by Hope Ramsay
“Um, yeah, kind of.” Her eyes went wide and dark, and a blush crawled up her cheeks that was so sexy and adorable it almost made him groan out loud.
“You’re a funny girl, Courtney Wallace.”
“Not really. The thing is…it’s been years since I’ve kissed a guy who was moving into his first apartment.”
He dipped his head. “Are you gonna bring up that age thing again?”
She shook her head. “No. Yes. I—”
“Make up your mind.”
“Yes,” she said on a puff of air, but she didn’t move away from him. If anything, she swayed a little in his direction.
He smiled. “See, I knew the answer all along.” He slanted his head and moved in.
Courtney froze, enthralled by the heavy-lidded look in Matt’s gaze. The outcome of this chase was no longer in doubt. The irony, of course, was that she’d put herself at his mercy.
Would he live up to expectations? Or would he turn out to be like so many other guys, selfish, in a hurry, and essentially clueless about sex.
Courtney could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times any guy had given her an orgasm. So, really, the odds were stacked against her.
But she’d never taken a Hook-up Artist to bed. And she’d never even dreamed that a Hook-up Artist could simultaneously be a Cat Guy. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?
She didn’t move as he advanced, and when his lips finally met hers, she surrendered. His kiss started out as soft as a butterfly’s wing, sweet as nectar, and strangely unsatisfying.
Damn. She hadn’t knocked on his door for sweet kisses. She’d come to see if Matt was capable of giving her the full monty. So she took the offensive, stepping into the kiss as she cupped the back of his head. The silky texture of his hair brushed along her palms as his body heat overwhelmed her. Her pulse roared in her ears as she parted her lips and invited him in.
All at once, the sweet, soft kiss morphed into something fiercely carnal. Matt spiraled in, his tongue circling and dancing instead of invading. Holy crap, he really knew how to kiss.
And he tasted good. He smelled even better—an intoxicating blend of woodsy soap and man. She ran her hands down over the hard bones and muscles of his shoulders and then rocked up to get better traction. He rewarded her with a deep, inarticulate grunt that made her burn more fiercely. Nothing turned her on more than knowing that she’d turned on some guy. It felt like a validation in some deep part of her psyche.
She fell into that kiss and lost all sense of time and place. She wanted it to go on forever and almost mourned when he pulled away. But then he linked smaller kisses and nips down across her jaw to the corner of her neck, right below her earlobe.
He nuzzled her there, his tongue still drawing lazy circles, igniting an inferno inside her that threatened to melt every single one of her bones. It was her time to cry out, but even that release did nothing to diminish the coiled energy that Matt’s kisses created inside her.
Suddenly, he was too far away.
“I want to feel you,” she murmured, as her hands journeyed down his back, over the bumps in his spine to the bottom of his T-shirt. She continued the exploration under the soft cotton, splaying her palms on the warm skin of his back for a moment, before she drew the shirt’s hem up so she could touch his chest. He was hard muscled, all male, with just the right amount of chest hair.
Matt undid her dress’ zipper and then drew the shoulders down her arms so he could link more kisses over her clavicle. She wiggled out of the dress, letting it fall around her ankles.
She expected him to move in on her breasts like an invading army. Guys always did that. But not Matt. Instead he concentrated on that spot right below her ear, while his hands seemed to be counting the bumps in her backbone.
Damn. Her breasts ached for his touch, but he seemed intent on denying them. She ought to say something. But she didn’t. She held back, like she always did. Afraid that the moment her breasts were exposed, he’d lose interest in everything else. And right now that thing he was doing to her neck was so nice.
Maybe she should take the initiative. That would be different. It seemed like the right thing to do, so she reached for the button on his jeans. Then she dipped her fingers below his waistband. His breath caught, and she wondered if she should stop.
No. She was going to take charge this time. So she drew down the zipper, a move that elicited a soft, erotic groan that made her feel strangely powerful. That feeling didn’t last very long because, in the next instant, she found herself shoved up against the door as he ground himself against her.
