and reached for her. She intercepted him, pushing him until his back was against the door, and leaned up on her knees. “Then maybe this?” Her mouth skated over his and she delivered light, flirty kisses that had his heart thumping out of control. Her hair tickled against his neck and he spanned her waist with his hands.
“Or this,” she murmured against his mouth and then moved on to deep, soulful kisses. She captured his tongue and sucked and stroked it with hers. Stroke, suck, stroke, suck. It was a mind-numbing, cock-hardening, ball-tightening rhythm. If she could do that to his tongue he’d love to have her work that magic on his cock. He groaned into her mouth.
She pulled back and started to slide across the seat. “Did you find that acceptable?”
FIRE. She was playing with fire. She was on fire. While it was true that Beau had provoked her, she’d wanted to kiss him again. She needed to get out of here while she could still think about something other than how good he felt and tasted and the achy, hot need coiling tighter and tighter inside her.
Before she could move any further, he reached out, wrapped his big hands around her arms and hauled her back to the solid hardness of his body. “I’m still trying to decide if that’s acceptable. I think I need a replay.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs and a rush of wet heat surged between her thighs. If she had an ounce of sense, she’d skedaddle. He’d sort of manhandled her into his lap but she didn’t feel threatened. If she insisted, he’d let her go. Deep inside, she knew he was one of the good guys. But apparently her last ounce of sense had abandoned her because she didn’t want to leave. Instead, she wanted to flirt and tease and kiss him some more.
“You should pay closer attention the first time around,” she said. She ended on a tiny gasp as he bent his head and nuzzled at her neck, and then she felt the faint scrape of his teeth followed by the velvet stroke of his tongue. That felt so good. She moaned and closed her eyes.
“Maybe I just wanted seconds…” he said in a husky murmur as he worked his way up her neck, “…or thirds.”
She laughed softly and wound her arms around him. She’d only thought she was on fire before. His mouth found hers and she was drowning in the magic of his kiss. She molded the ridges of his muscular shoulders. He slid his hands beneath the edge of her T-shirt and spanned her waist. He stroked upward until his big hands cupped her breasts. She pushed harder against his fingers and he dipped them into her bra, finding the hardened tip. His fingers…his mouth…she pulled away and drew a ragged, gasping breath.
Severe tactical error on her part. She was about one kiss away from being in way over her head.
She tugged her shirt back down and slid across the seat to the passenger side. He let her go, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes.
“If you were mine,” he said, “I’d have to vote for you not kissing anyone else at all, in any way at all.”
She snatched up her purse and opened the passenger door. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not yours.”
She slammed the door behind her.
MONDAY MORNING, Natalie looked up from her day planner on her Queen Anne desk in the back corner of the bridal shop as the bell jangled over the front door.
“It’s just me,” Cynthia called out.
Natalie was doubly glad to see her assistant. Not only did she genuinely like Cynthia, she was more than ready for a distraction. She desperately needed to think about something, someone other than Beau Stillwell. Living above her shop was convenient on several fronts. She didn’t have a commute. She saved on rent.
The downside was she’d never really had a space all her own. Growing up, from as early as she could remember, she’d shared her room, and clothes and toys with foster siblings. And now she shared her home space with her business. One day, she wanted a house of her own. But, for now, she’d take advantage of no commute and always being in the office, ready for the day, by seven-thirty. This morning, however, Natalie had hit the office at six-thirty, ready to lose herself in work, details, planning—anything but thinking about Beau.
Although she was tired last night, nothing had satisfied her. She’d run a bubble bath when she got home, dumping a generous portion of lavender bath salts in. Between the warm water and aromatherapy she should’ve been out like a light. Nope. She’d tried reading a book. Not interested. Nothing on television. She’d popped in Pride and Prejudice—A&E’s Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, thank you very much—but not even P&P struck a chord for her.
She’d finally admitted to herself that she was sexually keyed up and taken matters into her own hands. It was a rather sad fact, but the truth of the matter was that not all orgasms were created equal. She’d had her orgasm but she’d still felt all empty and achy and needy inside.
Masturbation simply didn’t mimic the nuzzle of Beau’s mouth on her neck or the delicious pressure of his hand and mouth on her breast. And the very thought of his mouth between her wet thighs…Yeah, that had been the fantasy that sent her right on over the edge to hollow satisfaction. Kissing him had been analogous to playing with fire. She hadn’t gotten burned, but she was definitely singed. How could a man so wrong, so different from what she wanted in a man, turn her on so thoroughly, so completely?
And it didn’t matter. This, too, would pass. She’d finally gotten him out to Belle Terre. Now all she needed was the schedule from him, which she could most likely go through his secretary for, and she was done with Beau Stillwell until she had to see him again at the rehearsal dinner. Months. Woohoo.
“How was your Sunday?” Natalie asked as Cynthia put away her purse and beelined for the hot water in the back. Natalie wandered into the stockroom behind her and leaned against the doorjamb.
“I spent most of the day parked on the sofa reading a romance novel, just to remind myself there are decent men out there, and eating popcorn. But I didn’t cry. Not even once.” Cynthia measured out loose English breakfast tea leaves into the stainless steel ball.
Natalie would’ve hugged her, except Cynthia wasn’t the hugging type. The last couple of months had been tough for her assistant. Cynthia had been expecting a proposal from her live-in boyfriend, Josh, after two years together. Instead, she’d gotten the news that Josh was going to be a daddy—the sticking point being that Cynthia wasn’t the mommy. And he’d even robbed her of the pleasure of kicking him to the curb. He’d moved out and sent her a text message breaking both pieces of news while Natalie and Cynthia had been in the middle of directing a rehearsal. Bastard.
“Good,” Natalie said. “That’s real progress. Double good because he’s so not worth it.”
Tears shimmered in Cynthia’s eyes but she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “But enough about me. Did you get the remodel schedule down? What was the race like?” She cocked her head to one side and assessed Natalie, her lips pursed. “And what’s different about you this morning? You definitely look different.”
“We got the remodel list made. We didn’t get as far as the schedule. The race was, believe it or not, kind of exciting. And I suppose this is what I look like when I’m losing my mind.”
Cynthia dropped the tea ball into the hot water. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about your standard garden-variety lose-your-mind?”
Natalie brought her up to speed on most of the day while Cynthia
