stopped, but not too near. He looked so darned confused, she felt a twinge of remorse. She didn’t mean to run hot and cold—it’s just when it came to words, she didn’t always trust herself. But he had to know that about her. How many times had the teenaged Johnny Dayton hung out at their house, swigging pops with her older brother, talking about school, cars, girls…and Robin had dawdled nearby, occasionally chiming in when the mood struck. Within the comfort of her home, she had always felt more comfortable opening up, talking….
But then Johnny knew that, too. That day he’d found her hiding out in the park, afraid to go to school because she didn’t want to make a speech, she’d told him why. And he’d encouraged her, told her he’d be there, and because of him she had one of the greatest memories of her life—the day she won the middle-school first-place prize for her short story.
Looking at Johnny all these years later, she wanted to pour out everything in her heart. Tell him how he was her first and only crush, how no man compared to the incomparable Johnny…how he stood for everything she admired in the world—truth, integrity, guts. Everyone in Buena Vista knew he’d had it tough—a father who spent more time at the local bar than at home, a kid brother who seemed determined to end up in jail.
But despite his home life, Johnny kept his cool. Never let circumstances drag him down—or never let it show, anyway. She quickly glanced up and down, sizing up how far he had come. The worn leather jacket and rumpled good looks were like the old Johnny. But he was different, too. The gold watch on his wrist looked expensive. And the wary look in his eyes was new, too. How she’d like to ask what had happened over the past fourteen years…
…and how she’d like to tell him today had been the worst day of her life. And explain that crazy, hot moment at the diner. She’d tell him how desperately she’d wanted to one-up Jill, end the day as a success instead of as a loser, so Robin had seized the moment, so to speak.
Forget the diner. In a rush of insight, Robin suddenly knew that if she went inside her apartment without seizing this moment, without letting Johnny know the feelings and needs that lay within her heart, this day would truly be the very worst in her life.
She’d really be a loser, all the way around.
Blinking, she turned, and looked at him. I’m not a loser. She took his large, warm hand and raised it to her lips, which trembled as she pressed a kiss into his palm. His skin was warm, his scent masculine. She let her lips linger, move imperceptively against his palm as her heart whispered its secrets.
“Robin,” he murmured, more astounded by this simple act of affection than the fiery kiss at the diner. And when she looked up, with that beseechingly sweet look on her face, heat spread through his body, as though radiating from her.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, closing the space between them and filling his arms with her. He nuzzled her hair, her cheek, and inhaled her scent. A hint of lavender teased his senses and he thought how it reminded him of her. Bright, fragrant, wild…the real Robin underneath her quiet exterior.
He hugged her close, relishing the feel of her softness against his body. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and inched his lips to her mouth…but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he lingered at the corner of those luscious lips—those luscious, petal-pink lips—and savored the puffs of sweet, heated breath against his cheek.
He pulled back and stared into her half-closed eyes. “What do you want, Robin?”
She licked her plump, moist lips.
That did it. A primal need erupted within him and he backed her against the door, clamping his mouth on hers. Earlier he’d felt like a starving man at a feast cut short, and now he made up for it with a savage hunger. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, devouring its flavors.
She eagerly reciprocated, accepting his kiss with a ferocity that made it damn hard for him to keep control. She kissed with the passion he’d tasted back in the diner. Hot, needy. A flower turned inside out, opening herself and her desires fully to him.
He nipped her neck and she groaned. He proceeded farther, tracing her collarbone with his lips, kissing and licking a path along her silky skin. He tasted her sweat, her fragrance…And when he reached the opening of the front of her dress, where every single pearl-size button was demurely fastened, he knew her clothing made a liar out of her. Those fastenings were a front, showing a woman seemingly tight, contained when he knew damn well that underneath this dress was fire and passion. He pulled away, his fingers lingering on the button.
Her gray-green eyes glinted with need as she leaned back, the movement releasing his hold on that single button. For a moment, she simply watched him, her shoulders pressed against the door, her hips thrust forward ever so slightly. Then, slowly, her hand moved up her dress, flat-palmed, sliding over her torso, up between her breasts, until she gently touched the top button which she rolled seductively between her fingers, watching him watching her.
He never thought he’d lose it over a button. But at this moment, he was in such erotic pain, it took all his willpower not to tear that damn rayon number off her.
She undid the button, slowly. Her lips moved, almost imperceptibly, and she whispered something….
He could barely hear through the blood roaring in his ears. He positioned his head close to her mouth, straining to hear her breathy tones.
“More,” she whispered. “More…”
“Oh, God, yes.” The soft ache in her voice fired his need. He gently pulled her hand off the button, then lifted her arm and pressed it against the door, pinning it over her head. He fit her other hand into the held one. With his free hand, he took his sweet time undoing the second button…gently pulled back the material to expose her skin.
He sucked in an appreciative breath. Her skin was pink and alabaster, just as he’d imagined. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, then opened them.I shouldn’t take it further.
As though picking up on his thoughts, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts against him. Such a natural, primitive gesture, almost innocent in its desire. And when she moaned his name, softly, he lowered his head and kissed the skin exposed at the opening to her dress. She tasted silky against his tongue. Smelled erotically sweet, like ripened fruit.
With a guttural groan, he undid the third button with his teeth, playing with the hardened button, imaging it to be her taut nipple. Opening the top of her dress wider with his free hand, he slid his tongue over the white lace that skimmed the top of her bra, gliding his lips over the soft mound of one breast, then the other…
A prolonged, scratchy sound fractured the moment.
Robin? Was he hurting her?
Johnny reared back and looked into Robin’s surprised expression.
Another scratchy, tormented sound. Accompanied by a heaviness on one of Johnny’s feet.
He quickly glanced down at a chubby cat, covered with more fur than he thought possible, perched on his right foot! The cat looked up, opened its mouth and emitted another long, scratchy me-e-e-e-o-ow.
With a groan, Robin sank down, her body still plastered against Johnny’s, and scratched the cat on its head. “Otto, why aren’t you inside your own home?”
Johnny held his breath, his body aflame. Robin had spoken, fluently, which moved him. Obviously she knew this furry feline very well—it probably
