by Layla Chase
"More burnt food? I'm seeing a definite pattern.” His lips were pressed into a tight line.
She shot to her feet and paced three steps to the wall. “Do not try to classify me into a ‘type.'” A turn and three steps brought her back to her chair. “I know I was supposed to try out the experiment before conducting it in front of the students. And I did ... but I only used three chips.” Jamming her hands on hips, she turned to face him.
Conor leaned back in his chair, fingers working the knot in his tie loose. He undid the top two buttons. “There, that's better."
Her mouth went dry at the sight. “Don't stop just because I'm here, stud."
"Not my reason for stopping.” His blue eyes lit and he rose from his chair. “I just remembered a previous commitment."
Disappointment caught in her chest, and her hands dropped to her sides like they'd tripled in weight. “Oh."
With long strides, he moved to the office door and flipped the lock. Leaning against it, he yanked his shirt tails from his belt. “Seems I owe you something. I hate being in anyone's debt."
CHAPTER 4
The surprised look on Rikka's face was priceless. Over the past week, Conor had imagined this exact moment several times. Actually, he'd thought of little else than this woman. Normally, that realization had him looking for the closest escape route.
But not with Rikka. With her, he wanted to get closer.
The closer, the better.
First, he had a truth to prove. That the woman had a thing for the uniform. “Sit on the desk."
"What?"
"Don't act innocent.” He flicked a finger at the brass pin on his collar. “See the uniform? See the commendations?” He spread his arms out to encompass his office. “My office, my orders. On the desk, Rikka."
"Bossy.” With exaggerated movements, she uncrossed her legs, walked to the side of the desk and positioned her hands to hoist herself up.
"No. Right in front of the chair.” He watched as a shiver ran through her and enjoyed the hardening of her nipples against the cloth of her dress.
One hand balanced on the back of his chair, she planted the other to lever herself up.
"Strip off your panties first."
For just a second, her chin dropped, then she looked over her shoulder, a bright gleam in her eyes. “How do you know I'm wearing them?"
He sauntered behind her and skimmed his hand over her hip. “Because you came here straight from school. And you only think you're a bad girl.” He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck, rubbing his nose in her curls and inhaling the sweet scent of peaches. One hand scooted around her ribs to cup her breast and the other gathered the fabric of her dress into his hand, tugging up one finger length at a time. Until all he could touch was smooth, bare thigh and the hem of silky panties.
The weight of her breast felt so good filling his palm. He flicked a rhythmic thumb across the tight button at the end.
Rikka jerked, and the chair creaked. Her leg trembled, and a low moan filled the air.
This is exactly how he wanted her—needy. One finger hooked the elastic, and he tugged the silky bit of fabric down her legs, squatting to brush kisses on the back of her knee.
Then he stood, planted his hands at her waist, and hoisted her to balance on the edge of the desk. Before she got settled, he stepped close and set her feet on each chair arm.
Eyes wide, she jerked at the hem of her dress. “You can't be serious."
"Stop. Lean back. I want to look."
Her body stilled and she set her hands on the desktop beside her hips. The tip of her tongue swiped at her lower lip. “I guess looking is okay, stud."
"That's for starters.” With a grin he couldn't contain, he made eye contact and held her gaze as he tossed the dress up her thighs, lifted one fit leg out of his way and lowered himself into the chair. Right across from a fantastic view. Glistening pink folds peeked from a nest of reddish curls.
The musky scent of an aroused woman teased his nostrils, and his cock roused. He'd wanted this to be all about her, but his body had a different agenda. Maybe they'd have time for that before the crew returned. With caresses, he slid his hands along the inside of her thighs, stopping when his fingertips touched her damp curls.
"Oh!” She gasped, then sighed and slowly laid back.
Something heavy thudded on the floor followed by the rustle of sifting papers.
"Sorry.” Her words whooshed out.
"Just relax, Rikka.” Using just his forefingers, he outlined her folds, moving closer to the clit with every half-circle motion. The clenching of her pussy and her sucked-in breaths betrayed her excitement. He leaned close and blew a stream of air up and down her pussy.
