DEXTER WAS A SUCKER for punishment. He knew it, could curse himself as much as he liked, but all the cursing didn’t stop him from pulling up in front of Karen’s office for the latest wedding planning meeting. He’d had to cut short an earlier meeting with the developers of the mixed use complex he was designing in order to be here. He’d been far more delighted to bag this project than he should have been and he suspected his level of satisfaction was related to the fact that he’d be spending a lot of time in Philadelphia for the next few months.
In missile range of the redheaded termagant he’d so foolishly married.
It wasn’t like his buddy Andrew and Sophie couldn’t have a perfectly good wedding without him playing assistant wedding planner.
And yet, here he was.
He pulled in to park in the office lot and there was Karen’s car. A surprising shot of lust pummeled him as he recalled their all-too-short time together Saturday night when her mouth had told him no even as her body shouted yes.
What was he going to do about this very inconvenient thing he still had for his ex-wife?
Until he figured that out, he supposed he was going to play assistant wedding planner.
He was a few minutes early and it didn’t look as if Sophie was here yet, but they’d booked the last possible appointment so they could both get in a day’s work. Probably she’d be here any minute.
Loosening his tie, he went into the office anyway. He glanced around but the cute British girl wasn’t at her station or anywhere in the front area of If You Can Dream It. He walked toward Karen’s office and heard her voice. He was conscious of the familiarity of that voice, the slight breathlessness that he doubted she was even aware of. His day had been successful, the client had approved the more expensive option, the one Dexter had hoped they’d go with since it was both greener and preserved the architectural integrity of the building.
There was a time he’d have rushed to tell her the good news and they’d have celebrated. Now they were all but strangers to each other. And yet he knew every timbre of her voice as well as he knew every inch of her body. It was crazy.
When he got to her doorway he paused there, enjoying the view. She was talking on the phone, her bare feet up on the desktop, a sight he suspected not very many clients were privileged to see. Her feet were small, dainty, the toes painted bright pink. Her floral skirt had ridden up revealing a shapely thigh.
He rapped on the door frame and she turned, startled. When she saw him, she yanked her feet off the desktop and he watched, enjoying the sight, as her toes did a version of Riverdance under the desk until she located two high-heeled shoes and attempted to jam her feet into them while simultaneously dragging her skirt back into place.
She continued her conversation, to a florist he presumed, since the words rose and baby’s breath occurred so often.
Once she’d successfully navigated her feet into her shoes, she turned her chair, and thus her back, to him and continued her conversation. “What about the ribbon? Were you able to match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses?” He watched her pick up the pen he’d given her and begin to doodle. “Mmm-hmm. Okay. I know it’s a difficult color to match, but the bride is very particular about tone.” She made a quick note. “Well, I think you should send over a sample of the ribbon and we can let the bride decide. Yes, I know. Right. See you.” And she hung up.
She let him stand there another moment while she made notes. Then she turned her chair so she was facing him.
“Hi,” he said.
“Didn’t Sophie get hold of you?” his ex-wife asked, rising and coming to stand in front of her desk.
He’d had his cell phone turned off while he was on-site with the client. Had he remembered to turn it back on? He didn’t think so. “Why?”
“She got held up at work. She rescheduled our meeting.”
“Oh.” He pulled out his cell phone and when he turned it on, there was the little voice mail icon. “Guess I forgot to check my messages.”
“Guess so.”
She didn’t move. If there was a posture for “there’s the door, don’t let it hit you on your way out,” she was demonstrating it. But he’d known this woman for a long time, and during the best of that time, intimately, and he knew she was skittish because she didn’t want to be alone with him. Not when they both knew that the fire that had always burned between them hadn’t grown fainter from time apart. If anything, it burned fiercer than ever.
Ever since that kiss the other night he’d been thinking that it was inevitable they’d end up back in bed.
He glanced at that sturdy-looking desk. Or not in bed.
“Has your assistant left for the day?”
“Yep, and I’m finished for the day, too, so I’ll let you know when the meeting’s rescheduled.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake.
Maybe if she hadn’t done that he would have walked away as she was pretending she wanted him to. But offering her hand like he was a casual business acquaintance?
She might as well have flipped him the bird.
He took her hand. Held it in his for a moment too long, felt the quiver running along her skin, the soft warmth of their palm-to-palm contact. Not letting go of her hand he took a step toward her.
She stepped back.
He took another step toward her.
“Dex, what are you…” Her hips bumped the desk and their gazes locked.
He watched the quick intake of breath, the way it raised her glorious, extravagant breasts against the silk of her blouse. Her mouth opened slightly and he moved in, taking her mouth as though he owned it because on some primitive level he did. Always had. Always would.
The sweet taste of her exploded on his lips and tongue and then he pulled her in all the way, tight against him so her breasts were pressing against his chest, her hips jammed against him, her butt pressed against the edge of her feminine desk.
For a second he felt her go rigid, thought she might push him away, but as quickly as her resistance rose, it receded and with a low moan in the back of her throat, she pushed her hands into his hair, pulled him into her.
He’d always loved her honest passion, the way she let him know what she was feeling and what she wanted. Mindless, they pulled at each other, the years of separation, the anger, the frustration falling away as they clawed at each other.
He had his hands shoved down her top, grabbing at her breasts, pulling them out of her bra so he could see them, feel them, taste them. She’d always been slightly embarrassed about the size of her breasts but he loved them. When he put his tongue to her nipple the flavor took him back to the first time they’d ever been together, when he’d discovered this woman was made for sex. Or, as he secretly liked to think, she was made for sex with him.
Her head dropped back as he curled his tongue around the sensitive
