He wanted to remind her that she was paying good money for him to do all of those things, but then she might stop. He also wanted to shout another warning for her take cover before the Big Kahuna blew again, but that would definitely make her stop.
It was just a little massage. She was barely touching him, and he certainly wasn't touching her. And, most importantly, he wasn't kissing her and as long as he kept it that way, there was no harm in getting a little closer to her. Especially when he could make another red-beans-and-rice excuse at any time to put a damper on things.
He meant to keep his eyes open, but then she kneaded harder and his eyelids drifted closed. She continued working on him and his muscles screamed with relief for the next few minutes.
“You're loosening up, but you're still too tense. Come on over here and sit down.” She urged him to his feet and steered him toward the sofa.
He sank down onto the soft leather as she came around to stand behind him. Her fingers grasped his neck, pushing and drumming and working out the tension that held him so stiff and made his head hurt.
“There. That feels good, doesn't it?”
“Very,” he managed.
“It would feel even better if this T-shirt weren't in the way.” Her arms came down and she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt.
He had half a mind to resist her, but the other half wanted the T-shirt off. Now.
He leaned forward and let her peel the shirt up and over his head.
“There. Now I can really work the kinks out.” Her bare hands touched him, her fingertips burning into his shoulders, and heat flooded his body. His blood rushed and another warning sounded in his head.
It's just a massage.
Her words played over in his head and eased his sudden panic. He closed his eyes and focused on the relief swamping his overworked muscles. For the next fifteen minutes, her soft hands pushed and pulled and worked at his shoulders and upper arms until he forgot all about lunch and bodily noises and the need to keep a safe distance from her. He forgot everything, except her hands and the way they played over his body.
“You really don't have to do this,” he said again.
“But you want me to, don't you? Be honest.”
“Yes,” he said, despite the warning that sounded in his brain. Her voice held a note of desperation, as if she needed to know her true effect on him, and he couldn't resist alleviating her worry.
“Then you'll like this even more.” Her hands disappeared for a moment before he felt them close around the back of his neck. They were warm and slick and scented with oil. They slid across his skin, spreading the oil and massaging it in. His skin tingled and his nostrils flared with the fragrant, intoxicating scent.
“What is that?”
“A mixture of base oil and essential oils.”
“What's an essential oil?”
“It's a very powerful oil that promotes vigor and lust.”
She said the last word directly into his ear. A heartbeat later he felt the warm rush of her breath and the soft flick of her tongue along his earlobe. The sensation was subtle, but it sent a delicious ripple through his body that landed smack dab in his lap.
“Relax,” she breathed when his entire body stiffened in reaction to his growing erection. “Just smell and feel.” Her hands slicked down his chest, spreading the oil onto his muscles and swirling the hair on his chest. Her palms rasped against his nipples and his breath caught. “It feels good, doesn't it?” She didn't wait for his answer. She came around him then and knelt before him. Her hands went to his chest again and he watched as her red-tipped nails flicked his nipples, tugged and pulled until they were rock-hard nubs. Then her hands moved lower, down his abdomen. She toyed at his belly button a moment before following the dark funnel of hair to where it disappeared beneath his jeans.
Her glistening fingertips plucked at the button of his jeans and the opening slid free. She grasped his zipper, but it wouldn't tug down over the substantial bulge in his pants.
He meant to button his pants, but when his hands reached the rough denim, he found himself easing his zipper down.
She caught the edge of his underwear and tugged it down until the dark head of his erection sprang forward. Her fingertips touched the smooth ridge and swirled around it.
He wanted to close his eyes and savor the sensation. At the same time, he couldn't look away. Her skin was such a stark contrast against his own, her milky white fingertips so soft and slick against the ripe purple head of his penis.
She pulled his underwear lower and stroked him, tracing the veins that bulged along his length until he sucked in his breath and every muscle in his body went tight.
He touched her then, one hand on her shoulder while the other cupped her cheek and forced her gaze up to meet his. He had the insane urge to tell her exactly how much he wanted her. How crazy he was to be inside her. How he'd been thinking about her, fantasizing about her for so long, and now she was real, and it was almost too good to be true.
Instead, he murmured, “I thought the whole point of this was to relax me. I'm as hard as a rock.”
“Maybe that isn't so bad.” She smiled and got to her feet. Her hands kept touching him, stroking and stirring and the sensation was so pleasurable he couldn't help but close his eyes.
He felt the soft brush of her hair as she leaned down. Her warm breath caressed his lips. “Kiss me.”
Her soft command penetrated the haze of lust that clouded his brain and he opened his eyes. He stared into her green gaze and saw his own need mirrored there.
A feeling of déjà vu washed over him and he remembered that night in the moonlight. She'd stared up at him just the way she was staring at him now. He hadn't just been the one to slip inside her that night. She'd slipped inside him, too, with that look. Right into his head and under his skin, and that had been that.
The end of his scholarship, his future, or at least the one he'd mapped out for himself back then. He could have gone to college for free and saved a load of money, but he'd blown it. He'd traded the security of a scholarship for a few lust-filled moments that she hadn't even enjoyed.
