Until He Met Rachel

by Debra Salonen

  “You can’t,” he said. “Didn’t you tell me you needed at least an hour after driving down my road to stop your teeth from rattling?”

  She smiled. “I did say that, didn’t I? I guess I’m getting used to it. I’ve made so many trips lately, and it gets dark so early these days, I think I could drive it in my sleep.”

  He waited to see if she’d hop down and grab her coat, but she didn’t. She simply sat there looking lost and a bit befuddled. She needed a hug, and he was going to give her one—even if physical contact was in direct violation of his earlier, set-in-stone mandate.

  He stood and closed the distance between them in a single step. He might have been able to resist her body—he’d seen some of the most beautiful women in the world up close and minimally clothed—but he was powerless against her vulnerability.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised but not alarmed. She hugged him back in a friendly, not particularly provocative way. “Nice. I like your cologne.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I think I like your wood-and-glue smell better.” Her eyes went wide and she pulled away. “Uh-oh. Does that make me a huffer?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Secondhand glue fumes are not addictive.”

  Their gazes met and held. Rufus knew that in addition to vulnerability, he was also a complete and utter sucker for a beautiful mind. Not only smart, but quick, nimble, supple and open. Her thought process reminded him of the way he built birdhouses. Testing, twisting, reshaping bits and pieces of nature until he had something interesting and unique.

  In the past few months, his motto had become “try everything because you never know what will fit best.”

  Try everything… He put his hand on her knee. The fabric of the hem was luxurious, but not was silky as her sheer stockings. She drew in a small, quick gulp of air.

  “I thought touching was bad form. Unprofessional.”

  He shrugged. “For you, maybe. But I think there’s a law that says clients don’t have to be professional. Want me to show you just how unprofessional I can get?”

  She swallowed loudly. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips as she weighed the offer.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t push him away, either.

  Through half-closed lids, he watched her react to his persistent little nibbles on her full bottom lip. His nose nuzzled her cheek as his hand squeezed her knee, slipping ever so casually under the hem, inching upward until he touched skin.

  He froze. “Speaking of anachronisms? Are you wearing a garter belt and hose?”

  Her expression turned impish. “You saw my box of sex toys. I figured you knew I was a scandalous hussy. Black lace and stockings are only the beginning. Are you sure you want to go there?”

  He knew damn well that he shouldn’t. There would be hell to pay in the morning…or somewhere down the road. But he couldn’t stop now. “Black lace? My complete and utter downfall. Can I peek?”

  She threw her arms around him and opened her legs to draw him close. “Oh, hell, I give up. You can do a lot more than that.”

  He lowered his head and sealed the deal to the best offer he’d ever had.

  Rachel knew she was going to regret this impulsive act. It wasn’t as bad as marrying a man she barely knew, but having sex with a client had to be up there.

  It wasn’t too late to stop, she told herself. Rufus might be many things, including a sexy stud in lumberjack clothing, but he wasn’t the kind of man who needed to win at all cost. He would have listened to her protests and stepped away…if she wanted to protest.

  But she didn’t. His work-roughened hands added the perfect amount of friction against her skin. His touch was sure and firm, as if following a creative muse to a wonderful piece of work.

  “Should we go to the house?” he asked, dropping a shower of kisses down the side of her neck as he eased the fabric from across one shoulder.

  She shivered, but not from the cold. She’d always had a secret fantasy about making love on a desk. “No. I want to stay here.”

  His left eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Here here?”

  She moved her hips to scoot forward until their bodies touched. Right where they needed to touch. “Uh-huh.”

  He didn’t say anything but a slow, all-knowing smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. His really beautiful mouth. She put her thumb to his lips and ran it along the edge of his teeth. He sucked it in playfully, grinning as he did.

  “I have the feeling you’re going to be full of surprises.”

  “Nope. What you see is exactly what you get. Nothing more. Not a whole lot less,” she said, glancing down at her chest, which probably looked a bit perkier than normal because of her the dress’s clever underwire support.

  “That works for me,” he said. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it while looking into her eyes. “Because what I see is pretty damn fantastic.”

  She was about to say, “I bet you say that to all your Web designers,” but decided against it. She didn’t want either of them to be reminded of work. This wasn’t about the mundane world. This was about fantasy and escape.

  “I should warn you…it’s been a while for me.”

  In the muted light, his eyes were the color of dark chocolate. Her favorite. “Me, too. But I’m pretty sure the mechanics will come back to us,” he said.

  The low, sexy edge to his voice sent a rush of desire through her blood. At this point, she’d take good, bad or otherwise. She wanted him. Period. But she wasn’t a fool. “Do we need to have the safe-sex talk?” she asked.

  He looked at her soberly. “A few years ago, I would have said, ‘Absolutely,’ where I was concerned. But one good thing about leading a monkish life is you have no communicable diseases to communicate. You?”

  She made a pretend Girl Scout pledge. “Clean bill of health, top to bottom. The one good thing about having a cheating husband is you don’t take anything for granted, health-wise. And pregnancy isn’t an issue because I’m in year two of a three-year birth control implant.” Thank you, Trevor.

