Without waiting for him to open the jeep door for her, Lane got out and stood on the footpath. She felt a twinge of dismay as she looked up and down the street.
Woollahra was not a normal shopping precinct for Lane. No impersonal mall here—just a lovely, tree-lined street, a beautiful melding of contemporary and heritage architecture, an array of cafes, galleries and specialty stores and boutiques that would make a fashionista’s mouth water.
But Lane was not a fashionista. She was a woman who, okay, was wearing a new pink silk dress, but she’d teamed it with a cardigan that was not required on this sunny autumn day and a pair of nana shoes. She looked down at herself then at Adam—at his slim-fit jeans, pale blue shirt, and elastic-sided brown suede boots.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked.
“Nothing,” Lane said quickly.
But Adam was frowning down at her hands.
Then something seemed to change. Somehow, in the space of a heartbeat, he was less forbidding. He touched his fingertips gently to her cheek.
“You look fine, Lane,” he said. “Stop worrying.”
Before she could recover from the shock of him reading her anxiety with such ease, Adam pulled her into the nearest shop.
Several hours later, she was the owner of three dresses in jewel colors—too short, but beautifully fitted—two flirty skirts, an array of skimpy tops, a pair of low-rise, pencil-leg jeans and a red semi-formal gown, hemmed with a series of flirty ruffles at mid-thigh level in the front and dropping gracefully to the ankle in the back. And shoes—she had four new pairs of shoes: all too high, too bright, too fancy and too…sexy.
“You’re freaking out again,” Adam said as she paid for one last purchase—a royal blue, cowl-necked mini dress that hugged her hips like a second skin.
“I’m just not sure I’ll ever have the nerve to wear any of this.”
Adam smiled. “Well you know what they say—no time like the present.” He gestured for the shop assistant to remove the tags. He then took the dress, shook it out, and handed it back to Lane.
“You mean put it on now?” she asked.
“Yep.” He held out another shopping bag. “And these, too.”
“The dress and the shoes?”
He nudged her towards the change room. “Move.”
Lane was shaking as she came out. The dress exposed too much leg. And the shoes—nude, pointy-toed pumps, four inches high—made her feel like a giant.
But Adam whistled appreciatively. “Very nice,” he said. “But don’t hunch your shoulders. You’re with me and I’m six feet three—you’re a pygmy by comparison.”
Lane, obligingly thrusting her shoulders back but blushing and fiddling with the neckline (far too swingy and therefore too revealing in the breast department), followed him to the jeep.
He opened the back and together they loaded the shopping bags.
And then, “One more thing,” he said, and pulled the elastic off her hair. “Better.”
“I don’t think it suits me,” Lane mumbled.
Adam smoothed her hair then made a tiny adjustment to the neckline of the dress. “You look gorgeous,” he said. “So gorgeous, I am going to give you a lesson as we drive.”
What did that mean? Because she knew people did it in vehicles. And he’d come so close to actually doing it last night. But it was broad, bright daylight. Still, maybe…maybe… “W-What lesson?” she asked a little tremulously.
“The lesson about getting fondled in inappropriate places. Lesson Number Nine.”
He took her face between his hands and she felt a rush of heat between her legs that made her eyes want to close. But she was almost at eye level in the new shoes, and he was staring at her so intently, so…intimately, she needed to see him. “Inappropriate…where?” Her voice was hardly more than a breath.
“In this case, we’ve got two inappropriate destinations at hand. My jeep. And your legs. Well, I’ll start with your legs, anyway. My hand might climb a little higher as we go.”
Something arced between them. Something that caused Lane’s breath to jam in her throat. She was aware of an overpowering desire to kiss him.
She reached her arms around his waist and leaned into him, lifting her face, her mouth, silently begging.
“I hope you’re going to kiss me, Lane,” Adam said.
She raised up, the last tiny little bit, and put her mouth on his.
* * *
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. She might be a novice, but she was so damned good.
Adam groaned as her tongue swished into his mouth. He wanted to take over the kiss, wind his hands in her beautiful hair, angle her to fit their mouths more closely, but he forced himself to stay still, with his hands on her face.
This was the first time she had initiated contact, and he wanted her to do it her way. Do it any way she wanted. And her way was hard, hot. The way she sucked his tongue was a little clumsy, but it was also incredibly arousing. She pulled back, rubbing her lips across his, then finished with one tiny, chaste kiss.
She drew back, gazed at him. Seeming delighted…but a little nervous. Waiting for her score. “Did I do it right?” she asked.
He moved then, taking her in his arms. “Can you feel that, Lane?” he asked, and pushed his hips against hers. He was so hard it was painful. It was like all the blood in his body had rushed to his pants and metamorphosed into a scorched titanium tower.
Her eyes widened. She nodded.
“That means you did it right. Now, get in. Lesson time.”
She scrambled to do as he asked—giving him an eyeful of serviceable white panties as she navigated the climb into the high seat in her high heels and tight dress, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t depraved enough to jump her bones when she was half in, half out of a vehicle on a public street, but he thought it best not to push the issue.
The moment he pulled out from the curb, his hand was on her knee. Just resting there.