She could have predicted that result, but for some reason, it felt good to have him pressed up against her. Almost perfect, but not quite.
“Take off your shirt,” she whispered. He complied, tossing the garment over his shoulder into the pile of cardboard boxes. His chest was wide and solid and utterly drool-worthy.
“Nice,” she said.
This earned her a cocky grin. She glanced into his espresso eyes, blown away by the dark fire she saw in them. He was beautiful and aroused. She ran two fingers down along his jaw, his stubble abrading her fingertips, until she found the pulse point at the base of his neck. She didn’t bother counting the beats. She’d checked enough pulses to know that his heart was racing about as fast as hers.
He moved in again, making short work of her bra, which he tossed over his shoulder into the mess on the floor. He gazed down at her girls, and she braced herself for the moment she stopped being a person and became a collection of body parts.
She waited. But he didn’t do the expected. Instead he leaned against the door, his hands on either side of her head, as he moved close enough so that the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.
A tidal wave of lust swamped her. She arched against the door, hungry for more, but he denied her. Instead he dipped his head and kissed her again until she couldn’t think about anything else except the fact that she might explode any minute if he didn’t touch her.
“So,” he murmured, drawing back, “if the answer is yes, what’s the question?” One of his eyebrows arched.
“What is will you touch me, please,” she rasped.
His eyes sparked with a wicked, amused gleam. “Ding. You win.”
He stepped closer, taking the weight off his hands as he trailed hot, moist kisses down her chin and neck to her breasts. Finally one of his broad, warm hands cupped her left breast as his mouth found the nipple of its twin. He didn’t tweak or knead. He didn’t grope. He touched with such unbelievable skill that she could hardly bear it.
“Oh, God,” she hissed, arching against his touch and giving him unfettered access. “Don’t stop, please.” She had never begged a man before. But she’d never been teased so unmercifully either.
“I have no intention of stopping until I touch every square inch of your incredible body,” he said.
There was nothing incredible about her body, but in that moment, she believed him. And then he started kissing her again, from her mouth down her neck to her breasts, and then Matt fell onto his knees and drew her panties down and started all over again with his touches and kisses until he’d turned Courtney into a quivering mass of sexual longing.
Courtney was delicious in so many ways. Her curvy bod, the soft skin over her belly and thighs. Her unbelievable scent, musky and sweet at the same time. Her taste. Salty, womanly, and utterly unique.
He wanted to give her an orgasm but not here, not against the door. So he left her right on the brink.
“No,” she said. “Please don’t—”
He was a total jerk to leave her like that, but he wanted her to have the best possible memory when she walked out of here tomorrow, and his instincts told him that taking her into the bedroom and starting all over again would be better.
So he stood up, breathless and aching for her.
“Why did you stop?”
He didn’t answer the question. Instead he performed the He-Man maneu
ver, pulling her up into his arms and carrying her across the threshold of his bedroom. Which, now that he’d entered it, was not as neat as it should have been for a night between the sheets. But it was too late now. He hadn’t exactly put his bed frame together. His mattress and box spring sat directly on the floor, surrounded by boxes and suitcases he’d yet to unpack.
She didn’t seem to notice, thank God. Instead she had her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder, and her gaze locked firmly with his.
Matt believed that every woman was a beautiful creation, but Courtney was more than beautiful. That slightly skewed gaze gave her a sultry innocence that made him want to introduce her to every possible nuance in the Kama Sutra. Of course she wasn’t a virgin; she just looked like one. And he had a feeling she might even be willing to venture beyond the restraints of convention.
Not that he was into kink particularly. But he had a very specific fantasy that involved cheerleaders, and Courtney would look outstanding in a tight little sweater and a short little skirt.
She looked outstanding naked too.
He gently placed her on the bed. “Now, where were we?” he asked, but before he could climb in after her, she rose on one elbow and put up the universal stop sign with the palm of her hand.
