Just Like in the Movies

by Heidi Rice

  ‘Go get dressed while I take a look,’ he said, opening the closet and ducking inside.

  She made a hasty retreat before she could make an even bigger tit of herself. But as she arrived at her bedroom door, she sneaked a peek over her shoulder.

  All she could see of Luke was his long legs and exceptional backside as he bent forward to examine the boiler. A brand new collection of inappropriate erotic visions sent another hot flash through her body.

  Look away from the man booty.

  She darted into her bedroom.

  Objectification is bad.

  She repeated the mantra to herself while throwing on her underwear and some sweats – because there wasn’t much point in donning the newly pressed pencil skirt and blouse hanging on the back of her door, seeing as the good ship Professional and Efficient had already sailed into an iceberg. Or rather a volcano.

  ***

  ‘Is it fixable?’

  Luke glanced over his shoulder at the quiet question. And let out a breath.

  Thank the Lord. She was fully clothed. Although even with her flushed skin now swamped in baggy sweats, he could have sworn the sight of Ruby Graham’s bountiful curves barely contained by a towel the size of a postage stamp was going to be tattooed on his retinas for all eternity.

  He swallowed heavily, unfortunately it didn’t do a damn thing to budge the lust still jammed down his throat.

  ‘Not without some parts.’

  Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘But with the parts you could fix it?’

  ‘I figure I can jerry-rig it so it’ll work – but I can’t guarantee it’ll last.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, that’s wonderful. You’re a genius,’ she said. ‘I really really appreciate it.’

  ‘I haven’t fixed it yet.’

  ‘Yes, but I know you will.’ How the heck did she know that? Were there no bounds to this woman’s optimism?

  ‘What do you need? In the way of parts? I’ll go get them now,’ she added breathlessly.

  He let his gaze drift to her head. ‘Shouldn’t you figure out your hair first?’

  Her hand touched the towel wrapped round her head. ‘Balls. I forgot. I suppose I’ll have to rinse it in cold water after all. The hot water cut out just after I’d dumped the shampoo on it. Would you believe it? Perfect timing all round.’

  She tugged off the towel, revealing a wet soapy mass of chestnut curls and the scent of roses drifted towards him. The scent he remembered from when he’d had his hands full of her at the park.

  ‘Bummer,’ he murmured.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you write a list of the things you need while I go do the water torture.’

  But as she headed past him, his hand shot out of its own accord and snagged her wrist. ‘Wait up. Why don’t you heat some water in a pan and I’ll rinse it for you?’ The minute the offer popped out, he knew it was a mistake.

  ‘Really? That would be beyond wonderful.’

  He dropped her hand, the sensation sprinting up his arm making the ulterior motives for his generous offer crystal clear. He wanted to sink his fingers into the fragrant mass and find out if it felt as soft and silky as it looked.

  Devlin, you dirt bag.

  ‘Or you could do it yourself. Up to you,’ he said, giving her an easy out, in case she didn’t want his questing fingers testing the silky softness of her hair.

  ‘Honestly, it would be much less of a mess if you did it,’ she said, the light in her eyes not entirely guileless anymore. ‘If you don’t mind, that is?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said, following her into a kitchen the size of shoebox.

  Seemed like he and Ruby were on the same page. He wasn’t entirely sure what page that was, but for once he decided not to get hung up on the small print. Offering to wash her hair was not the same as asking her to drop her postage stamp and let him caress all those bountiful curves until she begged.

  He watched her fill a kettle and find a plastic basin and a measuring jug. She hunted up another towel and half-filled the basin with cold water. When the kettle boiled she mixed the hot water in with the cold, then wrapped the towel around her shoulders and bent over the sink.

  ‘Just fill up the jug from the tub and tip it over my head,’ she said, her voice muffled by the hair she had swept over her forehead.

  He picked up the jug and dipped it into the warm water.

  Surely, they couldn’t get into too much trouble? He’d never fantasised about washing a woman’s hair before, so how erotic could it really be?