Her thighs closed around his head. “Jeez, you might give a warning."
"Relax.” Before she responded, he pressed the flat of a thumb to her clit and circled.
Her legs fell open and a moan echoed. “Oh, yes."
First one finger, then a second entered her tight channel and thrust deep. His fingers slid along her rippled walls and her labia grew slick. God, how he wished to replace his finger with his cock. He rolled his hips forward and pressed against the constriction of his clothes. The tingles of sensation along his dick would have to suffice—for now.
After a slow, lingering withdrawal of his fingers, he leaned close and tasted her. Sweet and tangy. His tongue laved circles around her clit before zeroing in on the tight nub. With a slurp, he sucked her clit between his lips and rolled it.
Rikka whimpered, her body moving against his mouth.
With a damp knuckle, he ran circles around the puckered rose of her anus.
A gasp sounded. Again, her legs clamped tight, trapping his head.
Right where he wanted to be. His free hand caressed her leg until her muscles soon relaxed. Then he opened his mouth and ran the edge of his teeth on her clit.
She arched her back and gripped the edge of the wooden desk. “Oh, oh."
When her body started rocking, he flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue and pressed hard with his knuckle. From the back of his mouth, he hummed, pushing the vibration through his lips.
Strong hands grabbed his head, her fingers delving through his hair, and a keening sounded in the office. Her hips flexed and her pussy moved against his mouth. Then suddenly she jerked and her orgasm pulsed, her labia fluttered and pulled his tongue deeper.
One hand clasped her hips and with the other, he pressed on her rosebud. As she rode her pleasure, he followed her movements, his mouth keeping up with her actions. Her release wet his lips and he lapped up her juices, teasing her clit with a playful jab.
Breathing out a sated sigh, Rikka smoothed her hands down his neck and pulled at his shoulders. “Come here, my hero."
He resisted, pressing kisses along her inner thigh and smiling at the goose flesh he caused. Then he stood, wrapped his arms around her and bent to capture her lips in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading the warm cavern of her mouth.
With equal passion, she responded, her tongue dancing with his, and brushed her nipples across his chest. A hand trailed along the ridge of his ear and massaged his earlobe.
Blood shot straight to his cock and he rubbed against her thigh. Not the time. He broke away from her tantalizing mouth and sucked air deep into his lungs. A hand toyed with the curls at her temple, letting the smooth hair glide through his fingers. “Now we're even."
* * * *
Maybe ... maybe not. She pressed kisses along his neck, while sliding a hand along the front of his trousers. His cock was gloriously hard, and she couldn't resist working her fingers along his length. “I could do something about this, sexy guy.” With gentle nips, she nibbled on his earlobe. Moving her mouth to the tight muscle of his neck, she licked and sucked in sync with her hand massaging his cock. Her rhythmic touches worked upward from his crotch toward the belt buckle.
A groan sounded from deep in his throat, and he stilled for several moments. “Say my
name."
"Mmm?” Light kisses lingered on his neck, and an idle finger ran through the hair over his ear. Her thoughts raced. Had he figured out her way of keeping the guys at a distance? “I don't know what you mean."
Conor stiffened and raised his head, then cupped his hands on Rikka's shoulders. “Listen."
"To what?” She eased back her head to meet his gaze, brows drawn tight over her nose.
"The crew's back."
From below, she could heard the distinctive warning beeps of a vehicle backing up. “Crap!” She shook her head and shoved the curls off her face. “How embarrassing. I can't let the guys find me here."
"Why not?” He shrugged. “You're here to talk to me about the class visit."
His attitude was ticking her off. “Yeah, right. And that's how you got a love bite on your neck.” Oops. She kissed the tip of her finger and tapped it on the spot. “Sorry."
His gaze narrowed. “Been a while since I wore one of those.” He pulled up his collar and started re-buttoning his shirt.