  If she was afraid such frank, unromantic talk might cast a damper on his ardor, she was wrong. His expression turned roguish and heartthrob sexy. Suddenly she understood why he’d been such a successful model—the man was hot.

  And he wanted her. She sensed that at every level. The anticipation nearly robbed her of speech. “So, we’re good?”

  He edged the shoulder of her dress an inch or so lower using his index finger. “Oh, yeah. We’re good…and we’re going to get bad. Very bad,” he said with a throaty growl that made her blood pulse.

  And, although she was mildly surprised, she also knew she was ready. Fun, frivolous and fantastic sex. She’d take any—or all—of the above. Without regret, she promised herself. No second-guessing and whining. She deserved this.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FINESSE. THAT HAD

  always been his policy. Even when he was three sheets to the wind after a long night of partying and there was a good chance he wouldn’t remember the name of the woman in his arms the next morning, he made damn sure she’d remember him. He’d take his time, petting, kissing, licking—whatever and wherever—until she was putty in his hands. But the instant Rachel gave him the okay to make love with her, he knew things were going to be different. Because it had been so long for him? He didn’t think so. More it was about what she did to him. Her touch sent crazy shivers throughout his body. When she started to unbutton his shirt he went as hard as a teenager with his first nudie magazine.

  And she felt it. How could she not since he was pressed against the V of her legs. They were both still completely dressed but she had a lot less to remove than he did. She shimmied closer.

  “You excite me.”

  “I can tell.”

  He pulled back enough to put his hand where his body had been. He cupped her, pressing the heel of his hand against the heated, dewy
resistance of her panties. Rolling his palm in a slow, firm circle, he drew a slight gasp that turned to a purr.

  She let go of his shoulders and leaned back on her elbows. Neck arched, she moved her hips harder and faster, her body telling him what she wanted and needed. After a few seconds, he slipped his middle finger under the elastic of her bikinis and found her, hot and ready.

  “Oh,” she cried, her eyes flying open.

  She held her breath and rode the sensation as he explored, tested and teased.

  The silky material of the dress fell back, bunching around the tops of her thighs. He pushed it higher, exposing the pretty white flesh of her belly. There was a faint bikini line defined by her skimpy lace panties but he was glad to see she didn’t go in for the year-round-tan look.

  He leaned over and kissed her belly button, his hands silently praising her womanly shape. He’d made love to enough rail-thin models to prefer a softer, more natural body. Rachel’s was perfect. And he told her so.

  He could tell by the look in her eyes she didn’t believe him. He would have to prove it by worshipping every aspect of her…if he could hold out that long.

  She stroked the side of his cheek with the tips of her fingers a moment. Then she sat up and reached behind her back. He heard the distinctive sound of a zipper. A second later, the bodice of her dress gaped provocatively.

  The dress had a built-in bra, he realized, catching glimpses of her beautiful, upturned breasts, as she slipped her arms free of the long sleeves. The reciprocal surge in desire nearly unmanned him. He sucked in his gut and tried to think of something else.

  Dogs. Where were his dogs?

  “Ooh,” she said, clasping the fabric to her chest. “Cooler than I thought.” She smiled. “Probably because I’m so overheated from the inside out.”

  He quickly finished unbuttoning his shirt and wrenched it off to drape across her shoulders. Plaid flannel and red silk—an odd combination. But somehow it worked. She smiled as if he’d given her diamonds.

  “You are incredible,” he said, mesmerized by her loveliness.

  Grinning, she kicked off her shoes. They clattered on the floor, causing one of the dogs to let out a halfhearted woof.

  She wrapped her legs around him and reached up to rest her forearms on his shoulders. His shirt was forgotten, and Rufus knew they weren’t going to need the warmth it might provide. The heat between them could have fueled the workshop all night.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a soft bed?” he asked, praying she would say no. “Or the sofa by the fire?”

  “Later,” she answered. Her voice low and throaty. She licked her lips and said, “I need you to make love to me. Now.”

  That he could handle.

  He kissed her, pressing his tongue deep into her mouth then flicking and teasing. She liked to play, too. He could tell by the way she raked her fingers through his hair and nipped at his bottom lip.

  When they were both thoroughly aroused, he unbuttoned his jeans and carefully lowered the zipper. He’d been in a hurry when he changed clothes and hadn’t bothered with underwear. Or so he’d told himself. Maybe he’d been hoping against hope that something like this might happen.

  Whatever this was. Consensual sex between two people who didn’t have anything to lose?

  Except, well…everything.

  But he was way past the point of no return, and he was pretty sure whatever emotional price making love with Rachel Grey took from him would be worth it.

  He attempted to release the garters, but his fingers felt out of touch with his brain. Rachel guided his hands as if he might not be familiar with such things. He doubted there was a single article of women’s clothing he hadn’t removed at one time or another, but her naiveté made him stop. He could fall hard for this woman, he realized.

  “Something wrong?” she asked. “Is the hook in back stuck? Just rip it.”

  Her tone was faintly peeved. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Want wasn’t the same as love. He knew that fact all too well.

