cavorting with a long-time client topped the list of dim-witted behavior.
“I only casually mentioned to John that I thought you were pretty and asked if you were spoken for,” Kit explained. “How wonderful you feel naked is my business alone.”
She felt an ulcer forming in her stomach. The man was so furiously composed, so absent of propriety, that it made her want to spit nails. Yet quite pathetically, it was that same dry sense of humor and boyish disregard for protocol that made him so ridiculously attractive.
As much as she hated to admit it, she’d liked that he was upbeat, reckless and fun—pretty much everything she wasn’t. And just like she had Monday night in the lounge, she was having trouble keeping her distance. Even now, with her fingers itching to strangle him senseless, she was alternately pleased to see him. Like some helpless romantic, she was actually thrilled that he’d come chasing after her, even though she hadn’t liked his methods.
“Relax,” he assured her. “John has no idea we’ve even met. In fact, if you’d like I’ll tell him I made a pass and you struck me down like lightning.” He rubbed his chin. “Though that means we can’t invite him to the wedding.”
She let out an exasperated breath, not just from his inability to take this seriously but by the fact that his silly jokes actually charmed her. He was definitely not the type of man she ever thought she’d fall for—not that she was admitting such a notion now. Only that if she was to get serious about someone, she’d always assumed it would be with someone more…serious.
Despite it all, she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering along the lines of that strong stubbled jaw, over those talented lips, down that broad, muscled chest and beyond, gathering memories of their blissful night every step of the way. He’d been good. Really good. And now he was back, all sexy and confident and asking to do it again. How did she stand a chance against that?
“Dance with me,” he muttered through a gaze just as steamy as her thoughts.
Only then did she hear the music from the stage—“Blue Christmas,” a slow smoky version meant for snuggling close. She opened her mouth and tried to say no but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Her body was too busy screaming yes. And in the wake of her indecision, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
He held her gently at her waist, heat resonating from his palms and tingling down to her toes. He kept at a respectable distance, giving the appearance of a polite dance among associates to the common bystander. But there was nothing polite about the hunger in his gaze or the way it made her feel. That was Grade A carnal and primal, and as they rocked to the music, a giddy dizziness came over her.
“Spend the night with me,” he uttered quietly. “Come with me tonight and let me wake up with you in the morning.”
Immediately, desire waged war with her senses. This was wrong in so many ways. The man was a client, and though there was no corporate policy against dating clients, it broke every personal rule she had.
“I’ve got a number of things we didn’t get to Monday night.” Then he bent close and whispered a sampling, spreading heat through her veins.
Stop it, Monica, she insisted through the fog. You’ve got a thousand reasons why going home with Kit Baldwin would be a horrible idea. Though off the top of her head, she couldn’t recall a single one. His woodsy aftershave kept flooding her senses with the memory of his body in hers, how deliciously wonderful he’d felt and how much she’d ached to have him again. She’d been so easily seduced by his rugged good looks and fun, casual style. It was as if he’d found a switch he could turn on with a flick of his finger. She’d thought she was a stronger woman, presumed she’d end up the one in control of her relationships, yet here she was a second time, entranced by his simple touch and helpless against his wicked offerings.
From the corner of her eye she spotted John Stryker stepping back into the room, and his attention on her and Kit should have been a sign that she needed to gather her senses and walk away. But with Kit’s gorgeous brown eyes pointed in her direction—and promising undiluted pleasure—her good intentions crumbled under the weight of lust and greed.
“Okay,” she heard herself utter. “Let’s get out of here.”
3
“WHERE’S YOUR BEDROOM?”
Kit stepped through the entry and into the living room of Monica’s high-rise apartment and scanned the layout as he went. The furnishings were exactly as he’d expected—sleek, orderly, with touches of Asia and Europe that looked authentic but not decorative. Oversize windows offered a view of the Chicago skyline that would be nice to relax to someday, but right now he had a more urgent need—namely getting naked with a stunning brunette as quickly as possible.
“You wouldn’t care for a drink first? ‘My, what a fine night this is? Nice place you’ve got here?’” Monica teased.
He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. “You underestimate how badly I want you.” Then he showed her by cupping her cheek and closing his mouth over hers.
With that one connection his spirit righted, placed back on its axis after being knocked off-kilter Monday night. Something had clicked that night, a feeling that he’d found something special, and despite his efforts to put their encounter in the past, he’d realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t going to happen.
He liked Monica Newell. He didn’t know how it could feel so solid in a single night together, but he’d known she was the one he wanted. And when Kit felt something this sure, he wasn’t going to let it go.
He slid his hands up under her sweater and found skin, then groaned at the pure luxury of the silky feel beneath his fingers. He loved the fact that her long legs squared her body with his—thighs against thighs, breasts against chest, heat against heat—and he loved her tender response when all those parts came together. He clasped her waist and made her shiver, touched her breasts and made her moan, hungry need boiling through him with every simple press. He hardened instantly, slipped his palms down around her ass and pulled her close against his erection, and she sighed.
“How do you get me so hot so fast?” she whispered against his lips.
For the first time in his life, he had no witty comeback. Truth was he’d wondered the same thing and had come up with nothing other than this must be what genuine need felt like.
With quick fingers, he unclasped her slacks, letting them drop from her waist where they pooled around her feet. And when he tucked a hand into her panties he nearly lost himself from the wet readiness that greeted him.
He muttered off a curse, slipped a finger where his cock ached to follow, and the breathy gasp that escaped her throat propelled him into action. He ground against her, smoothing his fingers over the soft spot between her legs, not intending to move so quickly but unable to stop the momentum. He dropped to his knees, pulling her red laced panties down with him, and when her musky scent of sex filled his nostrils he couldn’t help but dip in for a taste.
He nibbled at her mound, taking light bites and pressing kisses to the inner flesh of her thighs, trying to tease her slowly and draw out the pleasure, but the burn for more kept pushing him to drive harder. Helpless against it, he slipped his tongue between her folds, feeling a surge of pleasure when her clit pulsed against his tongue and she groaned in ecstasy.
Her long, slim fingers