She jumped. “Oh,” she said.
He smiled, and slid his hand a little higher. “It’s going to go all the way up, Lane, so get ready.”
“W-Where are we going?”
“My place.” Hand edging a little higher.
“Why? Oh.”
He moved his hand higher again, so that his fingers were skimming the hem of her dress. “Because Erica doesn’t live there.”
His fingers were underneath her hem now, slipping to the inside of her thigh.
“Didn’t you…ahh, ahh…like her?”
“Don’t like, don’t dislike. Just don’t care. And I don’t want an audience for my next kissing lesson.”
“Oh. More kissing. I thought we were going to—ohh—get to…you know…get to…the next level.”
“It’s a step forward, Lane, I promise. Ask me where I’m going to kiss you.”
She was having great difficulty catching her breath. Her thigh was tense, braced, under his hand. “W-Where?”
“Open your legs a little more, Lane,” he said in answer.
She did as she was told, and his fingers swooped, rubbing over the cotton between her thighs. “Right about here,” he said.
“You can’t kiss me there,” she said.
“I not only can, but will.”
“But we haven’t even done it yet.”
“There’s no set order for doing these things.”
“But…are you sure you want to? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. And I read an article that said some men—Oh, my God!”
His fingers were inside her panties now, reaching into the moisture, then shifting, circling one tiny spot. “How are you going there, Lane?” Ready to beg, yet?
“I—I…I don’t want to talk…”
“In answer to your question, yes, I do want to do it to you, Lane. I want to kiss you right…here. Are you going to let me?”
“Yes, yes, just…”
She squirmed, a look of such intense concentration on her face as she made those res
tless, shifting movements, he thought he was going to have to pull over and finish this. But he kept driving, torturing her, torturing himself. God, he wanted to see her, there. He wanted his fingers inside her, his mouth over her.
They pulled into his street and he and thanked God for the parking spot he could see in front of the house—it was closer than the garage. He screeched to a stop, withdrew his hand, tugged her dress back into place. Looked at her, saw the amazement on her face. “The sooner we get inside, the sooner I finish,” he said.
Lane almost leapt out of the car.
* * *
Lane’s head was spinning, so she only managed a glimpse of Adam’s street—the row of terraced houses on one side; a lovely lush park on the other; fig trees arching across the street like a cathedral ceiling, so beautiful.
That was all she noticed as she was pulled through the gate and up three small steps to Adam’s house, which was painted a dark gray with black iron lacework trim. She stumbled in her new shoes and silently cursed her clumsiness, but didn’t stop.
She heard Adam swear under his breath—he seemed to be having trouble with the lock—but it only took moments to get inside the house. A fleeting impression of a hallway, a richly hued rug over a wooden floor, lots of paintings—and then Adam grabbed Lane’s hand again and dragged her down the hallway, past rooms on the left that blazed color and warmth through their open doorways, heading straight for a set of stairs and up. She barely had time to draw a breath at the top before he pulled her into a room. Greens, golds, maroons. Two large paintings. French doors leading to a tiny balcony.
And a bed. Antique. Big. Beautiful.
Without uttering one word, Adam spun her to face him and pushed her backwards onto it. He hiked up the hem of her dress. Within seconds, her panties were yanked down and off.
He stopped, and looked at her.
“Thank God,” he said.
Lane instinctively reached for the hem of her dress to tug it down.
But his hands were there, stopping her. “Thank God for…for what?” she asked nervously.
“I am not into Brazilian waxes, Lane. And you, my fiery-haired sweetheart, are perfect.”
“Oh. Erica said I should…you know, wax, but I got a little…a little…embarrassed.” She tugged again on her dress.
Again, Adam stopped her. “How about you listen to me on this, not Erica, since I’m the one who gets to play here?” He knelt between her legs, nudged her thighs apart and looked again. “Beautiful,” he breathed out, and without giving her any warning, put his mouth on her.
She arched up off the bed. Wow. Wow! God, it was…the best thing in the world. His tongue was teasing her, teasing that spot, licking, circling. She could feel that delicious, breathtaking anticipation that had been hovering over her in the jeep, only magnified a thousand times. It made her shake. Made her whimper and shiver, and lunge closer to try and force his mouth more firmly against her. She couldn’t seem to control anything. Not her breathing, not her heartbeat, not her nerves, not the sounds coming out of her mouth.
It was building, building. His tongue was inside her…no, it wasn’t, it was back, circling that little nub…no, inside her. His mouth covered her, and he sucked, sucked, licked, sucked…oohh…
Lane screamed as every muscle in her body tensed and something incandescent erupted like a flare inside her. The pleasure went on and on and on, and tremors shook her so hard she thought she might have a heart attack.
And through it all, Adam kept his mouth on her.
Finally, she stilled.
She felt a soft kiss—right on her hair, down there—felt him take in a deep breath, still there—then he tugged her hem back into place and slid up next to her on the bed.
They lay in silence, side by side.
What did a girl say after an experience like that?
She looked at Adam, hoping for a clue…and her heart plummeted.
He looked appalled. Worse than appalled—disgusted.