  The memory of Ruby’s breasts pressed against the postage stamp towel echoed through him but he quashed the memory as he rested his thumb and forefinger on her nape below the hairline. Her neck muscles trembled beneath his fingertips – and the jolt of awareness sped up his arm, arrowed down through his torso and shot straight into his crotch with the speed and accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.

  Answer: when it was Ruby Graham’s hair he was washing, erotic enough to give him an instant woody.

  ***

  Don’t purr.

  Ruby chewed on her lip to stop the moan of pleasure coming out of her mouth as Luke’s strong firm fingers massaged the base of her skull. Warm water flooded over her head and his caressing fingers moved up her scalp.

  Pleasure rippled through her in eddying waves. The heavy weight in her abdomen sunk, making her clitoris purr along with the rest of her body.

  His massaging fingers migrated all over her skull, finding the tightly packed muscles behind her ears, the supremely sensitive skin on top of her head, releasing the frown on her forehead.

  Just kill me now.

  The flowing water only made the sensations more acute as Luke awakened nerve endings that had been in a coma for a very long time.

  Perhaps forever.

  The five guys she’d slept with – since losing her virginity in the back of Stan McCormack’s dad’s Skoda Octavia age seventeen – had never made her feel this good when she was actually having sex with them. Not even close.

  His magic fingers threaded through the short curls at her nape. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, but couldn’t choke off the orgasmic sob or stop the full body shiver of pure unadulterated joy.

  His fingers paused. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she rasped, her voice husky enough to lead a bobsleigh across the North Pole.

  ‘You sure you’re not cold?’ he said, the magic fingers still withholding their orgasmatronic powers.

  Are you bloody kidding me? If I get much hotter I’ll spontaneously combust.

  ‘No, no, not at all.’ She knew she protested way too much but seriously, if he stopped now she might have to beg. Getting her hair washed by Luke Devlin was the best thing that had happened to her in months. And definitely the best thing ever to happen to her sex-wise.

  Even though it wasn’t supposed to be sexual.

  She probably ought to feel guilty that she was exploiting him and his magic fingers and his kind offer to rinse her hair for her own erotic pleasures. But she could feel guilty about it later. Much much later, maybe after she’d had a one-on-one with her vibrator while reliving it first.

  He ran his fingers over her scalp, while pouring another dose of the now cooling water over her head. Bliss rippled over her skin and reverberated in her torso, releasing a flood of warmer moisture between her legs.

  The moan of pleasure would not be denied this time.

  ‘Ruby? Are you sure you’re okay?’ he said again, but she could hear the rasp of amusement this time.

  Did he know what he was doing to her? Was he doing it deliberately?

  The thought ought to have mortified her. But she was way past the point of no return now, on her voyage to erotic nirvana. So instead the mocking, self-satisfied tone had the opposite effect, making the heavy weight pulse and ache in her abdomen.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she croaked. ‘In fact I’m better than fine. I’m ecstatic,’ she added, because there wa
sn’t much point keeping it a secret. ‘You have a rare talent. You could make a fortune in tips at a women’s hair salon.’

  ‘Good to know.’ He chuckled, the sound decidedly smug now but all the hotter for it. Lifting the towel she had round her shoulders, he plopped it on her over-sensitized head and gave it a vigorous rub. ‘All done,’ he said as he let her go.

  ‘Seriously?’ she asked unable to keep the pout out of her voice. ‘Are you absolutely positive you didn’t miss any? It’s important to be thorough.’

  I begged. Sue me.

  ‘Yeah.’ The deep laugh from behind her was its own reward.

  What was it about Luke Devlin’s rough, rusty laugh that made it even more erotic than his magic orgasmic fingers?

  She straightened and turned, taking hold of the towel he’d abandoned as she swiped the now thoroughly rinsed hair out of her face.

  He stood with his hip propped against the counter, taking up most of the space in the flat’s tiny kitchen, watching her. He had his arms folded over his chest which added even more definition – as if they needed it – to his spectacular pecs and the smooth bulge of his biceps beneath the black T-shirt. The sparkle of mockery only made the pure iridescent blue of his irises more vivid.

