pulling him fully down upon her, lifting and wrapping her legs around him, pressing her heels hard against him, urging him on.
He didn’t need encouragement.
He moved, slow and long and deep at first, then gathering speed, stoking the fires within until the world spun away and there was only white-hot pleasure expanding out from the center of her, sweeping through her whole body, carrying her up and sending her over in a shower of endless, shimmering light.
Chapter Nine
“Come with me,” he said, when six o’clock approached and with it the time to go to Celia’s and pick up Ashlyn.
Cleo gazed up at him from her nest of silk-covered pillows and told him regretfully, “Oh, Fletcher. No.
Not tonight …”
He bent his head and kissed her, hard and quick. “Why not?”
Naturally he would choose the question she didn’t really know how to answer. Gamely she gave it a try. “I need a little time to myself, that’s all. Time to think.” He was shaking his head. “Bad idea.” She frowned up at him. “What? Thinking?”
“Yeah, thinking—or more specifically overthinking. You’ll go home and you’ll start stewing and before you know it—” he cupped her bare breast, flicked it with his tongue, bringing a pleasured gasp from her, before he lifted his dark head again, met her eyes and finished “—you’ll have yourself convinced that this afternoon was a bad idea.”
“No, I won’t.”
It was only half a lie. The sex had been fantastic. She didn’t have it in her to call such delight a bad idea. But as far as the rest of it, as far as getting involved with this particular man …
It hadn’t been wise. Not wise, not prudent. Not the least bit sensible.
And then again, maybe they weren’t really involved. She might as well be a realist about this. A player is a player, and this afternoon could very well be not only the beginning but also the end of it.
He said, “You’ll miss dinner with Ashlyn. I believe there will be Tater Tots.”
She almost smiled. Really, if today was going to be all of it, he’d hardly be urging her to stick around and share the evening meal with him and his daughter. “It’s tempting, but no.”
He didn’t argue further. He was smarter than that. What he did was kiss her—a wet, seeking kiss, a kiss hot with the promise of more pleasure to come. Then he threw back the covers and strode, naked and utterly amazing to look at, toward the open door to the bathroom, where he paused and turned back to her. “Come on.”
She sat up and eyed him sideways. “To do what?”
“You are the most suspicious woman—to take a shower.”
“Together?”
“That would be nice.”
Nice was hardly the word for it, and he knew it, too. Those smoke-and-silver eyes promised a lot more than “nice.” A flush of arousal swept through her as she imagined the two of them sharing a hot, steamy, leisurely shower, as she pictured soap bubbles sliding down his beautiful chest….
No way. Couldn’t happen. If they fooled around in the shower, he’d never make it to Celia’s apartment by six.
And she did need to go home, to recoup and reevaluate.
He must have read her thoughts in her expression, because he added, “Don’t worry. There are two showers. You can lather up alone.”
When they were both fully dressed again, he pulled her into his arms.
He kissed her. At length.
When he lifted his head, he commanded in a low tone, “Don’t talk yourself out of this. Please …”
He looked … vulnerable. At that moment she was certain he’d be hurt if she refused to see him again. In spite of her strong reservations, her heart warmed to him. She could almost hope …
What? She wasn’t quite sure. Maybe for more of him than his gorgeous body. For his deepest secrets, that he might give them to her, to share. For his trust …
She told him honestly, “If I could talk myself out of this, I would have done it already.”
“But you couldn’t—you can’t.”
“I don’t think so. Especially not after today …”
He traced the line of her jaw, his touch setting off sparks. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”
Going home didn’t help much. The cozy rooms seemed kind of empty and she felt at a loss—for Fletcher. How crazy was that?
She sat on her sofa and pretended to watch the news and relived every moment of the afternoon before—every sigh, every kiss, every lingering touch.
The phone rang at nine and she knew it would be him.
“Hello?”
“I hope to hell you’re not thinking.”
Happiness glowed all through her. Was she foolish? Oh, yes. Did she care?
Not hardly. “I have been thinking, as a matter of fact. Thinking about this afternoon …”
“I love it when you get that husky tone. I know then that I’ve got you.”
“As always, you are stunningly sure of yourself.”
Was he smiling? Oh, yes. She knew that he was. “I’m going to consider that a compliment,” he said.
“Ah,” she said, because the truth was, her mind was so filled with him, there was no room left for thinking up clever replies.
“I wish you were here with me.”
She found, incredibly, that she believed him. “I’m glad,” she answered softly.
“What are you wearing?”
She threw back her head and she laughed, then she whispered into the mouthpiece, “Who is this?”
“A very bad man. Tell me what you’re wearing.”
She sighed—good and loud, so he would be sure to hear it. “I’ll say this much, I’m looking really glamorous.”
“I want specifics.”
“Don’t go there. Keep your illusions.”
“I said specifics.”
“You’ll be sorry.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Just
