Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5)

by Rochelle French

  The dancing light in her eyes had dimmed.

  “I’d rather not talk about work,” she said, a tightness in her throat evident as she spoke. She placed the toothpick down and stared at the tablecloth as if she were thinking intently about something.

  Huh. For a woman whose eyes lit up the room and whose strong determination inspired his artistic creativity, she seemed to have moments of vulnerability that spilled out, unchecked.

  Like right now.

  Trudy looked like she needed a hug much more than she needed a night of hot sex. Or a job.

  He leaned in close and cupped her chin in the palm of his hand, then lightly stroked her jaw line. Her eyelids fell shut for a fraction of a second, opened again, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She let out an extra breath on her exhale, which he took as an opening.

  “Got a story behind that look, sweetheart?”

  She continued staring at the polished mahogany tabletop. “Compared to global warming and international war and famine and hurricanes and the plight of the polar bear, my issue doesn’t add up to much.”

  “But it’s still yours,” he said, tilting her face upward. Finally, her gaze connected with his. The exposed look in her eyes triggered his heart to thump hard in his chest. He shifted, coming closer to her, and before he could think, he brought his mouth down on hers.

  Under his lips, Trudy trembled. He deepened the kiss and threaded his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head with his hand, fighting tension with tension. And then Trudy released. She opened her mouth and ran her tongue over his.

  The soft jazz playing in the background faded into nothingness. A sudden shudder ran through him. His heart pounded, sending fiery blood pulsating through his body.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, their mouths parted. Trudy’s long and slow exhale brushed against his wet lips. She drew in a deep breath. Dark lashes fluttered on still-closed eyes. Her eyes opened slowly. She reached for her martini glass and clutched it tight. From the rapid flicker along the length of her throat, he knew the kiss had stirred her up as much as it had him. And yet lines of worry marred her forehead.

  Time for him to act the part of a gentleman, even though his body ached to get her into bed. He pushed himself back, away from her. “If you’re ready to call it a night, we can get you a cab,” he murmured.

  Trudy raised her gaze from her glass, then placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him from getting up. “I thought you’d try to get me into bed. Your sister’s wrong—you are a gentleman.” She reached out her other hand, palm face up, but he refused to take it in his.

  He let out a harsh laugh. “Not usually. The various women I’ve dated and not settled down with might beg to differ.”

  “No, you are,” she insisted. “In the art gallery, when my dress fell, you helped me redress even though I’d been hard on you, and now, instead of trying to convince me to sleep with you, you’re offering to call me a cab.”

  He tensed and shifted sideways, then blew out a breath. He deserved to be far away from the pedestal, not plopped right on top the damned thing. Trudy was right about him trying to rescue her earlier, but wrong about one thing—and he needed to come clean. “Trudy, I will call you a cab, but I’ve wanted to seduce you all night. It’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about.” He left out the modeling job. She’d obviously not wanted to talk about work.

  A small smile crossed her lips. “I know the feeling, “ she said, then twirled the stem of her martini glass until an inscrutable flicker crossed her face. Then the grin tugged at the left corner of her mouth and her eyes grew bright. Slowly, she moved her piercing gaze to meet his. “But a gentleman has will power,” she said simply.

  “Barely,” he mumbled, his heart thumping against his chest.

  She raised an eyebrow, and her smile grew wider. “Men aren’t the only ones who want sex, Mac.”

  He seemed to forget how to think. Was she saying what it sounded like she was saying?

  She ran a finger along the rim of her martini glass. “Maybe I was sending out I signals that I wanted you, too.”

  The night kept getting better. “So I shouldn’t call you a cab?”

  “First off, I drove, and second, I think that would defeat the whole idea of a do-over, don’t you?”

  Sweet mother of all he held sacred. He blew out a breath. “In that case, I have something.” He reached inside his tuxedo jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up, fished out a key card with the hotel’s logo emblazoned on the front, and laid it on the table.

