by Addison Fox
Dave’s arms came around her, his hands firm against her spine as he pulled her close. His light touch reminded her to move, and she settled her hands at his waist, suddenly at a loss as to what to do with them.
But oh, his lips.
She had no question about what to do with those. The light taste of ice cream still lingered on his lips—dark-chocolate raspberry—and Louisa was sure she hadn’t ever tasted anything sweeter.
And then his tongue swept through her mouth and she was forced to reconsider.
Something hot and molten began to swirl through her bloodstream, an insistent drumbeat driving her pulse faster and faster.
Was this really happening?
With Dave?
She was attracted to him and knew their relationship had changed in subtle ways over the past year, but this . . . This was something bright and daring and life-affirming.
Which was why she had to stop it.
Ending the kiss, she pulled back and slipped from his arms. His eyes were dark with desire, and in that moment Louisa realized just how long it had been since a man had looked at her with such need.
Such hunger.
At the realization of just how long it had been, she nearly went back into his arms, but something held her still, rooted to the sidewalk.
Brooklyn deserves better.
Gretchen’s e-mails had lingered in her mind, never far from the surface of her thoughts. Louisa knew it wasn’t fair to let the vindictive woman get to her, yet no matter how hard she tried, there was a part of her that agreed.
It had been so many years since her relationship with Kincade, remembering the specifics was hard. Yet there were moments—fleeting thoughts, really—that she could still remember as if they’d only just happened. The scent of his cologne, an expensive mix of sage and sandalwood he purchased special order from Harrods. Or the way he liked his steaks medium rare, and his broad smile each and every time he took that first bite of one that was perfectly cooked. Or the flash of his cuff links, the platinum engraved with his initials.
She knew all these things—remembered all these things—because she’d had a relationship with the man.
“I . . . um—” Dave stood very still, the desire fading as his expression grew hard. “I guess this isn’t a good time to try a relationship then.”
Oh God.
His question. She’d assumed he’d asked about Nick and Emma, but it was really about them.
“It’s not—” She broke off, at odds between agreeing with him and kissing him until her eyes crossed once again. “It’s not a good time.”
“Obviously.”
“I’ve got a lot going on and—”
He spoke over her, practically finishing her sentences. “The borough presidency bid and all.”
“Right. Exactly. Things are complicated.”
Dave stopped there, his eyes narrowing. “Are they?”
For the briefest moment, a reckless need to confide in him gripped her. To air out her soul and explain all that had come before. Before Cherry Street. Before her job as town accountant-slash-tax advisor. Before her boys.
The words stirred until the old familiar shame reached up and gripped her throat, that tight fist of regret keeping her silent. “More than I can explain.”
“I think I’m going to go up, then. I did have a good time tonight.”
“Me, too. I’m glad you came.”
He only smiled at that, his gaze on his front door before it shifted back to her. “I’ll wait until you get in.”
“Of course.”
Louisa climbed the front stoop, digging her keys out as she went. Her fingers fumbled at the lock as her breath caught in her throat. Dave Maxwell was a good man. And she was attracted to him, more than she wanted to admit.
But it wasn’t a good time. And when she told him why, he wasn’t going to be interested in kissing her anyway.
Nick held tight to Emma’s hand, his body in near revolt as they climbed the stairs to her floor. The building had an elevator, but something had him gesturing to the stairs when they walked in.
Time. It was suddenly important they had the time to consider what had practically exploded between them out on the sidewalk.
He wanted her and he had no desire to turn back, but he wanted her to have time to reconsider what they were about to do. As much as it would pain him to leave, she had to be fully in control of this decision.
And if she did change her mind? Well then, he’d become intimately familiar with the cold water tap in his shower.
Emma climbed the stairs in front of him, the gentle sway of her behind drawing his gaze as he followed behind her. She’d paired a T-shirt with pants that looked like she was ready to go horseback riding, and he loved the way the material hugged each and every curve. The sensuous line of her spine drew his attention, and Nick reached out to touch her, the heat of her skin branding him through the thin material of her shirt.
What was it about this woman?
An urgent, sensual spell seemed to have settled around his shoulders. He’d never considered himself totally led around by his dick, but he wasn’t immune from sexual attraction either. He’d just never expected it with Emma.
Yet from that first moment in his bar, something about her drew him. From the soft sheen of her hair to the bright red toenails that peeked out of her sandals, everything about her fascinated him. She wasn’t his type, and he was starting to wonder what the hell he’d been thinking for the past three decades. The woman would be anyone’s type. Or she should be.
But from what he knew and the little she’d said, she wasn’t. In fact, he’d gotten the distinct impression she’d taken a few emotional knocks she hadn’t fully recovered from. Which made the stakes higher. And only made him more determined to make this a good experience for her.
Nick nuzzled her neck as she worked the locks on her door, pleased when her fingers fumbled the keys, then followed her into her apartment. Things looked much as they had the last time he was there, the compact room neat and clean. The small couch that faced the TV had two pillows, plumped and settled perfectly in the couch corners. Three magazines were neatly stacked on her coffee table. And the large dining room table she loathed filled up the majority of the room, a quiet sentinel, empty of any clutter.