  ‘One hundred percent, sure?’ she asked, flirting shamelessly with him, because what the hell? He was beautiful and beyond fit and in her kitchen and she didn’t have anything else pressing to do right this second – other than save a failing art-house cinema from catastrophic debts. ‘I would hate for you to do a half-arsed job and lose out on the impressive tip I was intending to give you.’

  His lips quirked, but then he unfolded his arms and ran his thumb down the side of her face. ‘Don’t tempt me, Ruby,’ he said, the wry amusement all the more compelling because the sparkle of amusement in his eyes had faded. ‘I’ve been sporting a boner the size of the Empire State with your name on it for the last five minutes.’

  The hot spot between her thighs ignited.

  ‘Don’t look,’ he said, gripping her chin and holding her head up, just as she went to check out the veracity of his statement.

  She tried to wriggle free. ‘No fair,’ she said, but he held firm. ‘I need to see the evidence.’

  She managed to jerk her chin out of his grasp, but just as she attempted to dip her gaze, he stepped into her personal space, bracketing her waist and pressing his hips to hers to hide himself from her view.

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean,’ she gasped, as the ridge in his jeans imprinted itself on her belly. She could feel every solid inch of him – and there were a lot of inches. Her chin rose so she could meet his gaze as she settled her hands on his lean waist to complete their clinch. He smelled as glorious as he looked. Of salt and spice and sandalwood and juniper berries with an added hint of wild rose shampoo. ‘I’d say those proportions are longer and thicker than the Empire State though …’ She tilted her head to one side, considering. Then rolled her hips to get the full measure of him, loving the outline of his strident erection – and rejoicing in the thought that she was the cause of it. ‘Perhaps more New World Trade Center,’ she mused.

  He groaned. ‘Jesus, quit it,’ he said as she went for a second pass. His hands clamped down on her hips, preventing any more movement down below. ‘Who knew? Under that cute-as-a-button exterior, you’re a badass,’ he said.

  He sounded tortured. Her joy increased.

  ‘And your point would be?’ She flattened her palms on his pecs, and then let them run riot over the planes of muscle and sinew – which quivered.

  Result.

  He swore. But with his hands full preventing her hips from moving she had him at her mercy, so why not torture him some more because … Cute! He’d called her cute as a button. When she wasn’t cute as a button or anything else, she was a flirty dirty badass. And boy was she proving it.

  ‘Damn. Ruby, don’t, I’m not kidding.’ He leaned back and her palms paused. ‘You need to stop, before this gets out of hand.’

  The tortured rasp of his breathing and the desperation in his voice had her lifting her hands, and shoving them behind her back – not easy when his hands were still clamped on her hips.

  She could still feel his erection pulsing against her midriff, but what had been hot and joyful and empowering a moment ago now felt the opposite.

  When was she going to stop exploiting this man?

  Touching without consent wasn’t sexy. Ever. She owed him an apology.

  ‘I’m sorry, Luke, I was just teasing you. I …’ She raked her hands through her damp hair. Horrified by her behaviour.

  What was wrong with her? He’d rinsed her hair and she’d turned into Ruby the rampaging ho. There was absolutely no excuse for it.

  ‘I wasn’t going to …’ She shifted, so uncomfortable now her throat closed. ‘I wouldn’t have taken it any further. I promise. You can let me go now, I absolutely won’t check out your boner.’

  Or salivate. Definitely no salivating. Under any circumstances.

  Shame filled her at the salivating still going on in her knickers as he lifted his hands from her hips. She stepped back as far as she could go before her back hit the fridge, and forced her eyeline to remain level with his face to keep her promise.

  His skin was flushed and taut. His expression … Shocked? Disgusted? Wary? Angry? It was impossible to tell. But he had a right to feel all four and more.

  For crap sake, Ruby, you just molested him.

  How was an apology ever going to compensate him for that?

  ‘I feel terrible, Luke. I don’t know what got into me,’ she said, but the explanation was lame at best. Because she knew exactly what had got into her.

