window wall. There was a narrow wooden cabinet under the window, and a leaded glass lamp on that. A bookshelf on the side of the fireplace held a TV. An Oriental rug lay over the wall-to-wall carpet.
In the dining area there was a round oak table and matching chairs. In the bedroom he had an old-fashioned brass bed covered with a quilt, an oak dresser and nightstand, and a rolltop desk. Opposite the bed there was a huge big-screen TV. In the corner, facing that, there was a deep recliner with a reading lamp and b
ehind it, a ceiling-high bookshelf that was filled to overflowing. And there were books piled on the floor besides, and on the nightstand, the dresser, even the bed itself.
It was not a king-size bed.
And she liked that— a lot— about him.
He was in the galley kitchen, making coffee. They took it out onto the balcony, where there was a little bistro table and chairs.
It was the last place he had ever thought to see Donna. And it felt so exactly right, having her sitting there. He wondered what she was like in the morning, whether she was trim or tousled when she arose from bed.
He had all the time in the world to find out. And he didn't want to wait.
He set aside his cup— and hers. "Do you kiss in public?"
"Do you?" she murmured, with that glint in her eye.
He pulled her to her feet. "Every chance I get." And he pulled her into his arms. "You have an appetite for chocolate," he murmured, slanting his mouth over hers, "and I have an appetite for you…."
And then… his mouth was as gentle as the touch of a bird's wing, soft spring kisses, compounded of desire and air.
Soft, sinking languorous kisses as they moved slowly in through the living room door. It was slow, so slow— they had all the time in the world… on the couch, gently removing one piece of clothing after another, she, his; him, hers in a torturous unveiling that was restrained yet frantic.
And Donna's hands, as she smoothed her way up and down his body, seeking every place, finding every secret— that was for him to do to her, and all he could do was surrender to her hands, her touch.
Into the bedroom and onto the bed, her nakedness welcoming the weight of him, cradling him, ready for him, entwining with him the way he had envisioned in his dreams.
Meltdown.
Maybe it was a dream; even she didn't know. She closed her eyes and went for the ride, sliding into his kisses and rocketing up to heaven as he entered her soul.
Chapter Seven
That was the first time, so long and slow that when he pitched over into his explosive climax, he thought there was nothing more he could want, ever.
He had Donna in his bed, flushed, sated, tousled, her magic hands stroking him from his chest to the flat of his belly, and just gazing grazing him farther down. Just enough to make him crazy.
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