So he had hated it. Or she’d done it wrong. Or all those things she couldn’t control while he was doing that to her were repulsive to him. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”
Adam threw an arm over his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lane.”
“If it was good, you wouldn’t be looking like that.”
He removed his arm and glared at her. “Like what?”
“Like you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
He laughed—a bitter, almost defeated sound. “It’s just…I didn’t expect to… I mean, this wasn’t supposed to… That is…” He stopped. Sighed. “This was not according to plan. That’s all.”
“It wasn’t according to plan? I don’t understand.”
No answer.
Lane swallowed. “Well…what about if I… If I…”
“Spit it out, for God’s sake.”
“If I even the score. You know, do to you what you just did to me.” Please say yes. Please, please, please.
“It may have escaped your notice, but I have different body parts.”
“If it’s escaped my notice, it’s only because you won’t show me yours,” she said tartly.
He looked at her for one long, fraught moment. Then, “Right,” he said, and got off the bed.
In one furious jerk, he ripped open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere. Next, he toed off his boots, tugged off his socks. Then his hands went to the waistband of his jeans. Unbuttoned. Unzipped. Shoved down, kicked aside. He was wearing white hipster trunks, the cotton stretched taut over a massive, straining erection.
Next moment, the underwear was gone and Lane was looking at her first naked male body. Her pulse leaped and her mouth went dry.
“There,” he said. “Now you’ve seen. Now what?”
Swallow. “Well, I think I should touch.”
He groaned, and seemed to grow bigger before her eyes. But he nodded. Tersely, but it was a definite nod.
Lane got off the bed and came to him. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked a fingertip, once, along the shaft. “Is that okay?” she asked.
He said nothing. He was gritting his teeth. Was that a bad sign? She thought not, except that his face looked so strained and grim.
But he wasn’t telling her to stop, so she did it again, a little more firmly. Then, catching her tongue between her teeth, she put her hand around him and held on. It felt…well, amazing. Hot and hard and satiny. She could see a bead of moisture on the tip. And without thinking, she dropped to her knees and licked it.
“Enough,” Adam said, his voice hoarse.
“Sorry,” she said, and got hurriedly to her feet. “Perhaps you can tell me how to do it right.”
But Adam was yanking his jeans on—not bothering with underwear.
She watched as he shoved his arms into his buttonless shirt. “Adam, I’m sorry if that was no good, but you have to show me what to do.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Lane.”
She shook her head, confused. “Then why did you want me to stop?”
“Only because…because you were…” Adam shifted in the seat. “Ah, hell, I was too excited.”
“You were excited…so you told me to stop?” Lane’s brow puckered. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Adam shifted again. “Too excited. Too! It’s a matter of—” He broke off, swore. “There’s a certain measure of…of ego involved. If you get a man too excited too quickly he—ah, he—um—”
“I see,” Lane said, nodding sagely. “It’s a problem with premature ejaculation.”
Adam recoiled as though someone had touched a flaming torch to him. “It most certainly is not.”
“Then what is it?”
Adam ran a hand over his hair. “It’s the effect you have on me.”
“An effect that means you can’t bear for me to touch you.”
He looked frazzled. “Yes. I guess.” Short and clipped.
Lane blinked hard. Remembered how DeWayne was, right after. He’d run to the
bathroom and washed her off. Had barely looked at her when he’d come back into the room. Just gestured to her clothes, basically telling her to get lost. And now Adam.… “Do you think that’s likely to happen with other men?”
“Hell yes,” he burst out again, “if you respond like…that.…”
“Like…that.…?”
“When I had my mouth, my tongue, on you.”
“And that’s something you think you can help me with? I mean…so I don’t have that effect on men?” So I don’t have that effect on you. She felt her skin heat. No! On David. David!
“I—I don’t know, Lane. You’re…surprising, I guess. We’ll have to see what happens.”
“Then that’s all we can expect, isn’t it?” Lane gave him a bleak little smile. “I don’t want any more lessons today.”
“I’ll take you home,” Adam said with an alacrity that was discouraging.
They didn’t speak until Adam pulled up outside Lane’s house. “Blood tests tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said. “So I’ll come by on Wednesday. The results should be back by then. Oh, hang on—where’s Erica going to be?”
“Erica’s got an LA rotation, so it’s fine,” Lane said, although she was wondering why they were bothering with the blood tests. It looked as though there wasn’t going to be any actual intercourse happening if Adam couldn’t even bear for her to touch him.
* * *
Adam watched Lane disappear into her house with her shopping bags and cursed his own traitorous body.
He was an idiot.
It was as simple as that.
One kiss from her—on a damned footpath!—and he had lost any semblance of intelligence. Playing with her legs, using his fingers on her while they were driving along a busy road. Then falling on her like some pathetic, sex-starved beast the moment he got her on his bed.
Not that he wasn’t sex-starved. He bloody well was.
But she hadn’t begged, like he wanted.
He hadn’t given her time to beg.
He started the car, and pulled onto the road.
But the way she’d responded. So uninhibited, so eager and lusty and hot and wet and wild. Everything about her had excited him. The look, the taste, the smell, the feel of her, the sounds she’d made.
The Contract Page 9