  Forget exploiting and objectifying him, she’d wanted to devour him – his unfortunate physical response like a red rag to her rampaging ho pheromones.

  ‘Will you ever be able to forgive me?’ she asked, more sincerely sorry than she had ever been about anything in her entire life – even agreeing to go all the way in the back seat of Stan McCormack’s dad’s Skoda Octavia.

  ***

  ‘Forgive you for what?’ Luke asked, still so horny it was hard to concentrate, because every last drop of blood had left his brain close to ten minutes ago.

  But while he was struggling to shift his brain back into gear, one thing he had figured out was that he’d screwed up somewhere, badly, because Ruby looked as if she’d just run over a puppy. Instead of cute and delicious and hotter than a chilli tamale. She’d scrambled out of his arms so fast when he’d let her go that he’d wondered for a second if the lava pouring through his body had scorched her.

  Jesus, Devlin, get real, you didn’t turn into the Human Torch, it just felt like you did.

  ‘For … for molesting you,’ she murmured, dropping her chin and looking away.

  ‘For what now?’ he asked. Did she say molesting? Or was his hearing now as compromised as every one of his cognizant brain cells? It must be, because that made no sense.

  But then she lifted her head, stared directly at him and he could see the cloud of fresh guilt shadowing her bright green eyes.

  ‘For attacking you, Luke. I got completely carried away. And I feel absolutely awful about it. Especially after traumatizing you last week during the About a Boy screening.’

  He let the comment about the screening go. Why she felt responsible for his dad’s suicide he had no idea. But …

  ‘Attacking me?’ he repeated her words like a dummy, but he couldn’t seem to get his blood-deprived brain cells – or what was left of them – to engage with the massive disconnect that had just occurred.

  She thought she had attacked him? Molested him? Was she for real?

  ‘Yes, I …’ She stuttered to a halt. Her chin dropped to her chest again.

  Goddamn it, she was actually serious.

  ‘Ruby …’ He tucked a knuckle under her chin brought her gaze back to his. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. And you sure as shit didn’t molest me.’

 
The shadows brightened. ‘Are you sure?’ Her brows puckered and the shadow darkened again. ‘But you begged me to stop? You sounded tortured.’

  ‘Only because I was enjoying it too much,’ he said. ‘And I wasn’t begging.’

  He had totally begged, but he was more than emasculated enough by her insistence on taking the blame for something that had been entirely mutual.

  At least her misplaced guilt and the mention of his dad’s suicide had managed to wilt the New World Trade Center of boners, he thought ruefully as he dropped his hand from her face. Touching her was not a good idea. It had already gotten him in way over his head.

  ‘How could you be enjoying it too much?’ she asked, the guileless look back, and no less captivating. ‘If it was consensual?’

  Because I was within seconds of shooting my load in my pants.

  ‘Ruby, it was consensual, will you just take my word for it,’ he snapped, frustrated with her now as well as himself.

  But damn, this was the freakiest conversation he’d ever had in his life with a woman – and they hadn’t even got to second base yet.

  Not that he wanted to, he told himself. But he couldn’t even convince himself of that anymore when she wetted her lips and his dick started to perk up again.

  She blinked at his curt tone. ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure. In fact, I’m one hundred and ten percent sure.’ Why did he have to keep stating the freaking obvious?

  ‘But then why did you stop me?’

  Seriously? They were back to that again? ‘Because I was about two seconds away from tugging off your sweats and burying the New World Trade Center of erections deep inside you.’

  She flinched – he would guess at his nasty potty mouth – but he resisted the urge to apologise for it. He needed her to know exactly how close he’d come to losing it. So it wouldn’t happen again.

  Because what had been dirty fun had quickly become … well, he wasn’t even sure what it had become it had happened so fast, but he’d never experienced anything like it before, her touch like a torch paper setting light to his libido. The slow burn was his usual style with women, not hot, hard and horny. He guessed that was probably because he’d spent longer in Ruby’s orbit in the last week than he had with most of the women he’d dated.