to get the hard ridge exactly where she wanted and needed it.
He reached under her sweater, the heat of his hand searing the skin of her waist. He murmured her name as their teeth tapped and their legs entwined. His hand moved higher and he sucked in a ragged breath as he covered the thin material of her bra and cupped her breast.
“You are so sexy, Paige,” he whispered to her.
The words were the sweetest elixir, like the firstpressed wine. She moaned in response, leaning into him, giving him free access to stoke the fires in her body.
His thumb grazed her hardened nipple, swelling it like magic, sending waves of heat from her breasts down to her dampened crotch. All thoughts of decorum, all notions of propriety dissolved in her as his mouth trailed down her throat and their hips began to rock in a natural, marvelous rhythm.
Her hands flattened against his chest, finally able to touch him, hungry to get her fill of his substantial, solid body.
In one quick move he guided her to an oversize chaise longue near an unlit fireplace and lifted her sweater over her head, dropping it on the ground. Easing her back, he opened the front clasp of her bra and pushed it away, over her shoulders, then let it fall to the floor.
For a moment he just looked at her bare breasts, admiration and want turning his eyes slate-gray as he levered himself above her. His lips were parted, releasing tight, quick breaths.
Wordlessly he dropped his head and suckled one breast, the response flashing like a bolt of heat lightning in her body. Shuddering, she burrowed her fingers into his thick hair, as he teased her nipple with his tongue and then took more of her in his mouth.
She moved on instinct, driven by some basic, primal need she barely recognized. When he lifted his head, her hands roamed his chest, yanking at the buttons of his oxford shirt, aching to feel his flesh against hers.
With a gentle chuckle, he helped her remove his shirt, then returned to the delivery of wet, hungry kisses to her face and body. Their rhythm intensified as she rose to meet his hips and slide against his swollen manhood.
Time and space and sanity vanished from her senses, leaving her mind blank and her body in complete control. Deep in the core of her, a knot of desire and want tightened, pulling at her, twisting her low on the inside.
The need to have him inside her nearly made her cry out.
Reaching down, she slid open his belt buckle, tugged at the snap of his pants and grasped the heated skin of his shaft.
He moaned in appreciation of her touch, his eyes squeezed shut as though he simply couldn’t take the pleasure. Her fingers almost encircled him, sliding up the length of him to caress the moistened tip.
Desire coiled through her as she imagined how he would feel inside of her. She had no doubt—none—that she wanted exactly that. In the darkest recess of her mind, she was aware that a lump had formed in her throat, an emotional juggernaut that was rivaled only by the throbbing ache between her legs. An unfamiliar twirling, swirling sensation of need spun through her, dizzying her.
He kissed her mouth again, as his talented fingers played with her nipples, his incredible body smothering hers.
He felt so good. So good she wanted to scream, but that tender pain in her throat grew tighter, and she choked out a desperate breath. But it sounded more like a sob.
Could this be happening? Could she have this kind of power over Matt? Gorgeous, brilliant Matt? She hardly knew him, but she never wanted anything so completely.
Suddenly he stopped moving, his gaze locked on her face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice strained and rough.
She shook her head. No, don’t stop. Don’t talk. Don’t—Nothing,” she managed.
“You’re crying.” It sounded more like an accusation than an observation.
Slowly she lifted a hand to her face. Her cheeks were wet—soaked, in fact. And the salty taste trickling in her mouth wasn’t sweat.
She was crying.
She tried a quick laugh, but it came out as another sob. She wanted to curse herself, her childish, insecure self. Why was she crying?
“You have quite an effect on me,” she finally said. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
A dark expression colored his face. Gingerly he lifted his hands from her, placing them on the chaise and hoisting himself up.
“I do,” he said simply.
The finality of his tone neutralized all the sensations zinging through her nerve endings. She reached for his arm, but he backed farther away. “C’mere, Matt.”
She sounded desperate. Who cared? She was desperate. For more of his body, his mouth, his—
“No. We have to stop.”
“What?” She pushed herself up on two hands, her jaw opened in shock. “Why?”
“We have to.” In one move he was off her, refastening his pants, refusing her eye contact. Which hurt almost as much as his denial of body contact.
What was going on? “Matt? What are you doing?”
He wet his lips and ran his hand through his hair with a hand that now trembled nearly as much as her whole body, but still he didn’t look at her.
With a deep sigh, he finally perched on the side of the chaise. He lifted her sweater from the ground, turned it right side out and gently laid it on top of her, covering her bare breasts.
All that erotic desire that had delighted her thudded to the bottom of her stomach. Of course. He didn’t want her. She wasn’t attractive. When you got right down to bare skin, she wasn’t enough woman for him.
“I’m really sorry, Paige. I got carried away.”
She just stared at him. “I think the carrying was two sided, Matt.”
He finally looked at her, the discomfort clearly visible on his face. Of course. He didn’t know how to tell her. She just wasn’t for him.
“You deserve better than this,” he said softly.
That was a clever way of saying it.
Without arguing she sat up and pulled the sweater over her head. She had some shreds of pride left, damn it.
With all the regal bearing she could muster, she stood, tugged the sweater over her jeans and smoothed her hair. He watched her, a questioning expression on his face.
“Paige.” He stood next to her but didn’t touch her. He was really over this, she thought bitterly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Tapping her jeans pocket to be sure her car keys were still there, she looked at the door. How would she get across this endless room without letting yet another sob give away her shame and hurt?
She would. She just would.
“No