"Oh, God, if I look one half as disheveled as I feel, that field trip excuse will never fly.” She scooted off the desk and smoothed down her skirt over her hips, feeling the absence of her panties. Debate about searching lasted two seconds. No time. She had to get out unseen. Three steps brought her to the window, and she yanked the cord to raise the blinds. “How far to the ground?"
"You're not dropping from the second story."
His authoritative voice was suddenly not charming. Hands braced on the wooden framing, she lay first one, then the other heated cheek against the cool window. A shudder ran through her. “This building is old, so isn't there a fire escape?"
"Nope."
Sounds of male laughter filtered up through the stairwell.
She whirled and speared him with a glare “Figure something out, Captain. And fast.” Her arm swept toward the office door. “I'm not walking down those stairs through a gauntlet of your crew members."
"C'mon, Rikka.” He chuckled and looked at her from under lowered brows. “Don't fly into a huff. Comb your hair and just breeze out of the office."
"I refuse.” Squaring her stance, she jammed hands on her hips. “You're the rescue expert. Put that expertise into action."
When he didn't budge, she lifted the wooden sash and leaned out, grabbing for the windowsill when the ground below her blurred. Damn acrophobia. “I can do this. I'll just hang and drop.” Keeping her eyes closed the entire time. In a fluid movement, she yanked off her shoes and tossed them through the open window.
"Hey, wait.” Conor grabbed her arm. “You're not doing this without me."
Finally. She'd been worried she'd really have to carry out her threat, but hadn't wanted to risk a twisted ankle.
Or worse.
He moved to the corner of the room and unzipped a canvas bag. With a tug, he pulled out an aluminum frame with a chain ladder attached. The act of adjusting the frame over the window set off a metallic clacking.
"Shh.” Her hands waved at his actions. “You're being too loud. Why couldn't it be made from plastic?"
"Because it would melt?” He yanked on the frame, setting it tight against the wall. “There."
A sigh of relief escaped. She moved beside him, closing her hand around the cool frame. The apparatus felt solid enough. “I just go over this backward and keep moving down, huh?"
"Yep, easy as pie."
She sucked in a breath and stepped back, narrowing her gaze. “What do you mean by that? You witnessed my last pie experience."
"Worried?"
"Heights bother me a bit.” She glanced at the metal apparatus straddling the windowsill. “This flimsy ladder that fits into a duffel bag doesn't inspire confidence."
"I'll go. Watch where I hold.” He executed a half-turn, grabbed the frame, swung a leg over and rested his foot on the first chain rung. “Just step and grab, step and grab, until you get to the ground."
As she watched his confident moves and listened to the command in his voice, she got hot all over again. Not the time. She shook herself and, mimicking his moves, set her foot on the first rung.
A whistle trilled the air. “Another great view."
With a tight grip on the rung, she glanced over her shoulder. Conor's face and the ground below blurred and she swayed.
"Hey, easy.” In an instant, his chest pressed against her ass, his arms bracketing her hips. “I didn't realize, darlin'. Look at the side of the house and listen to my voice. Lower your left foot ... good ... now your left hand. Okay, same with your right."
Her fears eased and she followed his directions down the ladder. The minute her feet were tickled by the prickly grass, she turned and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Thanks."
His hands rubbed caressing circles on her back, and he buried his nose in her hair. “You could've told me about the acrophobia. Believe me, I've dealt with it before."
She withdrew from his embrace and bent to retrieve her shoes. “Now I'll go through the alley and around to my car.” Oh, no! She straightened and stared at his office window. “My purse and car keys are up there."
"No problem.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. “See you later.” Within the blink of an eye, he was climbing to the second floor.
The kiss didn't last long enough. She wanted his kisses to last forever. Whoa, where had that thought come from?
"Here, catch.” He leaned out the window with her purse dangling from his fingers.
In a bewildered daze, she moved under the purse and held out her arms to catch it. The weight hit her hands and she grabbed tight. On impulse, she blew him a kiss. “Thanks, Captain."