  Want was safe.

  He wrenched the last, uncooperative hook free then tossed the sexy scrap of material over his shoulder, not giving a damn where it landed. “How valuable are these stockings?”

  She looked confused. “Valuable? Oh. You mean do I want to wear them again?”

  He held up his wood-roughened hands. “They’d probably fare better with sandpaper.”

  She took the right one in her hands, cradling it lovingly. She kissed his calluses. “The nylons are ridiculously expensive. I bought them when I was married. You can cut them off if you prefer.”

  He believed her. And that little hint that she was over her ex was oddly liberating. He started with the right leg and slowly inched the silky material downward, kissing the inside of her thigh, knee and calf as he went.

  Her breathing sped up and her nipples puckered. “Nice,” she whispered.

  He repeated the process on the left leg. This time keeping the stocking. He dangled the toe above her belly, dragging it ever so softly across the nest of dark red curls. She arched her back and moved her hips, provocatively.

  The pheromones that nature provided were released on a bouquet of pure desire. He dropped the stocking and put his hands on either side of her hips. Were there elements of foreplay he was skipping? Hell, yes. Was he rushing ahead of himself in a way the old Rufus never would have rushed? Right, again. But the fact was he’d never felt this clutch of desire before. He couldn’t wait to feel her body wrapped around him.

  His highly vaulted self-control was shot.

  Not that she seemed to mind.

  Rachel gasped when he finally entered her. Not from pain or surprise but from sheer relief. One part of her mind took stock of the image they made—papers scattered, desk topsy-turvy while two healthy, mostly naked people made love with abandon. Yes, she silently cheered. Another fantasy fulfilled.

  Here she was. Intensely alive. Making love with one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. And he was completely focused on pleasuring her.

  If she wasn’t so intent on what was happening inside her body, she might have wept with gratitude.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you. Not for pleasuring her, although he did—immensely—but because she could tell he needed this, too. And she was pretty sure he needed her. That was the best validation of all.

  “You…feel…perfect,” she panted, concentrating on the rhythm taking hold inside her.

  He reached under her, grasping her hips with his big, strong hands. His eyes were closed, his face intensely focused. His chest was heaving as he matched her steadily growing crescendo.

  She’d had orgasms before. She knew what to expect. She turned herself over to the feeling and waited for the pleasant crest to come and go.

  But that wasn’t how it happened. The pulsing burst of color that shattered behind her closed eyes was only the beginning. Wave after wave of mind-blowing pleasure rocketed through her body, reaching every fiber of her being. Her breath stopped. She might even have blacked out for a millisecond. But, oh, what a way to go.

  Her triumph carried a special, unspoken relief because there’d been a time during the divorce when she’d felt as ugly, unsexy and valueless as Trevor had wanted her to feel.

  Breathing hard, struggling for cognitive powers of speech, she finally managed to say, “Holy cow.”

  His low rumble passed through her, too, as he rested against her. He hadn’t collapsed on top of her. No. He was too mindful of squishing her. She knew that and the knowledge made her feel sheltered, protected and loved.

  She swallowed loudly.

  Rufus lifted his head. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. I’m good. Really, really good, actually. That was fantastic. You have no idea.”

  “I think I do. I was there, too, remember?”

  She snickered softly. “I know, but it’s different for a guy. Isn’t it?”

  He made a face. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a woman. But I ca
n tell you that was…unmatched in my experience.” He looked slightly chagrined when he added, “And, believe me, that says a lot.”

  SHE MIGHT HAVE ASKED him to explain, but he didn’t give her a chance. He stepped backward. Used his shirt to tidy her up, first, then himself. “I left another one hanging on the work bench,” he said. “I’ll go grab it and put a couple more logs on the fire. Can I get you anything?”

  She levered herself up on her elbows and watched him pull on his jeans and slip his bare feet into his work boots, sans socks. The chilly air finally made itself known. Her nipples puckered when she looked down at her naked body.

  The fire was definitely in need of another log. “Could you fill the electric kettle with water?” she asked, pointing toward the three-drawer file cabinet where she’d set up a hot water dispenser. “A cup of cocoa sounds heavenly.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Once she was alone, she hopped off the desk and pulled on her panties. As she reached for her dress, a shiver passed through her. It wasn’t just chilly, it was cold. A cocktail dress didn’t sound all that appealing at the moment.

  “Wait a minute,” she murmured, turning toward the stack of boxes she’d brought with her the other day. None was particularly well-marked—thanks to Jack—but, if she wasn’t mistaken, one contained her gym bag.

  She found it immediately. Sure enough, right on top was her turquoise-and-white Nike bag. With any luck…

  “Halleluiah.” Black jogging pants, a Coors Light T-shirt, a hoodie, socks and—best of all—tennis shoes.

  She and Trevor had planned to start playing tennis twice a week. He’d made their first date but forgot the second. There wasn’t a third because that weekend she’d caught him with another woman.

  As she zipped the jacket, she took stock of how she felt about what happened to her marriage. She’d been devastated, at first. She’d grieved. And now…she was done thinking about any of it.