her eyes locked on his. Electricity arced between them and his pants, as they always did when she was in the room, tightened. Even though he was across the room, he could see her nipples respond—God, her breasts were fantastic. A flush appeared on her throat, down her chest. Despite her protests, Callie was as aware of him, as attracted to him, as he was to her...
Why hadn’t they ended up in bed already?
Oh, because she wasn’t ready and because she was still in love with her dead husband.
Mason looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. His was said to be one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, yet he was flummoxed by how to get this woman to sleep with him.
That’s all he wanted, some fantastic sex with an attractive, interesting woman. He wasn’t looking for love or forever—as a scientist, he didn’t believe in either. The human species simply wasn’t that evolved. But sex, a few hot nights? Yeah, he most certainly believed in man’s most primal urge.
Mason started toward her—he couldn’t stay away if he tried—but the infinitesimal shake of her head stopped him.
Right, he wasn’t wanted. He should go and count stock or take out the trash or do his taxes.
Simple, stress-free jobs he could do with his eyes closed. But so blah and boring. Looking through the huge windows of his shop, he wished he could go caveman on Callie. He’d toss her over his shoulder and put her behind him on his Ducati—in his fantasy it was spring or summer—and ride away. When he reached the first isolated area, he’d stop.
He had this fantasy of stripping her down, bending her over his bike and taking her from behind, his hands on her amazing breasts, his lips on her neck, sliding into her wet, warm...
“Sorry, sir? I’m stuck again. Could you help me?”
Mason rubbed his face before squinting at the messy calculations.
Since bike sex, or even warm weather, wasn’t in his immediate future, he could do math. And while he mathed, he could also keep an eye on Callie, which was his latest and greatest pleasure.
Matt walked into Brogan and Winston’s showroom on Charles Street and looked around.
A counter ran along an exposed brick wall and to the right of it was a waiting area with a striped green-and-white sofa and a white chair, both with perfectly placed orange cushions. Funky art hung on the walls and a vase brimming with fresh flowers sat on the coffee table. He liked what he saw, immediately understanding why Winston and Brogan had such an excellent reputation and were booked solid for months.
DJ, as the CFO, worked behind the scenes, but Matt knew how important her work was to the company’s overall success. He couldn’t do what he did without Greta, his office manager, who took care of the paperwork, the staff and the billing. Greta was as indispensable to him as DJ was to Winston and Brogan. Her name, after all, was on the door.
Matt heard footsteps on the iron staircase to the left and he turned to see a pair of knee-high boots and sexy knees coming down the stairs. He knew those legs, the shape of them. He’d tasted the backs of those knees, nibbled those pretty toes. The rest of DJ appeared: short skirt over black leggings, a white blouse, that gorgeous long neck. As she hit the bottom stair, he finally got to see her face for the first time in too many months and, as always, her beauty smacked him in the gut.
Her thick hair, as dark as a sable coat, was pulled back into a soft roll, tendrils falling down the sides of her face. Black-rimmed glasses covered her extraordinary brown-black eyes and her lips were covered in a soft pink gloss. She looked both beautiful and bossy, efficient and exciting.
Two steps and she could be in his arms—he’d duck his head and he’d be tasting her.
“Matt.”
No excitement, no throwing herself into his arms, God, he didn’t even rate a smile? What the hell had happened between last Christmas and now?
Matt took a closer look at her eyes and saw wariness, a healthy dose of I-don’t-need-this-today. Well, tough. He didn’t like unresolved situations. When he’d left DJ in the UK everything had been fine. Yeah, many months had passed but, unless she now had a boyfriend and had moved on, nothing should’ve changed. And if she had found someone—a thought that froze the blood in his veins—then why the hell hadn’t she just said so? That was their deal, dammit.
“Got someone else, Dylan-Jane?”
It took her a little time to make sense of his words, but when she did, her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. Yep, that was answer enough. So, no boyfriend. “Then what’s the problem?”
DJ glared at him, sent the young receptionist a cool smile and jerked her head toward the stairway. “Can we discuss this in private?”
Matt jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants as he followed DJ up the stairs and down a short passageway to a corner office. He stepped inside the brutally neat room and watched her stride toward her wide desk.
She wanted to put a physical barrier between them but he had no intention of letting that happen. One long step allowed him to capture her wrist. He swung her around and pulled her to him so that her breasts touched his chest and the top of her head brushed his chin. He looked down at her, his mouth quirking at her shocked expression. “So, no new guy, then?”
“No.”
Thank God. Matt dropped his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and after a couple of beats, looked her in the eyes again. She immediately understood what he wanted...and yeah, it was what she wanted, too. The attraction between them had always been a living, breathing thing. A year ago, he would’ve dived into the kiss and been sure of his welcome, but too much time and distance had created a barrier between them. It was hell to wait for her to make the first move, to wait for her to rise onto her toes and fit her mouth against his. It took a minute, maybe more, but then her lips were on his and the world suddenly made sense again.
Matt immediately took control of the kiss, covering her mouth with his, sliding his hands over her hips and bringing her flush against him. His pants immediately shrunk a size as he filled the empty places of his soul by kissing Dylan-Jane. Spice, sex, heat, heaven...
It took less than a heartbeat for Dylan-Jane to open her mouth up to his tongue, and a second later her arms were looped around his neck and her fingers were in his hair. Potent relief ran through him: she still, thank God, wanted him as much as he craved her.
Matt wound his tongue around hers, tasting her spiciness and sweetness, and sighed. Yeah, he’d missed this, missed her breathy moans and the purrs of appreciation she made in the back of her throat.
When DJ’s fingers pushed into his hair, when she held his head to keep his mouth on hers, he knew she was fully, completely in the moment with him.
Matt pushed aside his urge to strip her, telling himself that he wasn’t going to make love to her on her office couch in the middle of the day. But he could kiss her, let her fill up those hollow spaces in his soul. He needed nothing as much as he needed to hold her...
Soft, sweet and still sexy—Matt felt like he’d conquered the world when she quivered under his touch. He needed to taste more of her, kiss a place more intimate than her mouth, so he flipped open the top buttons
