In short, she allowed the impulsive part of her nature, the part she’d inherited from her mother and her aunt, to overrule her common sense. Amy didn’t like denying herself the things she enjoyed, and though she’d spent years in Florida smothering those yearnings, it had been easy when she was away from people her own age, away from temptation.
And John Roper was a temptation she couldn’t ignore.
Once dinner and desert ended and they were settled back in his car, he lay an arm over the back of her seat. “So, my place or yours?” he asked, staring at her with those sexy, mesmerizing eyes.
She knew what she ought to say, just as she knew she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to end their time together. She’d been alone for too many nights, and he made her feel too good to cut the evening short now.
“My place,” she answered before she could change her mind.
ROPER DIDN’T EXPECT anything to happen between himself and Amy. He didn’t. She’d made her feelings perfectly clear, yet he couldn’t help wanting her, desiring her, needing her.
He’d never clicked with a woman the way he connected with Amy. From the food they had in common to her understanding of his family and the on-the-road lifestyle he lived as a ballplayer, there had never been a lull in their conversation. Normally women’s eyes glazed over when he talked about his time on the field. Locker-room stories only interested them if he mentioned famous names. Not Amy. She tried to get a grip on who his friends were and who he merely tolerated. She talked about her time in Florida with a self-deprecating humor he appreciated.
He already knew he had a good friend in Amy, something he valued. She’d seamlessly stepped into his life and had taken over where Micki had left off. As much as he loved his longtime friend, she now had a husband, a daughter and a life that kept her busy. Roper understood the changes, but he was grateful to have Amy to fill the void. Grateful enough that he didn’t want to screw things up and lose her before their friendship had time to take hold. Yet by the time she let them into her apartment, his desire was becoming hard to control.
He’d talked her into dinner by respecting the fine line she drew between work and pleasure. As much as he desired to kiss her, hold her, feel her body around his, he’d have to let things progress without pushing too hard too fast. Somehow.
“Coffee?” Her soft voice broke into his thoughts.
He nodded. “That would be great.”
“Make yourself at home while I go make us some.” She gestured to the small couch with a sweep of her hand. “I should warn you, though, it won’t be freshly ground,” she said as she disappeared into her kitchen.
“I’ll manage,” he said, laughing.
She peeked out from behind the dividing wall. “Good, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to invite you back.”
He was just glad she wanted him here.
She disappeared back into the small kitchen area.
While waiting for her to finish making their coffee, he glanced around, seeing the personal touches and changes Amy had put on the apartment. Over the plain white wooden slatted blinds, Amy had put up new ruffled curtains that gave the place a womanly feel. She’d added plants on the windowsills and photographs of palm trees, of pink and yellow homes and southern landscapes on the walls. So feminine. So Amy.
“Coffee is served,” she said, returning with two white mugs. “I remembered you ordered yours with a little milk, no sugar at the restaurant, so that’s the way I made it. But if you want to add anything, just let me know.” She placed both mugs on coasters on a glass table in front of the couch.
“Thanks. I’m sure its perfect.”
He sat beside her on the sofa, keenly aware of her sweet scent. “I love the changes you made to the apartment,” he said, reminding himself to take things slow. “Especially the curtains.”
She smiled in appreciation. “They’re homemade.”
“That makes it even nicer.” He took a sip of the too-strong, practically burnt coffee and somehow managed not to wince.
“Well?” She rocked back and forth in her seat, eager for his approval.
“Delicious.” He even managed to keep a straight face. Insulting her coffee wouldn’t exactly endear him to her. “So how do you like living in New York?” he asked.
“It’s different. The pace is faster, the expectations higher, but somehow I’m loving it.” Her eyes glittered with an excitement he found arousing.
She’d kicked off her black pumps. Her simple black dress was casual and not intentionally seductive. She wore just enough makeup to accent her pretty features, but not enough to disguise her freckles or tan.
At a glance she was so Floridian—laid-back and at ease—but inside, he knew she had definite strength of character. He admired the adventurous spirit it took to pick up her life and move to a new city. This strong woman drew him to her and he found it difficult not to put his coffee cup down and pull her into his arms, showing her just how much he desired her.
“I’m glad you’re happy here. It’s better than being homesick.” He leaned back and lay one arm over the couch cushion, feigning relaxing though his body was strung tight.
She nodded. “True. I miss my family and the warm weather, but this change was way overdue.”
“So how did you end up working at the retirement community in the first place?” he asked, taking advantage of the opening to learn more about her.
She placed her coffee mug on the table and he followed her lead.
“Let’s see. I didn’t start that way. I graduated college with a degree in social work. I took a job working for the state. It was heartbreaking and difficult, but I was making a difference in the world.”
“So what happened?”
“My mother happened. My boss was extremely conservative. All he cared about was propriety and how our behavior reflected the office and the work we did.”
“Which shouldn’t be an issue for you. You’re the epitome of propriety.” But obviously her mother wasn’t.
