his jacket and shut the light off behind him, wondering again what Miranda’s mysterious e-mail was all about. He expected to find out soon.
MIRANDA HEARD the truck pull up in front of the house and looked out into the lighted driveway, confirming that it was Colin. She peered through the curtain, watching all six feet of him slide out of the heavy-duty pickup, and sucked in a breath. He stood for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, or why he was there, and then closed the truck door.
He wore the years well, the man fulfilling the promise in the boy, his lanky frame filled out, muscular and hard. She watched him approach the door, the muscles of his thighs stretching against his jeans with each long step. Miranda had frequently treated herself to the view of those jeans from behind and quivered in anticipation of seeing what was underneath them. He still fried her brain cells like no other man ever had.
Even though she watched him approach, the knock on the door had Miranda nearly jumping out of her skin. In the twenty minutes or so she’d fussed and waited for Colin to arrive, she’d gone over every move, every detail, many times. He was on time, seven sharp, as she knew he would be. The moment was at hand. She pulled herself up, reminding herself that this was Colin, the man she’d known her entire life, and whom she’d always been attracted to. This could only be good, right?
Forcing herself to relax, she went to her bedroom door, calling to him to come in. She watched him enter the room and look up the stairs, following her voice. When his eyes widened in surprise, traveling down the length of her scantily clad body and back to her face, his mouth opened to speak, but she quickly put a finger to her lips, silencing him.
“No. No talking. Just come up.”
It was clear from his expression that whatever he’d been expecting, this was not it. She gestured to him to join her with a naughty little tilt of her head, smiling in delicious anticipation. This was going to be fun.
COLIN HEARD the door click shut behind him and swallowed hard as the scent of her sexy perfume wafted over him. He walked up the stairs on automatic pilot, curiosity consuming him. What was going on?
It was clear enough when he saw her, posed sexily in the doorway of her bedroom. He tried to train his eyes in another direction, but the room was clearly set for seduction. Then his gaze landed on her again, disbelief coursing through him. It was almost hard to believe this was Miranda—his Miranda—with whom he’d had snowball wars and late-night pizza parties when they were kids.
She walked up to him and he felt his groin tighten in a way that suggested he was going to have a very hard time resisting her. It was every fantasy he’d ever had about her coming true. The sheer gown she wore hid next to nothing, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d seen her naked, or as close to it as he could imagine. Well, there had been that one time they’d all gone skinny-dipping when they were thirteen, but that was not the same at all.
The lacy material clung to her breasts, and was slit nearly to the hip. A long, silken leg emerged as she walked toward him, and he wasn’t sure, but he might have groaned out loud.
“Mir—”
“Shh! No talking. I told you.”
Her voice was sultry and commanding, and she had a fire in her eyes that sent arrows of lust shooting straight to his…toes. Who would have known he liked having a woman taking control this way, leaving him mute and helpless? With other lovers, he had always been in control, the one who made the moves. He had initiated the action. This was…mildly kinky? To enjoy having someone else be in control, ordering him around? He didn’t know he would like kinky sex. But as he felt himself thicken, becoming painfully hard, he knew he liked it quite a lot. He filed that thought away for further examination later.
She stepped up close, her breasts grazing his chest as she pushed the lightweight jacket from his shoulders, then loosened the knot of his tie, which did nothing to clear the obstruction in his throat. She took him by the hand, leading him to a small table. She looked into his eyes, hers communicating brazen desire.
“I’m going to feed you.”
He noticed she didn’t ask, for instance, Are you hungry? Would you like a strawberry? But a statement. A command. He knew he should stand up, call this off, but his mind and his body were too caught up in her spell to object. And who was he kidding? She was every man’s fantasy—his in particular—come to life.
She poured a glass of champagne and took a sip, then dipped a ripe strawberry in the glass before lifting it to his mouth. He took a bite. A drizzle of juice escaped down his chin, and he might have touched an electric fence for the jolt that shot through him as their tongues touched when they both attempted to catch the stray drop. He heard her chuckle, a low, sexy laugh that told him he was in big trouble.
The feeding went on for torturous minutes on end. She not only fed him but let him watch her eat, and he felt his muscles clench in primal response when she dipped her fingers into the champagne and traced them down her chest, along the edges of the nightgown over the creamy curves of her breast. He licked his lips instinctively and felt his traitorous cock throb with need. There was nothing he could do to stop it. She was shredding his control into confetti.
Victory and lust surged in her eyes as she took in his reaction, and she clasped his hand in hers again, pulling him over to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. He watched them both as she stood beside him, running her hands over him, tugging his shirt loose, buttons popping and flying everywhere.
His heart thundered in his chest. His eyes were glued to the image of her undressing him. He felt as if he was in an excruciatingly seductive dream, except that every tingle of response, every shudder of pleasure as her hands moved over him was achingly real.
She slipped her hands inside his shirt and rubbed them lightly over his chest. She had to feel the slamming of his heart against his ribs. Heat washed over him. It had been far too long for him, and he’d exercised great restraint. Now he was too close to the edge from her simple touch.
Her mouth followed her hands and before he knew it he was naked in front of the mirror, his body glistening with sweat, every inch of him from head to toe rock-hard and fully aroused. He stared at the image of her kneeling in front of him, such a submissive position for a woman so in command.
When her reflection showed her leaning forward to touch her mouth to his already incredibly sensitized erection, he nearly lost it right there. His mind clicked a mental photograph of the picture they made, an image he would never forget. Things were getting out of control—he was out of control—and he needed to stop this. With a grunt of objection, he backed up, away from her mouth. She rose and smiled, taking him by the hand again and leading him to the bed.
“You’re right—no need to rush things. We have all night. Sit.” Her breathing was shallow, and he knew she was as aroused as he was. It was wrong that he let it go this far, but he was so hungry for her, and he really didn’t want to stop, even though that way was madness. He felt his head spin as she peeled off the nightgown. He tried to speak, but the words came out as a long groan.
Standing before him in only a silky, flesh-toned thong, she met his gaze with such desire, such openness, and such…passion…he knew with painful clarity that if he let this happen they would regret it later. As much as he wanted her, needed her, he had to end this.
It was almost physically painful to push down the wanting, to ruthlessly shut off the desire, but he forced himself to do so. She walked to him, concern evident in her expression, lifting her hand to touch him, and he nearly flew to the other side of the room, not trusting himself to
