Evan's words followed Beau as he left the hospital and turned onto Main Street leading away from the medical center.
Pride?
But it wasn't a matter of pride. It was all about focus. About the future.
Or was it?
Xandra had been so beautiful that night back in high school, so different, so stirring that he'd been a goner from the word “go.” He'd wanted so much to make the evening perfect, to talk and laugh and dance with her. To make her feel even half of the heart-pounding attraction he'd felt.
But he'd blown it because they'd never danced. They'd hardly talked. They had done the deed, but it had been a far cry from what she'd anticipated. Despite her laughter and the way she'd tried to make light of the entire thing, he'd seen the disappointment in her gaze.
The look had stayed with him long after he'd dropped her off at home. It had haunted him the rest of the night and the following day. It still stuck in his memory, resurfacing to taunt him at the worst possible moments.
Like now.
The memory rushed at him, but he didn't push it away. He welcomed it this time and finally admitted to himself what he'd known all along. His fear had nothing to do with his focus and everything to do with his damned pride. Because he feared losing control again.
She wanted him right now, but if he acted on his lust and satisfied himself, would she be disappointed again?
Maybe. Maybe not. He only knew that he would rather take a chance and risk losing his pride than live with the question for the rest of his life. The what if would surely haunt him even more than his past failure because he didn't have any excuses this time around. He wasn't young or inexperienced or caught off-guard.
He was a full-grown man who knew how to satisfy a woman.
But could he satisfy this particular woman?
There was only one way to find out.
“So what does Mark think about the renovations?” Jacqueline asked Xandra as she stood in the guest room in her nightgown and robe and unpacked her clothes for the following morning.
“He, um, doesn't say much about them. We don't talk that much anymore.”
“Meet him at the door the way you met me tonight and that will all change. Men are such visual creatures and they interpret everything to mean sex. Why, one time I answered the door wearing nothing but a roll of Saran Wrap—I was trying to work on my middle and I read this very informative article about inexpensive ways to slim down problem areas—and your father nearly peeled off his clothes right there.”
“Mom, I really don't want to hear this.”
“His eyes bugged out and he started to stutter and—”
“Here's your new book,” Xandra exclaimed as she grabbed a nearby copy of the best-selling Give Me Womanhood, or Give Me Death! “You can't leave without signing it for me.”
“Of course, dear. But this is last year's release.”
“I know that. What I meant was, this is your old book, but it's like a totally new book to me every time I read it. It's really an eye-opener.”
“What's your favorite part?”
“The first part.”
“Pre- or postorgasm?”
“Pre- and post-, and everything in between. I'll go and make you a nice hot cup of tea.”
“You're too good to me. Say”—her mother eyed her—“there's something different about you.” A few more seconds of scrutiny. “It's your eyes.”
“I'm wearing a new eye shadow color.”
“Really? And here I thought you looked different because your eyebrows are painted on.”
“They're not completely painted on. I still have a few hairs of my own. The pencil is just to help me get by until they grow back. I sort of had an accident in the kitchen.”
“Oh.” Jacqueline turned to hang up a brown blazer and gave a deep sigh. “I so enjoyed the bubble bath. It seems like ages since I've been in the ladies'room by myself. Your father thinks we're joined at the hip. I still can't believe he changed my message. Of all the sneaky, conniving things…”
While Jacqueline went on about Xandra's father, Xandra slipped from the room and went downstairs in search of tea bags. She made a mental note to add her mother's new book to her Things to Buy list and reading her mother's new book to her Things to Do list.
While the tea was steeping, she retrieved a Diet Coke. When she had guzzled enough caffeine to send her heart into major cardiac arrest, the doorbell rang. Another drink and several steps later, she found Beau standing on her doorstep.
His eyes were dark and determined, his mouth set in a thin line. His muscles were bunched and tight. He looked flushed and hot and ready for sex.
Right.
She forced the last thought aside and tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart.
“Did you come for your shirt?” She was now wearing her own T-shirt and shorts. “Because if you did, I tossed it into the washing machine so you'll have to wait for—”
“Sex,” he cut in. “I came for you and me and sex.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Before Xandra had a chance to react to his words, he kissed her.
He tasted hot and wild and sweet. So sweet that she couldn't seem to get enough. Or control her hands; they clawed at his shirt, pulling and bunching until she managed to feel his skin beneath.
But the kissing and the touching and the bare shoulders beneath her fingertips weren't nearly enough to satisfy the lust raging inside of her.
She pressed herself closer and trailed her hands down his back, absorbing the heat of his skin as she opened her mouth wider.
His tongue tangled with hers, stroked and explored as the air rushed from her lungs. Her heart pounded and her knees trembled and she would have crumpled right there at his feet had he not been holding her up.
“I want you. Right here. Right now.”
“For real? You're not”—she sucked in a sharp breath as his fingertips found one swollen nipple—“going to”—she gasped—“stop? Because I can't stop again,” she panted.
“I won't stop.” He kissed her again, hard and fierce and determined. “But you can't stop either.”
“Since when did I stop?”
