her. Every cell in her body felt on fire, from the bottoms of her feet to the tips of her hair, and she could no longer control herself. She threw her head back, gave a long, utterly satisfied cry, and rode out the orgasm that left her quaking and weak.
When she finally came back down to earth, she felt completely spent and collapsed onto him, her head on his shoulders, her arms around his neck. Oliver was kissing her temple, stroking her stomach and then her lower back.
But their mouths had fallen apart. The kiss had ended.
She held her breath, wondering if he was going to say to hell with their deal and make love to her the way his rigid, throbbing cock said he was dying to.
When he gently lifted her off his lap and sat her back down beside him on the couch, she had her answer.
“Seriously?”
She didn’t have to say another word. He knew what she was asking; she could tell by the look on his face.
He rose to his feet and tucked his shirt back in.
“Thank you, Candace. Good night.”
She gritted her teeth and zipped her jeans, reminding herself that this was entirely her fault. She’d promised one kiss and no more. No, she hadn’t exactly invited him to stick his hand down her pants and finger her into oblivion, but it had seemed within reason as long as they were sharing that one kiss.
He was just playing by the rules. Damn the man.
She rose, tucking her blouse back in, and lifting her head, as if she was totally fine about how this whole thing had played out. “Good night, Oliver.”
She turned her back to him and began to pick up the bottles and glasses, tidying up the room. He stood there for a moment, watching her, as if waiting for her to throw a fit, call him a jerk or beg him to stay. But she didn’t. If he wanted to play this straight, that’s what she would do. If he wanted to change the rules of the game, he needed to be the one to say so.
In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded, headed to the door and walked out into the night.
OLIVER SPENT THE next day wishing he hadn’t consumed so much wine the night before, and steering clear of Candace.
He took care of the wine with some aspirin.
Her decision to visit her grandfather for almost the entire day took care of Candace.
That was good. He wasn’t ready to run into her again. Not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw her beautiful face, suffused with pleasure, so wanton and gorgeous, he knew she would haunt his dreams forever.
Sometimes, doing the right thing just sucked.
He had thought it was the right thing at the time. Unfortunately, right now, he couldn’t remember the reason why.
He’d tried to work out the frustration, spending the day laboring in the storehouse, which still held a number of antique vats. Buddy was hoping to restore and use them. Having tasted the amazing wines aged in antique wood last night, he had to agree that they were worth salvaging. And fortunately, the work was hard enough that he was able to put Candace, and the amazing moments they’d shared on that couch, out of his thoughts. At least, for the most part.
Finally, though, when he glanced at his watch and saw it was after six, he knew he had to call it quits. She would probably be heading back to the estate soon. He intended to go down to the rehab center to visit Buddy. Hopefully, their cars would pass in the night and they wouldn’t run into each other, there or here. He just couldn’t take another evening of sexual tension with the woman. Not when he knew how sweet she tasted, and how those feminine cries of pleasure sounded when she came apart in his arms. Not when he was dying to slam his cock into her and forget the rest of the world even existed.
As he toweled his hair dry and eyed his jaw in the mirror, he realized he ought to shave. Not because he intended to rub his face on someone sinfully soft and wanted to prepare, but because he was beginning to look a little scruffy. Buddy had made a point of mentioning it yesterday.
“It’s not about that soft skin,” he told his reflection. “Not about that stomach. Not about those breasts.” God, had he been dying to end the kiss if only so he could look down at the perfect breasts he’d held in his hands. He swallowed, seeing the condensation he left on the mirror as he breathed ever harder. “It’s not about wanting to bury your face between her thighs and see if she tastes as good as she feels.”
Somehow, though, as he finished shaving and stared at his smooth-cheeked reflection, he knew he was fooling himself.
No, he didn’t deserve her. No, he had no business taking up with her. But oh, hell, yes, did he ever want her.
Yesterday, when she’d walked up those stairs, giving him a glimpse of heaven between two limbs, it had taken every ounce of his strength not to follow her. He’d pictured it, a flash of erotic images storming through his brain. He’d seen himself pounding up after her, three steps at a time. Stopping her before she got to the top. Guiding her down onto her knees. Gently pushing her forward until she was on all fours and he could take his place a few steps below. He’d instinctively known how perfect it would be to position her sweet, wet sex above him, to bury his face in it, lick into her until she bucked and cried, then to drive into her before she’d even stopped screaming over the multiple orgasms he’d give her.
Oliver closed his eyes, willing the images to leave his head. But they wouldn’t. They were imprinted there, the vision so real it was almost memory.
Then came the images from last night. He could still taste her lips, still feel the softness of her skin, still remember how it had felt to slide a finger into that slick, tight channel and play with that pearly little clit until she whimpered.
He groaned, reached down and found his cock hard and erect.
“Damn it, Candace,” he muttered, grabbing himself, squeezing, pumping. His hand was in no way as good—wet, hot—as she would be, but it was all he had. All he would allow himself.
It didn’t take long. No longer than it had taken the previous night when he’d gone to bed and let himself replay the moments he’d spent with her on the couch. He came in a hot gush, spewing his essence over his hand, knowing he’d give a year off his life if he could do it in her instead.
“But you can’t,” he told himself, feeling even more sexually frustrated than he had before his second jacking-off session of the past twenty-four hours.
His hand just didn’t cut it. He wanted her hand. Her body. Her mouth. More than he’d ever wanted anything.
He tried to forget his sexual needs as he drove down to the rehab center. He definitely tried to disguise his desire as he visited with Buddy and gauged how the elderly man was doing with his new hip. Fortunately, he’d been right about guessing Candace wouldn’t be there. She’d apparently stayed until dinnertime, leaving shortly before he’d arrived, so he wouldn’t have to pretend he hadn’t spent the past twenty hours fucking her senseless in his mind. Hopefully he would get home late, find her rental car in the driveway, see all the lights were out and go to bed, having managed one more day of resisting her.