“Stop,” she said. A wave of untamed frustration washed through him, but he stopped.
“What? Did you change—”
“Strip. I want to see the goods,” she said, a wicked glimmer in her baby blues.
“The goods?” He gave her a supremely confident smile.
She nodded and bit her lip, sending uncontrolled lust coursing through him. The next time they did this, he was going to ask her if she’d suck on a lollipop while he watched. She’d probably slap him if he asked for something like that, especially since she was so hung up about being older than him. Oh, if she only knew.
“Okay,” he said, his voice husky.
She’d already unzipped his zipper, so it was easy to shuck out of his jeans and boxers all in one quick motion.
“Oh,” she said on a little breath.
“Do I pass the test?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.” Her smile was wonderfully naughty.
“Okay, your turn. Take down your hair while I watch.”
She seemed surprised for a moment, but then she smiled like Botticelli’s Venus emerging from her shell. She raised her arms and slowly pulled out bobby pins, scattering them across his bedroom. He groaned as her dark hair tumbled down over her shoulders.
“How’s that?” she asked as she settled back into his pillows, stacking her arms behind her head.
She left him speechless and breathing hard.
“Come on, Matt, a girl can’t wait forever.”
Neither could a guy. He climbed into the bed with a clear agenda in his mind. But he lost all control over his mind when she rolled him over and proceeded to fulfill several of his most intimate fantasies. After which he returned the favor. Several times. Well into the wee hours of the morning.
Chapter Eleven
Courtney’s cheek peeled away from Matt’s warm, sexy chest as she raised her head to identify the noise that had awakened her. The kittens raced up and down the hallway from the bedroom to the living room and back, their tiny paws thumping over the wide-plank pine flooring.
Out beyond the French doors, the June sky had turned the deep lavender of morning twilight. She braced herself on an elbow and stared down at Matt in the half-light. His hair curled down along his forehead, and his thick, dark lashes lay against his cheeks. He looked peaceful, content, unworried. And so very young…
She resisted the urge to touch his hair or kiss his sleepy mouth. No matter how much she lusted after his body—and she needed it like an addict craves his next fix—kissing him awake would be a huge mistake.
He was a terrific lover. That shouldn’t have surprised her since he’d had so much practice in his young life. But practice didn’t always make perfect. She’d had lots of practice and had never experienced anything like last night. He’d been so generous in bed, so interested in giving pleasure as well as receiving it, that it would be so easy to believe he cared about her. But she was too smart to fall into the trap of mistaking pleasure and passion for true love.
She could no more imagine Matt Lyndon in a stable, long-term relationship than she could imagine finding a unicorn in Eagle Hill Manor’s backyard. It wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
It was time to leave.
She slipped from the bed and tiptoed into the living room, where she found her clothes scattered across the discarded cardboard. She slipped on her dress without bothering with her underwear or shoes. She found her purse where she’d dropped it the night before and dug for her keys. Just as she was ready to open the door, one of the kittens scampered up to her and curled itself around her ankle. She had no idea if this was Aramis or Porthos because the two kittens were so alike. But the kitten meowed and looked up at her with such an adorable face.
How could anyone call these little fluffballs Doom and Ghul? Short answer: a twentysomething guy just moving into his first apartment. It was like a sign or something, reminding her that Matt Lyndon was basically a well-educated frat boy.
She stared down at the kitten, torn by her conflicted emotions. Should she take him home? She wanted a cat. But a small part of her brain whispered that leaving the cat at Matt’s gave her an excuse to knock on his door some other time. Plus, leaving the cat here meant that he’d have to scoop the litter box.
She picked up the kitten and snuggled it against her cheek. He rubbed his head against her and started to purr. A lump formed in her throat for no reason she could truly explain.
“It would be dumb to leave you here where you’d be called something horrible like Ra’s al Ghul,” she whispered to the adorable creature snuggled against her neck.