“You haven't, but you can't. I can't take it. It's now. Right here.” He swept a hand between them to trail his fingertips down her stomach to the V of her legs. “Right now.”
Here.
Now.
No.
“We can't,” she blurted as his mouth swooped down for another hungry kiss. “My mother's here. Upstairs.”
He looked doubtful for a heartbeat, as if the notion bothered him as much as it bothered her. He glanced past her to the staircase before his gaze shifted back and locked with hers. “Upstairs, huh?”
“The guest bedroom on the left.”
“The one next to your bedroom?”
“That's the one.”
“We'll keep it down.”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's my mother, for heaven's sake. She'll be right there. She could hear us or worse, see us.”
“You're a grown woman. An unattached woman. We're not hurting anyone.”
Just her image.
The realization hit her as she stood there holding him at arm's length when all she wanted to do was pull him close. She wasn't worried about her mother hearing for modesty's sake. She was worried about what her mother might think of her.
That her youngest daughter was a healthy grown woman who liked sex?
Exactly.
She was afraid her mother would see that she was no longer the do-no-wrong baby of the family. That she was all grown-up now and she did plenty of wrong. She didn't read her mother's best-selling books or keep up with her show topics or follow the doctrine that she preached with such conviction. The jig would be up and Jacqueline would finally know the truth about her youngest daughter—that Xandra had lost weight and changed her wardrobe and her attitude so long ago, not in the interest of personal growth
but for the supreme purpose of snagging herself a boyfriend. She'd then gone on to give up Thai and Mexican food and anything else that made her scalp sweat when she took a bite just because Mark had frowned at anything that tasted better than cardboard. And she'd tamped down her own love of old houses to live in a chrome and glass mausoleum for the past eight years simply because Mark had liked the modern look.
Sure, she was gravitating back to her old self slowly but surely, but she was still going the distance for the opposite sex. She'd cooked the other night for a man. And lit candles and played seductive music and given a very erotic massage—all to entice a man.
She'd gotten naked tonight just for a man, too.
This man.
She stared up into his hungry eyes and saw the flash of desire. Her mouth went dry and her thighs trembled and warmth pooled between her legs. It was a reaction she hadn't felt in a long, long time. And one she'd never felt quite so intensely.
Her lips tingled from the feel of his mouth and her hands itched to reach out just once more…
Okay, so maybe she was thinking too much. They were just going to have sex, for heaven's sake. The quiet, behind-closed-doors kind of fun that was perfectly acceptable between two consenting adults. It wasn't like she was about to participate in a major life-changing event. She wasn't lobbying to kill affirmative action or subscribing to Bride's magazine or in any other way, shape, or form publicly advocating the enslavement of women. It was just sex, and sex in the name of research at that.
Besides, her mother was dead tired. She would probably sleep through the entire thing and all of Xandra's angst would be for nothing.
Xandra held tight to the last thought.
“What the hell,” she breathed as she gave in to her lust, threw herself into his arms, and kissed him for all she was worth.
Before she knew what was happening, he picked her up and started toward the stairs, his lips never once breaking contact with hers. Several kisses later, he slid her down the length of his hard body until her feet touched the floor near her bed. He let her go long enough to close and lock the door before walking back over to her.
“Come here.” But he didn't wait for her to make a move. He reached for her.
She expected him to take her with the same fast, furious pace he'd set downstairs. The same pace he'd set that night so long ago. But he didn't.
He held her face between his hands, thrust his tongue deep inside and made love to her with his mouth. Long and slow and thorough until she clung to him and clutched at his shoulders.
He pulled the T-shirt up and over her head. His fingers went to the clasp of her white lace bra. With a flick of his wrist, the cups parted and the straps sagged on her shoulders. Dipping his head, he caught one nipple between his teeth. He flicked the ripe tip with his tongue before opening his mouth wider. He drew her in, sucking her so hard and long that she gasped for air. A moan curled up in her throat.
He stopped long enough to hook his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of her shorts. He pushed the material down her thighs, his fingertips grazing her flesh and making her quiver until the soft cotton fell to her ankles. She kicked the shorts aside and stood before him wearing nothing but her panties and an open bra.
The urge to lift her arms and cover herself hit her as she stood there beneath his intense gaze. It was a habit she'd never managed to break despite the fact that she'd lost weight and, supposedly, her self-consciousness.
She lifted her hand, but he caught it midair and kept staring as if she were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
A memory played at her brain and suddenly she found herself in the backseat of the Impala, staring up at him, seeing the same gaze reflected in his deep violet eyes.
Her imagination, she'd told herself back then. Wishful thinking. A fantasy.
But there was no denying the look now, or the flash of appreciation as his gaze roved from her head to her toes and back up again.
“You're beautiful,” he breathed, the words washing away her anxiety and stirring a rush of confidence.
And as he stared at her for those next few moments, she actually felt beautiful. And desirable. And wanted.