The sexy moments begun on the sidewalk grabbed at him with sharp claws and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “I want you.”
She came willingly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed herself to him. Warmth surrounded him as his hands filled with her, the soft mounds of her ass supple beneath his touch. The fleeting thought that had accompanied him up the stairs nagged at the back of mind, even as he feared putting it into words.
“What is it?” Emma’s lips feathered over his as she asked her question.
“Nothing.”
She stopped, her gaze finding his in the muted light of the room. “What?”
“Are you sure about this?”
Consideration filled her face, darkening her brown eyes to nearly black before the slightest whisper of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “Have I given you some indication I’m not interested?”
“No.” Well aware he should quit while he was ahead, he still pressed her. “But are you sure?”
With one swift move she had her T-shirt up and over her head, the white cotton balled and headed for the corner before he could blink. “I’m pretty sure.”
Emma traced the line of his jaw. “I want this, Nick. Just the two of us. Leave everything else at the door.”
He hesitated, his gaze searching hers for something—some clue—that there was a set of expectations on her part. Yet as he looked his fill, he saw acceptance and desire. In that room, the Unity didn’t exist. Nor did their futures.
It was only them.
Whether it was the mindless madness that filled him at the sight of her full breasts spilling over the top of her lacy bra, or the simple generosity of her words, Nick didn’t
quite know. All he did know was a wash of gratitude that mixed with the deep, driving need for her, which grew more insistent by the moment.
Whatever was between them was about right now. And he’d be a fool to pass up the moment for questions about the future neither of them had the answers to.
He tugged at the waistband of her slacks, the button closure popping open before he slid the zipper down. The slow slide gave him a chance to explore, and he slipped a finger beneath the material to press against the soft cotton of her panties. At her sharp intake of breath, he pressed harder and splayed his palm over the soft flesh of her mound.
“Nick—” His name faded against his ear as he bent to nuzzle that sensitive spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. His fingers continued their torturous work, and he was rewarded with another long sigh as her fingers fumbled for purchase against his biceps.
He wanted to make this moment last—to give her something that was unique to them—yet he also wanted her with an urgency that nearly blinded him. And then his gaze settled on the large table a few feet away, and he knew.
Their bodies still intertwined, Nick walked Emma backward toward the dining room.
“Where are we going?”
“Just wait.” He pressed another kiss against her lips, determinedly walking her closer. Never breaking contact, he snagged one of the heavy chairs that circled the table and pulled it out, guiding her into the space now open between two other chairs.
“Nick?”
“You sure you don’t like this table?”
“I—” Her gaze widened as he gently lifted her onto the surface. Without giving her time to settle, he kept up his gentle assault, his hands floating over the soft silk of her bra, then over her stomach, before grasping the material at her hips. With one swift move, he had her slacks and panties down her legs and headed for the floor. Her sandals picked up with the fabric of her slacks, their gentle thud muted in the fall of her clothes.
“Smooth, Kelley.”
“The stuff of teenage fantasies.”
She giggled at that before her hands settled on his shoulders. “You were a teenage fantasy. I hardly realized it until I saw you again. These memories I’ve kept inside, making you almost larger than life.”
If her words were humbling, it was the look in her eyes that nearly undid him. The honesty he saw reflected back—the sheer sincerity of the moment—stilled him. He wanted her—wanted to give in to the demands of his body—yet he also wanted that brief moment to hold still so he could simply savor it.
“I want you, Nick. Not the cute teenage boy of my daydreams, or the professional athlete of my adult fantasies. I’ve come to realize I’m far more interested in the man.”
The urgency that had driven them from the sidewalk, into the building, and on to her apartment reared up once more. He wanted her, that heavy, pounding bass drum of sexual anticipation thrumming through his blood. Yet even more, this obsessive need to mark her as his own wouldn’t leave him. It was barbaric and base on so many levels, yet one lone thought wouldn’t leave him, racing through his mind in time with his heartbeat.
Make this special for her.
He reached around and unhooked her bra, her lush curves falling into his hands as he slid the soft silk around her body. Tossing it away, he filled his hands with her, the fullness of her breasts making a satisfying weight in his palms. Her pupils expanded, filling up the brown until her gaze was nearly black in the dim light of the room. He watched, fascinated, when those irises hazed over as his thumbs flicked over her nipples. She reacted immediately to his touch, pressing into his hands in a clear statement of what she enjoyed.
What she wanted.
His own response flared at her obvious enjoyment, his erection pressing hard against the confines of his shorts. The temptation to free himself was strong, but this moment was about Emma.
Although he was keeping his shorts firmly in place, he didn’t stop her when she tugged his T-shirt from his waistband, dragging the soft cotton up and over his body. They broke contact as his shirt went over his head and Emma used the moments his hands were locked in the sleeves to lean forward and swirl her tongue over his chest. When she moved on to one nipple, focusing the heat of her mouth over that sensitive, puckered flesh, his stomach contracted, and his balls tightened at the sensual assault.
How the fuck was he going to last if she did that?