It was settled. Better to go, leaving nothing behind. She’d satisfied her curiosity once, and if she allowed herself to satisfy it again, she might end up hurt or broken. Curiosity killed the cat, and in this instance, it might destroy the cat owner’s heart.
Besides, she’d had a wonderful night. That was all she needed. A wise woman would leave it at that.
She didn’t feel very wise as she crossed the short distance between his apartment and hers. She opened the door and headed into her own bedroom with the kitten, where she fell into her bed, snuggling the furball until she fell asleep. Thank God Monday was one of her off days.
She woke up hours later, the kitten still curled next to her. “You’ve definitely had a personality transplant,” she said to the kitten, giving him a little kiss on his tiny head. She reached for her cell phone and checked the time. Holy crap, it was almost noon, and she had promised Sid she’d be there in the morning.
Guilt and remorse washed through her, along with a familiar sense of shame. What had she been thinking? The last thing she wanted was another one-night stand, and even though it had been a memorable one, sex with Matt Lyndon was not what she wanted.
She wanted a relationship. She wanted to find someone who would rock her world the way Jeff rocked Melissa’s, and Dusty rocked Amy’s, and David rocked Willow’s. She wanted the fairy tale. Instead she got twenty-first-century sexual liberation, which wasn’t all that.
She raced through her shower and headed out to Sid’s place, stopping at the Food Lion to do a little grocery shopping for him, focusing on food that was low salt, low-fat, and low-calorie.
But when she knocked on Sid’s door, Leslie Heath answered it, wearing a purple and green dashiki shirt and looking like a Baby Boomer fashion plate. “Oh, hi, Courtney, we were just about to call you. Let me take those groceries.” She snagged the plastic bags from Courtney’s hands and continued talking. “I’ll put them away. You come on in and visit. We’ve been commiserating and plotting.”
“Commiserating and plotting?”
Leslie waltzed off without any further elaboration. She moved into the kitchen as if she li
ved there. She seemed surprisingly familiar with where Sid kept pantry items. Courtney watched for a moment, emotions churning. Who was this woman? Leslie was as unlike Barbara as a woman could be. Barbara had been reserved and conservative. Leslie was anything but.
Courtney held her resentment in check and turned toward Sid’s small living room, crowded with Barbara’s big, traditional furniture, which he’d been unable to let go of when he’d sold his house in town. Courtney found Sid sitting in the big wing chair, wearing yet another Hawaiian shirt—this one in the same shades of green and purple as Leslie’s dashiki. Despite the loud shirt, or maybe because of it, he looked surprisingly well, considering that he’d had coronary bypass surgery less than a week ago. His color had improved dramatically, and the twinkle had returned to his deep-set blue eyes.
And why not? Three other sixtysomething women occupied Barbara’s gigantic, rolled-arm sofa. Sid and his coterie of women appeared to be having a party of some kind. Plastic cups in various shades of pink sat on the mahogany end tables, and a platter of half-eaten crudités took up most of the space on the claw-footed coffee table.
The moment Courtney stepped into the living room, one of the women hopped up from the sofa and spread her arms. “Courtney, sweetie, we’re so glad you came.” Linda Petersen, Willow and Juni’s mother, enveloped Courtney in a fierce hug. Linda had apparently gotten the hippy-dippy apparel memo, because she was wearing a loose-fitting, blue-and-white India-print dress, and she smelled like the lavender she grew out on her farm, where she made the soap and other natural lotions featured at Eagle Hill Manor.
“I didn’t know you and Sid were friends,” Courtney said as Linda released her.
“Oh, I just met Sid today. I’m one of Leslie’s friends. She put out an all-points bulletin late last night, so we assembled the gang.” She gestured toward the other ladies in the room. “These are my friends Alice and Susan. Y’all, meet Courtney. She’s the wedding planner at my daughter’s bed-and-breakfast place. Leslie, Alice, and Susan are my best organizers, and if we’re going to fight this eviction, we’ll need everyone.”