Mr. Five-Minute Man.
His mouth drew into a tight line. “I won't.”
“Okay, then I'll kiss you,” she said, but he was already pushing her away and reaching for the zipper on his pants.
“It's late. I really have to go.”
She leaned back and eyed him. “Another dinner date?”
He wanted to nod. That's all he had to do to confirm the suspicions he saw swimming in her gaze—namely, that he'd run out on her last night because of another woman, and that he was doing the same thing tonight.
“An early breakfast meeting,” he blurted the truth. “I've got kolaches and doughnuts with my subcontractors in the morning and I have to finish several work orders before then.” With considerable effort, he pulled up his zipper and got to his feet. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Thanks for the massage.”
And then he walked away because he considered himself a man who learned from his mistakes—and falling for Xandra Farrel in the backseat of his dad's Impala had been his biggest.
One he wasn't about to repeat, no matter how much he suddenly wanted to.
She wasn't going to cry.
Not from sexual frustration. And especially not because her feelings were hurt by Beau's rejection.
This was purely sex, and sex was her business. She didn't let her feelings get in the way when it came to getting ahead. She would simply beef up her offensive and launch another attack.
He wanted her. She knew that. She'd seen it in his eyes, in his very prominent arousal. She'd felt it in the tremble of his fingers when he'd held her shoulders and touched her cheek.
He wanted her, all right. He just didn't want to want her. He thought she was after a relationship rather than sex.
Fat chance. She wasn't settling for less than her Holy Commitment Man from here on out, and Beau with his hair
trigger in the sack and his love of tools and ho-hum attitude when it came to chocolate was as far removed as a man could get.
Xandra liked long, slow, thorough lovemaking. Her favorite tool was a Palm Pilot. And she'd had more than one fantasy about a box of Godiva truffles.
Relationship nirvana with Beau Hollister was completely out of the question.
If only he realized as much, then they could stop this game. As it was, she would simply have to move on to yet another seduction attempt.
Just as soon as Albert made his next move.
Xandra went in to work early the next morning, eager to get as much work out of the way as possible before Albert tried to seduce her and she, in turn, rushed home to seduce Beau. He was sanding the bookshelves tonight, preparing for the final varnish, which already set a seductive tone to the evening. She pictured the gleam in his eyes as his hand moved over the wood, smoothing it with his sander in that slow, thorough, purposeful way that made her skin tingle.
Which meant all she had to do was stoke the fire that already burned inside him.
Anticipation rippled through her and she attacked the financial portion of Wild Woman with a zest she'd never felt before. Her eyes didn't cross as she stared at the spreadsheets and she didn't feel sick to her stomach. She felt anxious. Excited. Eager.
As soon as five o'clock rolled around, she rushed down the hallway to the conference room and pushed open the door.
“I'm here…” Her words trailed off as she noted the dark room, the chairs pushed up to the table. There wasn't a candle in sight. No food. No sweet aromas. No soft, seductive music. No Albert.
She spent the next half hour going from room to room, thinking that maybe he was trying to change things and catch her off-guard. She came up empty-handed. Then she headed up to the lab to find that he'd left early for the day.
Disappointment welled inside her until she realized that it was all part of a plan. Albert was building the anticipation by acting indifferent, which meant she would do the same with Beau.
He would be fully prepared for her to seduce him tonight. Instead, she would head home, busy herself with next month's production schedule—ugh—and totally ignore him. When he realized she wasn't going to launch another attack, he would be surprised. Bewildered. And, hopefully, develop a false sense of security. Then when she seduced him again, say tomorrow or the day after, he wouldn't be expecting it. And, therefore, his defenses would be down. It was too perfect.
Chapter Nineteen
It's the most hideous thing I've ever seen.” Xandra eyed the casserole dish and the contents—a mix of brown and green that reminded her of a camouflage pattern.
“I think it's quiche,” Beau said as he slid his sander over one of the shelves.
Sawdust filled the air and tickled Xandra's nostrils—a welcome relief to the aroma coming from the dish in her hands.
“It looks old,” she said.
“It was piping hot when the woman dropped it off not more than fifteen minutes ago.” He came up behind her and every hair on her neck went on high alert. He leaned down and peered at the dish. “Yep, I would definitely say it's quiche. Probably spinach. You should try it. It's not too bad.”
“I thought real men didn't eat quiche.”
“Real men eat whatever's handy.”
She wasn't going to ask. Her plan was to keep her distance and she intended to follow through. So what if it was going on seven o'clock and he'd been hard at work since daybreak? He'd probably already eaten by now. And even if he hadn't, she was paying him double-and-a-half time. She didn't have to feed him, as well. Not to mention, she wasn't the least bit interested in the dish in her hands. Rather, she was going to pull the blinds in her kitchen and go searching for some real fattening food.
You ought to listen to the man. He's got the whole physical fitness thing going on.
