to take the chance that the other woman might have to pay for that. A dancer’s life was tough enough without getting canned for telling the truth to the CEO’s current girlfriend.
And besides, Cleo couldn’t help sympathizing with Andrea. She knew she’d probably be eaten up with jealousy, too, if it ever became her turn to move on….
If? taunted a voice in the back of her mind. Oh, please. You mean when …
Fletcher bent closer. She felt his warm breath across her cheek. He caught her lower lip between his teeth—so lightly—tugged and let it go. Then he whispered, his mouth against hers, “Hello? Are you in there?”
“I’m here.”
“No. I don’t think so. You are far, far away….”
She lifted her arms—lazily—and wrapped them around his neck. “Wrong. I’m right here.”
“Prove it.” Beneath the covers, his hand swept downward. She moaned. “Better,” he whispered. “Let’s try that again….”
Fletcher woke first the next morning. He rolled his head to look at the woman beside him.
Cleo lay on her stomach, her face turned toward the far wall, all that glorious auburn hair spilling across the gray silk pillow. Slowly, carefully, he peeled back the blankets that covered her, pushing them all the way down to the foot of the bed.
Then he stretched out beside her again and admired what he’d revealed—starting with the vulnerable pink soles of her long, slim feet, moving up over the shapely ankles, the muscular calves, that tender, pale curve at the back of her knee.
From there it only got better: the long, firm thighs, the round, muscular bottom, the inviting sacral dimples at the base of her spine that made him want to bend close, dip his tongue in one and then the other. The scent of her tempted him—sweet and just a little spicy.
Yeah, he’d always enjoyed beautiful women. But Cleo—she was one of a kind. She had it all: not only the drop-dead looks but also the brains and the pure will to succeed. Plus, she possessed that smoldering extra something: call it an inner confidence, a sense of feminine power. Whatever. It made the men sit up and stare.
Men wanted her—though they’d sure as hell better keep away unless they wanted to deal with him. And not only did men desire her, women liked her. She could conquer the world, just as her name promised, as her mother had wanted her to.
But Cleo wasn’t interested in running the world.
She only wanted to make a place for kids to learn. To have a family …
Yeah. She was special. There was no one quite like her. He was long gone over her and perfectly content to be so. Not since those first magic months with Belinda had he felt quite the way he felt right now.
Belinda …
Uh-uh. No point in going there.
He’d messed up with Belinda. She’d been all wrong for him. Weak. Not focused. A woman from a nice middle-class family who didn’t understand the first thing about his world.
A woman nothing like the one beside him right now.
He continued his slow, appreciative scrutiny, admiring the sleek curves of her back, the leanly muscled shape of her dancer’s arms—one bent at the elbow supporting her head, the other resting along her side. He was just getting to the poetry in her slim, long-fingered hands when she stirred and yawned and rolled to her back.
“What?” She squinted up at him, her face sleep-flushed and so beautiful it hurt to look at her—hurt in a very good way.
“Just admiring the view …” He traced a finger around a pert, pink nipple.
She lightly slapped his hand away. “The view is getting chilly since you stole all my covers.”
“Let me warm you up.”
She smiled at him then. Damned if her smile couldn’t light up the darkest night. “Hmm. You know, that’s an excellent idea….”
And then, before he had a chance to take the lead, her warm, soft hand closed around him. The feel of her gripping him was so perfect, so exactly right, that a low, pleasured moan escaped him.
She was still smiling—a much naughtier smile than before. “How about … like this?”
“Oh, yeah …”
She put her other hand—the one that wasn’t doing incredible things to his suddenly rock-hard erection—on his chest. Gently she pushed him over until he lay on his back. Then she canted up over him. That cinnamon hair brushed his chest. The scent of her swam around him. She whispered, “And like this …?”
He could only nod as those long fingers of hers stroked him, slow, knowing strokes.
How did she do it?
The woman drove him wild.
She worked him, milking him with her hand, and she kissed her way down the center of his chest. When she took him in her mouth, he was absolutely certain he was going to explode.
Somehow he managed to hold back as her soft lips closed over him, as the wet cave of her silky mouth surrounded him, sucking. He rolled his head on the pillow and groaned low in his throat and tried not to reach for her….
He could only hold out for so long. The moment came too quickly when he couldn’t take the sweet sexual torture she inflicted for one second more.
So he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her up to face him.
“Hey.” She grinned down at him. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Maybe not. But if you don’t stop, I will be.”
Her fingers tightened on him again. “Fine with me.”
He groaned. “Wait.” And then he swore. “Have mercy….”
“Oh, Fletcher. I love it when you beg.”
“Kiss me. Now.” He lifted his head off the pillow, straining for that soft mouth.
She gave him those warm, full lips, and he kissed her, urging her to open, which she did without even token resistance. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, wild for her by then, wanting only the hot, perfect feel of her body closing around him.
He sought her, found her. She was slick and swollen with arousal, already wet for him. She could take him. Now. When he needed her so desperately.
He nudged her smooth thighs apart and slid inside with a pleasured moan.
Oh, the way she fit him. No one. Ever. Had fit him like that.
She wrapped those fine legs around him and she moved with him, rocking, taking his rhythms and giving them back to him, answering the questions he hadn’t even known to ask.
She whispered his name, husky and low. “Fletcher …”