"Rikka, about that—Damn.” He looked over his shoulder, then grabbed the chains and started pulling them up.
A pounding sounded.
"Hang on, I'll be right there.” He hoisted the ladder in through the window and waved before his head disappeared.
The guys must have figured out something was up. She hurried to the back hedge and moved along the fence until she found the alley gate. Her hand was on the latch when voices filtered down from the open window.
"Hey, Captain, we spotted Rikka's car outside. Is she here? Did she bring the cookies?"
Oh, great. Evidence left behind. She strained to hear Conor's answer.
"Those were here when I got back. Maybe she's in one of the shops on this street."
A lump built in her throat at how he protected her image. She slipped through the gate. Not by telling a lie, but by giving a vague answer. Seems she was now in the man's debt.
Ninety minutes later at home, she'd done her yoga routine and popped a low-calorie frozen meal into the microwave. Another exciting Friday night. A tendril of hair fell into her face, and she bent over at the waist to gather the stray wisps back into the clip.
Three sharp knocks sounded on the back door.
With a gasp, she straightened and whirled. In the waning light, the silhouette of a tall man wearing a Stetson filled the back window. Her first thought was finding something to defend herself.
"Rikka, it's Conor."
At the sound of his familiar voice, she dashed across the kitchen and grabbed the deadbolt latch. Her hand stilled and she looked at her exercise outfit—baggy shorts and a faded Dallas Cowboys T-shirt. Unflattering to say the least. “Um, I'm surprised you're here."
"You're not going to let me in?"
Was that hurt in his voice? “I didn't know you were coming and I'm not really dressed.” In a flash, she dragged out the clip and fluffed out her damp hair as best she could.
"Not dressed?” He chuckled. “I prefer a faded blue star of my favorite team over a red, white & blue longhorn any day. Hey, I brought dinner.” The silhouette shifted, his arms rose and he held up two bags. “This meal has got to taste better than that frozen stuff."
He'd already seen her? She twisted the latch and opened the door—to cowboy Conor. Her mouth went dry, and she could only stare at the drop
-dead gorgeous man on her porch dressed in jeans, a Western shirt and a battered Stetson. Conor, the cowboy, might just be sexier than Conor, the fire captain.
CHAPTER 5
"Evening, darlin'.” He stepped close and brushed a kiss across her lips. His boots clunked as he crossed the floor to set two paper sacks with handles on the counter, before he started setting out containers.
His faded jeans molded to his ass like a second skin, and the shirt stretched across the width of his muscled shoulders. The scent of cheese and garlic wafted in the air. She sniffed and sighed. Italian? He'd brought her absolute favorite. How sweet.
And after he'd smoothed over the awkward situation with the crew at the fire station. What was going on here?
Her heart thundered, and she struggled to pull her racing thoughts back under control. The need to get their dynamic back to a casual level rose, and she sauntered across the room, stopping near him and leaning a hip on the counter. “Should I ask about your Peeping Tom tendencies?"
A loaf of bread in one hand, he glanced over his shoulder. “Not unless we're discussing your fetish for guys in uniform.” He winked and turned back to his task.
Caught! Damn, what must he think? “How ... who?"
Conor turned and slid his hand along the counter until he grasped her hip, his thumb smoothing along her hipbone. “Nobody.” He lifted a hand to trace the swell of her cheek down to her mouth. “I'm an intelligent man ... and an observant one. Consenting adults, consensual acts. Who am I to say anything?” He pulled her close, cupped the back of her head and eased her cheek down to his chest. “You okay?"
Rikka snaked her arms around his waist and molded herself to his body. “Yes.” His shirt smelled familiar—woodsy with a touch of smoke—yet the hint of horses was unfamiliar. They stood together for several moments—or minutes—she wasn't sure. All she knew was the deep satisfaction seeping into her awareness at being held in his strong embrace.
Keeping one hand on her waist, he dug into the sack, crinkling the paper, and pulled out a thin bag. “I almost forgot. I brought you something."
"Wine? Oh, I love a good red with pasta."