It was crazy. He was just looking at her, yet her body ached even more fiercely than if he'd been touching her. Her heart pounded and her blood rushed as if she'd slathered herself with Lotion Potion—an aphrodisiac body lotion that stirred the nerve endings and increased anticipation. Her nipples tingled and heat flooded between her legs as if she'd spent the past twenty minutes with the ever-popular Clitty Kitty, a tool that teased and taunted and primed a woman when the male involved didn't quite know what to do with his hands.
She was turned on, and he hadn't really done anything. Yet.
He clasped her waist and backed her to the nearest wall. Pressing one hard thigh between her leg, he forced her wider until she rode him.
The sudden intimate contact drew a gasp from her lips. His gaze hooked on her mouth and she knew he wanted to kiss her again.
He didn't. Instead, he leaned into her, his thigh pressed against her, working her until dampness flooded the thin material of her panties and his breathing came almost as frantic as hers.
He touched her then, sliding his hand into her silk panties, into the wet and swollen folds between her legs. At the first touch of his fingers, a ragged moan curled from her lips and she shivered. She was close…So close.
“Not yet,” he murmured before he scooped her up and settled her on the bed. He was about to follow her when she shook her head.
“My turn,” she said, reaching for the button on his jeans. A flick of a button, a glide of a zipper, and she freed his throbbing erection. She held it in her hands and traced the bulging purple head. Dark hair curled around the base and she ruffled the soft silk, relishing his gasp as her nails grazed his testicles.
“Enough,” he breathed, forcing her away. He paused to retrieve a condom from his pants pocket.
She watched him slide the sheath onto his penis, mesmerized by the sight of him touching himself before reality zapped her.
“Wait,” she started. “I have to get something.”
“You don't have to get anything, because I'm going to give you everything,” he told her as he urged her backward and followed her down. He slid his hands under her thighs and urged them further apart.
“That's not what I meant,” she started, but then he plunged into her, so fast and deep that her thoughts scattered.
Sensation overwhelmed her for a long, breathless moment, the feel of him so hot and thick pulsing inside her nearly making her scream with satisfaction right then and there. Her arms slid around his neck and her muscles clamped down around him and she closed her eyes to the delicious feel of being filled to the brim with Beau Hollister.
A feeling she expected to be all too fleeting when he withdrew and plunged back in. Once, twice and it had been over way back when. He'd groaned. She'd caught her lip to keep from crying. End of story.
He withdrew and slid back in for the second time. His hard length rasped her tender insides, creating a delicious friction that sent a dizzying heat straight to her brain. He pulled out again, then went back for a third time. A fourth.
His body pumped into hers over and over, pushing her higher with each delicious thrust until she stopped fearing it would end and started to enjoy the ride.
She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, eager to feel more of him. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Her mind went blank as she exploded. Convulsions gripped her body and she milked his, pulling him in as he plunged one last and final time and followed her over the edge.
Several breathless moments passed as she lay there and tried to come to grips with what had just happened.
They'd had sex.
Incredible sex.
Loud incredible sex.
Worry rushed through her as she remembered her gasps. And his moans. And her cries. And his grunts. And her screams. And…
“You have to get ou
t of here.” She struggled to an upright position, but his arm came across and pinned her down.
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn't think it would be so loud because I didn't think I would like it so much because I didn't think it would be so good.”
“You thought it was good?”
“Very good, and very noisy.”
“Then I've totally blown the whole bad sex image, have I?”
“Definitely. It was way better than I—What did you just say?”
“That you don't still think we're going to have bad sex. That is what you thought, isn't it?” He leaned on his elbow. “That I would be the perfect specimen to try out this new product of yours?” Before she could answer, he added, “The jig is up. I know. I've known all along.”
“Since when?”
“Since the night you made all that food. I was working on the staircase inside the house, your phone rang, and some guy left a message asking if you'd gotten into my pants yet.”
“That was the night you burped in my face.” She turned accusing eyes on him. “You did that on purpose, didn't you?”
“Maybe.”
“You did. You're not really that obnoxious. You've been pretending all this time to be a first-class jerk, but it was all a lie. You lied to me.”
“Well, you lied to me.”
“I did no such thing. I was very honest about wanting to have sex with you. I just didn't say why. I sinned by omission. I didn't lie.”
“Yes, you did. You told me you didn't like to dance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The night of the Sadie Hawkins dance. I asked you to dance and you turned me down. You said you didn't like to dance, but that wasn't true. I've seen you through the window dancing around when you get home from work. You obviously like to dance, so that means you lied that night.”
“I can't believe you remember that.”
“I remember everything. Namely, that everyone was dancing and you didn't want to dance with me.”
“That's not true. I would love to have danced with you, but I didn't know how. I didn't want you to think I was even more of a geek than I was, so I said I just didn't want to.” She grew silent as her mind wandered back to the swirl of colored lights and the loud music. She could still feel the frantic beat of her heart and the longing that had welled inside her when he'd asked her to dance. “You were my first date in high school, and my last. After that, I had the occasional blind date during college, but then I met Mark my sophomore year. He hated to dance, so my entire collection of moves can be attributed to getting busy on the dance floor with my girlfriends at weddings or the occasional club on a girls'night out.” Her gaze met his. “I've never actually couple danced before.”
Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice Page 23