Amy curled her legs beneath her and the hem of her dress slipped higher, creeping up her thighs.
His mouth grew dry. His fingers itched to slip his hand beneath the short dress and touch her bare skin in an intimate caress.
“Propriety isn’t easy to come by in a family like mine,” she said, obviously unaware of the direction of his thoughts.
Amy was exactly what he saw. She was real and she appealed to him on a gut level. One that forced his imagination to go into overdrive. He wondered what she wore beneath the dress and drew a long, steadying breath.
“My mother and my aunt have this tendency to get themselves arrested for things like indecent exposure and being a public nuisance.”
He couldn’t suppress a grin. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s funny.”
She shook her head. “Not to the man who hired me. Or to his very proper boss.”
“Go on.” He squeezed her hand, encouraging her to tell him the rest. “I promise I won’t laugh.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” She smiled, surprising him. “Mom got a part-time job at a wig store in town. Not just any wig store but one specializing in wigs for cancer patients. She took it on herself to advertise during the annual Halloween Parade.” Amy paused, picked up her mug and took a sip of her vile coffee, keeping him in suspense.
Not wanting her to question him about his drink, he took a sip from his mug, too.
“Anyway, Mom dressed up as Lady Godiva wearing nothing but a long wig and a sign with the shop’s name around her neck.”
He nearly spit out his coffee in shock. “Oh, God.”
Her own mouth twitched with humor over the situation. “The police called me to come get her. I bailed her out, but she’d already gotten the press she wanted, including a photograph of her wearing the sign on the front page of the paper with me walking beside her on her way home from jail.”
“Let me guess. Your boss lacked a sense of humor?”
She
nodded. “I was damned immediately. Guilt by association. That’s when I decided somebody needed to keep an eye on my mother and keep her in check. Since my father died, she’d become even more outrageous. So I moved back home. Uncle Spencer had just bought land with some real-estate partners and they were developing a seniors’ community. I stepped right in and took over.”
He shook his head. “You have some very interesting relatives.”
“Coming from you, that’s quite a statement,” she said, laughing.
“Good point.” He glanced down at their hands. He still held hers and she hadn’t pulled away. “I take it this is why you hate being on the receiving end of publicity?”
Amy nodded. “It’s part of the reason.” She didn’t know how to further explain, but she tried. “My dad was nothing like my mom. From the time I was little, he taught me the importance of making a difference. He was a lawyer who specialized in family law and he did his part to make the world a better place.”
He squeezed her hand lightly and she appreciated the gesture. She smiled, and one look into his eyes told her his understanding wasn’t an act. He got what she was saying.
What she couldn’t explain to him, what she didn’t want to even admit to herself, was that her fear of the press went deeper. Being fired from her first job just for being photographed beside her naked mother reinforced her belief that her mother’s wildness was a trait she had to suppress—in her parent and in herself. Because a secret part of Amy admired her mother’s brazenness. That same part sometimes yearned to be set free so she could jump in pools on a whim and openly enjoy life without fear.
She had more of her mother in her than she cared to admit. Amy had gotten drunk at college and joined her best friend in streaking outside the boys’ dorm. When she’d woken up the next morning, she had a fuzzy recollection of a wild night, but nothing more—until the football players whistled at her the next day. “Nice ass, Amy!” they’d called, and the memory of what she’d done came flooding back. It wasn’t the first time she’d done something crazy. But she always tried to make it the last. And by attempting to temper her mother’s antics, she managed to control her own.
During her years at the retirement community, she hadn’t exactly excelled at keeping her mother in check—but short of enforced confinement, not even her father had been able to do that. What Amy had accomplished, however, was to turn her uncle’s retirement home into a successful establishment, and she’d proved to herself that working behind the scenes was her forte.
“Hey.” Roper reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her face.
She trembled at his touch, her body immediately responding.
“Not everybody’s cut out for my kind of life. Hell, sometimes I’m not cut out for my kind of life,” he said, chuckling.
“Poor baby.” She spoke lightly, but she was feeling anything but casual toward him at the moment.
He understood her feelings. He cared. And from the moment she’d met him, she’d wanted this. Wanted to be alone with him and see where things went.
Maybe it was that damned wild side and maybe this yearning for Roper was real. She didn’t know, but when she looked into his intense eyes filled with desire for her alone, everything inside her told her to go for it.
Her heart pounded hard, echoing in her ears. The tension had been building between them all night, and sharing her past, her fears, herself, only intensified the connection.
She wondered if he’d make the first move or if she’d just throw caution to the wind and kiss him first. It was a tie. They met in the middle, lips lightly touching at the same time he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, locking her in place.
She wasn’t going anywhere but liked the pressure of his palm pressing her ever closer, deepening the kiss. Fireworks went off inside her brain while sizzling heat seared her body inside out. She was lost in the moment while he seemed to grow frenzied. His hands threaded upward through her hair, while she grasped his shoulders and dug her nails into him, needing more with each passing second.