  A broad smile spread across Trudy’s face. She tried unsuccessfully to tuck a strand of curly red hair behind her ear but it bounced back to frame her face. “You have a room here.”

  “That I do,” he said, surprised at how nervous his voice sounded. How nervous he felt. Hell, he’d dated A-list actresses and socialites—what was it about this woman? “Big meeting here in early in the morning. Didn’t want to drive the two hours to Deloro County and then back again.”

  “Hmmm… Besides the key card in your wallet,” she said slowly, “do you have any condoms in there?”

  Condoms?

  Holy mother of God.

  He’d been willing to give her a shoulder to cry on, get her a cab, call her later, but heck, if she wanted to sleep with him—here and now—no way would he let the opportunity go.

  “Actually, never mind that question,” Trudy said quickly.

  His libido plummeted. She didn’t want him, after all?

  “My sister can be a bit overprotective of me,” she said, reaching for her clutch next to her. “Take a look. See what she made me bring.” She popped it open and spread the mouth wide for him to look inside.

  Pack of gum, keys, lipstick. He swirled the contents around with his finger. There, at the bottom, were three condoms attached together in a Z-fold.

  His heart thumped heavily against his chest. “You have a wise sister. I definitely like what I see.” Trudy carried condoms. What a woman. “Only three, huh? I guess that’s a start.”

  “Such a bold statement. You’d better be prepared to back that up,”

  This time her broad smile made its way to her eyes, which glittered in excitement. She lifted her martini glass in a toast, and then downed the last of the liquid. Then she palmed his key card and stood. As she sashayed toward the elevators, she cast him a wicked glance over her shoulder.

  Her smoldering gaze just about incinerated him on the spot.

  In the hotel hallway, facing the open doorway leading into to Mac’s room, Trudy hesitated. This was the do or don’t point. She could continue forward, into Mac’s room, or back away and head for home. She didn’t know what had come over her in the bar. There she’d been, totally freaking out because she’d been reminded of work—or rather, the lack thereof— when Mac had suddenly kissed her. And she’d melted. Just about dripped all over her chair like candle wax over a Chianti bottle.

  As he’d made love to her mouth, the only thought nudging her addled brain was that she wanted to have absolutely mind-blowing, unforgettable, brilliantly amazing sex with him. Or at least she assumed it would be unforgettable, given the confident way he’d commanded their kiss.

  “Second thoughts?” Mac laced his fingers with hers. When she didn’t respond immediately, he added, “I hope not.”

  She smiled. “Just thinking…”

  “Take all the time you need,” he said, then tugged her even closer, layering kiss after kiss on her neck, tracing her clavicle to where it notched at the base of her throat.

  Her knees shook and her breath came quickly. Condoms, hot sex, and a playboy who wouldn’t get all annoying with a desire to “develop a relationship” were all waiting for her. This was happening. This was really happening! She opened her mouth to say something, but Mac covered her lips with his. Whatever she’d been about to say no longer remained in her mind, which took off soaring, floating about in the darkness, disconnecting her from reality.

  He moved from
her mouth to nibble at her neck, then breathed out, “Don’t let me distract you,” and went back to her mouth.

  She pulled her mouth away to whisper, “Not at all.”

  As his tongue rolled around hers and her body quivered in response, the decision was made. She was taking this do-over to the extreme. She took the key card from his hand, slid it over the pad to unlock the door, and stepped inside his room.

  Mac followed her, then pushed the door shut, which made a quiet snick as it eased closed behind them. Enveloped by the dark, she felt him reach for her hand, then he tugged her deeper into the room. He must have found a wall switch, because suddenly warm light from a glass floor lamp next to the bed illuminated an expansive room with a travertine tiled floor and raised ceilings.

  Trudy took in the king-sized bed before Mac ran his hand up her spine. Oh, yes, that would do just fine. She turned and leaned into his arms. He captured her mouth with his and stepped her backward. This was amazing. In moments, her clothes would be off and she’d be prone on the bed, naked and tangled up with muscled limbs.