And if he was about to go off like a rocket from a kiss to his chest, there was little hope for him making it through the next several minutes, let alone the hour he fantasized about.
Freeing his hands, he tossed his shirt in the same direction as her bra and leaned back over her, anxious to take control. His hands returned to her breasts and he used the position to gently push her back on the table, following her down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. Her skin had already grown slick with sweat, and the light tinge of salt mixed with something unbearably sweet and entirely unique.
Entirely Emma.
Focused on her pleasure, he shifted to the other breast, pleased when he got an eager response to match the first. He swirled his tongue over her generous curves as his hands drifted down the flat plane of her stomach. He felt her sharp intake of breath beneath his mouth as he brushed his fingers through the curls over her pubic bone, and he smiled against her skin.
Already anticipating the response he’d get next, he slipped two fingers into the hot, wet heat of her, and was rewarded with a loud whimper as she writhed against him. Satisfaction roared through him, the sweet eagerness the sexiest damn thing he’d ever seen. Even as he reveled in that sweetness, he wanted more. Achy and greedy and raw with need, he wanted all.
Intent on his goal, he ran his teeth lightly over her nipple before releasing her breast to kiss the sensitive skin of her stomach. He dipped his tongue in her belly button even as he continued the assault of his fingers, the quivering muscles that sheathed them clenching around his movements. Heat arrowed to his cock, driving him mad as he imagined those muscles sheathing every last inch of him, and he refocused on Emma.
He could already imagine the rest of her—that first, perfect sample of her most intimate secrets—and dropped into the chair he’d already pulled out. She stared at him from dark, languid eyes and a hard clench gripped his stomach muscles as he took in that moment of pure, sexual awareness. God, how he wanted this woman. In every way he could imagine, he wanted her, the need filling him with a mix of dark desperation and sweet, sweet freedom.
He lifted one leg over his shoulder, drawing her closer. And as he stared at her, the glory of her body wide open and ready for him, Nick couldn’t hold back the wicked grin as their eyes met once again.
“I dare you to keep hating this table.”
Emma nearly came off the hated tabletop as Nick’s mouth closed over the most intimate part of her. Crazy and desperate for him, she was mindless as every ounce of her being seemed centered at that glorious place where he’d placed his mouth. Long, sensuous strokes of his tongue seemed to fill her and leave her wanting, all at once. His hands continued to play over her body, the firm stroke of his fingers over her thigh with one hand while the other continued to ply one of her breasts.
It was a sensual assault from every angle, and as one moment spun into the next, her world continued to narrow, until all she saw was Nick. All she felt was Nick. All she was, was Nick.
He destroyed her—with big hands, clever fingers, that amazing mouth.
But it was the telltale quiver—that crazy wild energy—that continued to build and build. A dark, dangerous pressure that consumed her.
She ached. She reached. And as his tongue swirled over her clitoris one more time, she exploded.
Light. Heat. Joy.
All of it suffused her body as a long, glorious cry spilled from her lips, his name drawn from her in a rush. “Nick!”
Nick kept a firm hand on her body as she slowly descended back to earth. That warm, steadying hand was her only lifeline to the h
ere and now as she fought to regain her senses.
Thoughts drifted through her mind, a rapid-fire of emotion, need, satisfaction, and, beneath it all, pure, unfettered delight. Delight in Nick, and in her body’s response to him.
“Wow.”
As the sensual haze that clouded her vision began to fade, Emma came back to herself and took stock of where she was. Splayed across her dining room table, the hard wood pressed to her back, and one thigh still thrown over Nick Kelley’s very broad, very capable shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
Her instinct to scramble up was stilled by the firm press of his hand. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m on the table.”
“I know.”
“But I—”
“Look gorgeous.”
She stilled, accepting she was momentarily held in this position by a man who had at least seventy-five pounds on her. What she didn’t want to dwell on was the fact that she wasn’t all that motivated to get up, despite the complete and utterly vulnerable position she found herself in.
“You okay?”
“I think I just saw God. So, yeah. I’m good.”
He laughed at that, but she saw the tightness around his eyes. And only then realized the position she’d left him in.
“Question for you.”
“Yep?”
She glanced in the general direction of the floor. “You have any condoms in those shorts?”
“No.”
If the moment weren’t so fraught with unfulfilled tension, she would have laughed. Taking pity on him, she struggled to sit up. “A friend of mine from school gave me some at my going-away party in Chicago.”
“That’s . . . an interesting gift.”
“More like a drunkfest, but she meant well. The gift bag included edible underwear and condoms. Her good wishes for a fresh start back in New York.”
“If you give me her name and address, she’s getting a bouquet tomorrow.”
Emma waved him on. “Bottom drawer in the bathroom.”
Nick had gently disengaged her leg and was up and out of the chair before she even finished her sentence. His gait was strained, but she had to give him credit. The man could move. And as he disappeared down the short hall to her bedroom, she also had to admit he’d given her quite the view. Powerful muscles rippled across his back, descending into the narrow waist. Even his loose shorts couldn’t disguise the high, tight ass that had fueled more than a few fantasies while clad in garishly colored football pants.