With shaking hands, she moved to his shirt, working on the buttons, opening one at a time, making sure her fingers grazed his chest. “Did I ever mention that I like how you’re always so nicely dressed?” she managed to ask him.
He lifted his head and smiled. “No, but I’m glad you noticed.”
She laughed softly. “I noticed everything about you. Of course, it’s hard for a woman who’s used to running around in shorts and flip-flops to compete with you. I changed at least fifteen times tonight,” she said, embarrassed at the admission.
His eyes grew darker, hotter, if possible. “I’ve never seen you looking anything but perfect,” he said as he brought his hands around to the back of her dress.
Her nipples tightened even more than they already were, puckering hard as he slowly undid her zipper, lowering it until he reached the small of her back.
“I’d like to see Florida through your eyes,” he said in a husky voice. “And I’d love to be with you when you’re running around in those skimpy little shorts and tank tops.”
She licked her damp lips. “I don’t recall mentioning that my shorts were skimpy or that I wore tank tops.”
“It’s my imagination. Let it get carried away, will you?” He splayed his hands across her back and sucked in a shallow breath. “No bra.” He closed his eyes and counted to ten, all the while skimming his hand up and down her bare back. “I’m glad I didn’t know about this before now.”
“Honestly, this dress didn’t call for one.”
“Honestly, I’m glad.” He pulled the dress down over her shoulders, releasing her breasts.
She tried not to squirm or show her embarrassment as he stared at her full breasts, tight nipples and overall bare top half.
He leaned his head back against the couch and groaned. “Amy, you are so gorgeous.”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen the women you’ve been with, so let’s not go there, okay? If I wasn’t so far gone with wanting you, I’d be more self-conscious. Let’s not give me time to get there.” She glanced away as she spoke.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think she measured up as much as she knew how hard the women in his circles must work to keep up appearances, cosmetic and otherwise. She was just an everyday woman with an everyday body. It was a reality she understood. How could she not mention the obvious?
He shook his head. “Listen,” he said in a serious voice. “Considering I’m here with you, and you can feel how much I want you, I think we’re clear on what looking at you does for me.” He covered her breasts with his palms and she forgot all sense of embarrassment.
Heck, she nearly passed out from the glorious sensation of his warm palms and hot touch. And when he slowly, gently, cupped their weight, palming her flesh, she writhed, squeezing her thighs together, letting small waves of pleasure build higher.
A soft moan escaped her throat and he reacted immediately, lowering his head and pulling her nipple into his mouth. She whimpered. He merely suckled her harder, using his tongue to lick and his teeth to lightly graze her flesh. Nerve endings on fire, unable to control herself, she rocked her hips from side to side, desire and longing building inside her. And when she couldn’t take the sensations he evoked any more, he seemed to know and transferred his attention to her other breast, giving it equal loving attention.
Bells went off in her head and it took some time before she realized it was a cell phone and not ecstasy causing the sound.
Hers? His? She wasn’t sure, but reality, which had been far away, dawned slowly. It wasn’t her phone.
“John?” she asked, calling for his attention.
He didn’t respond.
“John?” She curled her fingers into his shoulders.
“What?”
“Your cell phone,” she said, pushing him away.
He blinked and raised his head, his eyes glazed. “Ignore it,” he said, leaning closer, obviously intending to kiss her again.
But she wasn’t lost in the moment anymore. Nor was she so far gone she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She shook her head and scrambled to her feet. “No, it might be important.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The woman who insisted I shut my cell phone off when I’m with you now wants me to answer it?” he asked in disbelief.
She rose and began to work her dress back up over her shoulders. They’d moved too fast and she needed space. “Get the phone, okay?” she asked, hoping he’d take the hint and give her a minute.
He ran a hand over his eyes and groaned. “It’s stopped ringing.”
“Then listen to your voice mail.”
Obviously she’d made her point, because he stood. His shirt hung open, a reminder of how close she’d been to heaven.
He walked up behind her and reached for her dress. She flinched, but when he ignored her reaction and merely did up the zipper, she felt badly. “I’m sorry. This was just…I got carried away.” She hoped he understood, because she didn’t want an argument.
Roper stared at Amy. They’d been hot and heavy until his damned phone ruined the moment. He had no choice but to be a gentleman and respect her wishes. Talking could come later.
He grabbed for his phone and dialed his voice mail.
For once it wasn’t his family interrupting. One of his teammates wanted to meet for drinks. Roper had no desire to leave Amy or to hang with the guys, but the damage here had been done.
“Anything important?” Amy asked, as she turned to face him.
He shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Well, at least it isn’t an emergency.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to fix the strands he’d messed with his fingers.
“Amy—”
“It’s getting late,” she said.
Obviously she wasn’t going to let him talk about them, which was quite a contradiction to her planner personality. She liked things discussed and analyzed as long as she wasn’t the one under the microscope.
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