  A twinge hit her tummy. Even four years after the surgeries, she still was self-conscious about the scars on her stomach and the extra flab that made her jiggly parts extra jiggly. The flab that had earned her the Tubster Trudy moniker. Usually the first time she had sex with someone, she did it with the lights off.

  Mac kept his steady push and she backed up, until she felt the back of her calves pressed up against the bed frame, bumping it. She whipped her head around in time to see the jarred bed knock the side table, which thunked against the lamp, which in turn teetered for the length of three Mississippis before it gave in to gravity and hit the tiled floor below. Along with the sound of shattering glass came a hazy darkness.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. Uh oh. Breaking a lamp wasn’t exactly how she’d planned on getting Mac to turn out the lights.

  Mac nuzzled her clavicle. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the dark. Heightens other senses. Like touch, smell, taste…” He eased her down onto the bed, then shifted until he lay next to her. He wound his hands around the back of her neck to untie the knot. “I think it’s time this dress needs to come off…for the second time tonight. At least the top part.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said, then moaned with pleasure as a hand grazed her breast.

  “Not accidental that time,” he said with a smile clear in his tone. “Just to clarify.”

  “Good to know,” she said, then got busy kissing his neck.

  After a few moments of Mac working to untie her dress, he said, “Damn. Double knot wasn’t a good idea. Bad idea, in fact. Definitely.”

  A minor setback, that was all. “Here,” she said, “If I unzip the dress I can slip it off over my head.”

  Mac leaned back, allowing her room to reach behind her to release the zipper. Shaking fingers and an awkward position caused her to snag the fabric. “Shoot. My zipper’s caught.”

  “Let me try.” He pulled her close, then curled his arms around her and fumbled at the back of her dress, covering her neck with warm kisses as he struggled with the zipper. After a moment, he released his hold. “Nope, it’s not budging. You know,” he continued, “this is a bit awkward, and it’s pitch black in here. Give me a minute, so I can find another light.”

  “No!” Trudy’s answer came out quick. Instinctively, she covered her stomach with both hands.

  Mac’s hands on her back stilled. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Foster Mom Number Two had called her ninny, and she was acting like one now. It wasn’t like Mac hadn’t seen her figure before—he’d been checking her out all night. Obviously a bit of extra poundage didn’t bother him. And if he ran his hands over her belly, he’d find the scars she hated having exposed. Yeah, sure, they were only scars, but the night was going so well, the sexual energy so explosive, she didn’t want to waste time engaging in a protracted discussion of how she’d grown a web of thick silver and pink strands all over her abdomen.

  “Everything’s fine.” She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, tugging his head closer to hers. “It’s like what you said, the dark heightens the other senses. And we can always get to the good parts even with me still dressed.” She raised herself upward, reaching out to grab him, intending to latch hold of those muscular shoulders and drag him down with her.

  But when she sat up, he must have been on his way down, because the crack their two heads made when they connected reverberated hard enough to set off an earthquake alarm. A frisson of pain shot through her, replaced with a light throbbing.

  “Oh, shit…shit, shit, shit…” Mac’s shuddering voice sounded through the darkness.

  Trudy rubbed her forehead where a knot was beginning to form. What had she done now? Broken lamp. Knotted dress. Stuck zipper. Broken heads. They were going to need a double do-over at this rate.

  “Do you need some ice?” she asked, figuring it was the least she could do after nearly braining him to death.

  “Ice, ibuprofen, maybe a Vicodin or two,” he mumbled, and then groaned a few times, piteously.

  She bit her lip. How much damage had she done?

  A sound came from Mac.

  Oh, thank God. The man was laughing.

  * * *

  Mac sought Trudy’s face with his fingertips. This woman sure as hell drove him crazy. In a sexual way and in a bit of a wacky way, too. His head still ached, but the ache he felt from the desire to be inside her was way stronger. He wanted to make her so aroused she wouldn’t know if she was still alive or floating in the ether. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumbs, and then plunged his hands into her long, thick hair and kissed the hell out of her mouth.