A small grumble sounded—not her own stomach—and guilt shot through her. Okay, so she was paying him double-and-a-half time, but that didn't make up for the fact that she was working him like a slave, from sunup to sundown. Judging from the way the bookshelves were fast coming together, he seemed to be working at a rapid pace. Maybe he hadn't actually had dinner. Or lunch. Or even breakfast. Maybe he was this close to passing out on her floor.
She contemplated the notion of a very masculine Beau unconscious on her rug. While the idea held some appeal—unconscious meant his defenses would definitely be down—she had the gut feeling another part would be equally down and that wouldn't do for what she had in mind. What's more, if he passed out, she would have to get close in order to assist him. Nix the distance idea. At least with dinner, there would be a kitchen table between them.
“I don't suppose you would be interested in getting rid of this with me? I mean, probably not. You've probably already eaten and I know you're busy.”
His stomach grumbled. “I am starved,” he admitted, looking none too happy about the fact. “But I really shouldn't impose.”
“It's no imposition.” Hello? You should be discouraging him. She meant to, but her mouth seemed to move of its own accord. “I have to eat and you have to eat. Might as well kill two birds with one quiche.”
“That's true.” He gave her a suspicious look. “It is just dinner, right?”
“Of course. It's not like it's a date or anything.”
It was not a date.
That's what she told herself as Beau went to get cleaned up and she headed for the kitchen to set the table and serve the quiche. It was simply the satisfaction of a mutual need. He was hungry. She was hungry, albeit for something other than the dish sitting on her kitchen table, but hungry nonetheless.
So hungry, in fact, that the first bite of quiche actually went down without an entire glass of water—her usual method for digesting most vegetables.
“I told you it wasn't too bad.” He smiled and took a bite.
“Not too bad at all,” she agreed. Thanks to him, because watching him take a bite actually made her own mouthful seem more palatable. She found herself more concerned with the way his lips moved around the fork and the way his jaw worked and the way his Adam's apple bobbed, than the way the quiche tasted.
Or the fact that it didn't taste like much of anything at all, especially a Cheez Doodle or a bite of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese or a slice of chocolate cake with double-fudge frosting.
“So how did you do it?” His question jarred her from her infatuation with his mouth. His gaze met and held hers.
“How did I do what?”
“Lose all the weight. What did you drop? Ten, maybe fifteen pounds?”
“Don't I wish. I lost an initial thirty-five, but I've inched up a little over the past year because I quit smoking. So I'm now officially twenty-five pounds lighter and holding.”
“That must have been tough.”
“It was, but my only regret is that I didn't lose the weight sooner.”
“You didn't have a very easy time when we were kids, did you?”
“Actually, I had a great time when I was with my family. It was school that presented the problem. Not academically, of course. I'm talking socially.”
“It always seemed like you had friends.”
“I had a few girlfriends. No boyfriends.”
“Not even one?”
She gave him a get-real look. “No guy in our school wanted to go out with the fat chick.” She eyed him. “Speaking of which, I've always wondered why you said yes when I asked you to the Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Because you were nice. You always said hello. You let me copy your English assignments when I came in late every morning, because I had to open up at the gas station.” His gaze caught and held hers and sincerity gleamed in the deep violet-colored depths. “You weren't ashamed to be seen with me like all the other girls, or embarrassed by the fact that I worked after school while everybody else sat in the diner and drank Cokes.”
“That's because I never sat at the diner.” She wasn't going to say a
ny more, but the flash of understanding in his eyes soothed the usual hurt that came with remembering the past. “I always wanted to,” she admitted. “I would always imagine what it would be like to go inside and crawl into a booth with all the cheerleaders and have them talk to me like I was actually one of them. Like I actually fit in.” She shook her head. “But I never did. Not with the in crowd, and not in my size twelve jeans.”
“Not then, but you fit now.”
She smiled. “Going away to college was the best thing I ever did. It gave me the chance to start fresh, without the whole fat persona hanging over my head.”
“And without your virginity,” he added.
The comment sent a wave of nostalgia rushing through her, but none of it had to do with the sex part of that night.
Instead, she remembered the heart-pounding excitement she'd felt when she'd first opened the door to him. The way her hand had trembled when he'd held it to walk with her to the car. The nervous flutter when he'd opened the car door and slid in next to her. The feelings had been new and wondrous, and he'd been the cause.
Despite the poor ending to that night, she couldn't help but feel grateful. She owed him. The least she could do was tell him the truth.
“I wanted to completely change my life. That meant starting fresh on the inside, as well as the outside. I wanted to be thin, pretty, desirable—all the things expected of the daughter of one of the country's most acclaimed sexologists.”
“So why did you pick me?” The question hung between them for several long moments, before he broke the strange spell and wiggled his eyebrows. “Other than the fact that I was totally hot and sexy and no woman in sight could keep her hands off me.”
Laughter bubbled from her lips. “I'll give you the totally hot and sexy, but that wasn't why I picked you.”
“Then why?”
She shrugged as the truth found its way to her lips. “Because you complimented me once.”
“I did?”
Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice Page 19