  Underneath him, Trudy twisted, wedging her hands between their chests. Even in the dark, she was still able to find the buttons of his white linen shirt, which she released one by one, stopping only to tug his shirttails out of his pants. She was doing a much better job of stripping them in the dark. And his body was responding—and with urgency.

  His breath quickened. “Where’s your purse?” he whispered.

  “Uh oh.”

  “Uh oh what?” he asked.

  “I think I dumped half the contents of my purse on your bed when I knocked over the lamp. Hold on…”

  As she fished around in the dark, Mac quickly stripped all the remainder of his clothes, the soft swish of linen and wool drifting through the air. As he came back to the bed, she pressed a condom package into his hand.

  “You’re a life saver,” he said. In a matter of seconds, he managed to rip open the foil and cover himself.

  “Mmmmm…” she breathed, the sound soft and welcoming in his ear.

  He knew it was time. Time to give them both what they craved. What they both needed. He entered her slowly, allowing her to adjust to his thickness, listening for her gasps and moans that told him she wanted this. She wanted him.

  God, she felt incredible.

  He wanted to give her the orgasm of her life. And then give her another. And another, until they ran out of condoms. He shifted and came down on her, straddling either side of her chest with his forearms as he changed positions.

  She stiffened under him, then let out a loud moan.

  Wait. That didn’t sound like an I’m-about-to-come moan. More like an I’m-in-massive-pain moan. “What is it?”

  “Um…you’re on my hair.”

  It took Mac a moment to make his way through the sexual haze to realize what he was doing—pulling out Trudy’s hair by his weight. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.” He stopped his movements and readjusted his arms. He could hear a quiet whimper. Uh oh. He hadn’t ripped her lovely hair out by the roots, had he? “Trudy?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, her voice small.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Minor damage only. You don’t need to stop. In fact, please don’t.”

  Trudy’s warm arms encircled his back and she wrapped her legs around his hips and moaned. A good moan.
A yummy moan. A let’s-don’t-stop moan.

  His body responded. Intensely. “God, you feel good.” He got back into the moment, the sound of his heart beating hard in his ears and his breath coming out in a rush of air. He rocked his hips several times, increasing in intensity, readying himself for the explosion they were about to experience together.

  “Oop.” A soft noise escaped from Trudy’s mouth.

  Wait. What was that? Mac held off his imminent climax, realizing she no longer moved beneath him. Aching, he came to a stop, sunk deep inside. He breathed hard for a moment. Trudy simply lay there, unmoving. Like she was asleep. Or passed out.

  Or like she’d just…

  That couldn’t have been an orgasm, could it? But why else would she have stopped moving? He steadied his breath and said, “Um, did you just come?”

  “Um…yeah, I guess so.”

  She guessed so? Wow. Massive failure on his part. “Any chance you meant ‘oop,’ in a good way?”

  Her hair brushed against his face. “Sure. It was…fine.’”

  Fine? Oop? Had he completely lost his moves?

  He groaned. “Tell me what it’s usually like, Trudy.”

  “Well…” She hesitated, then when he nudged her with his elbow, she sucked in a deep breath and blew it out in a sharp puff. “It’s kind of like butterflies and rainbows and unicorn glitter are all filling the universe.”

  Unicorn glitter? “So…definitely not ‘oop.’”

  “It was still…nice.”

  He dropped his forehead to hers, aware of the sweat dripping off his brow onto her hairline. “Nice? Christ, Trudy, this wasn’t the way tonight was supposed to go.”

  Unreal. He hadn’t been this bad in bed since…well, probably high school, but he couldn’t even remember back that far (total lie—Calla Breckinridge’s rather unsatisfied face came to mind). Poor Trudy, expecting glitter and butterflies and getting an “oop” instead. He let his elbows slide out from where they were propping him up and dropped heavily on top of her, then rolled to the side.

  “You should still finish.” She sat up. “I don’t mind.”