Alison Kent – Wicked Games (страница 6)

She felt the beat of her pulse in the grasp of Doug’s fingers, felt the beat of his heart beneath the palm she’d pressed to the center of his chest. His lips parted and she opened her mouth, smiling as his tongue slipped deftly inside.

So warm, so demanding, so confident. So sure of what he wanted, and of being able to give her all that her body desired. When he slid his hand up her spine, when he threaded his fingers into her hair, when he cupped the back of her head to hold her still, she chuckled because she couldn’t help it.

He felt so good. He made her feel so good, even when way too soon he began to slow what had started as a fast and furious and very sudden need to connect. Damn the man for having the restraint she was struggling to find.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked when he finally put enough space between their mouths to talk.

“Nothing.” She shook her head but found it hard to push him away. She had to, for the food and for her plan to have time to come together. “Just a happy laugh. You make me feel nice.”

“You make me feel even better, especially since you’re not laughing at my technique.” He shoved a hand through his hair, which had grown overly long and rakish. “A guy can take only so much rejection in one day.”

He let go of her wrist and stepped back, his dejection replacing the thrill of seconds before. But just as quickly, the emotion was gone, and Kinsey wondered if she’d imagined it all along. “Why? What happened?”

He leaned against the countertop and snitched a piece of carrot from her chopping block. “A late flight and a missed meeting earned me a hell of a reaming from Anton, not to mention a butt-chewing by my client.”

“A late flight is hardly your fault,” she said with a frown, feeling strangely protective instincts kick in. As if Doug needed her to watch his back.

“No, but I cut it too close. I knew what time I needed to be back here and…” He shrugged, grabbed another slice of carrot from the bowl she held. “I got greedy, I guess. Trying to make one more contact in Denver while I was there.”

Kinsey paused to consider the best answer to give, not knowing if he was looking for support or censure. “So you’ve got a go-getter sort of work ethic. You can hardly be faulted for that.”

Doug grimaced as he finished the carrot. “Except there are times it seems more of a fault than an asset.”

“Like now?” she asked, sensing he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have made what he considered an error in judgment.

He nodded. “Reuben Bettis, one of the junior execs…Reuben covered my ass on this end, but it’s really bad career karma to forget where you came from. Or the people who helped get you to where you are.”

She handed him the salad bowl and the cruet of dressing, wondering if this Reuben Bettis was the one wanting to buy out Doug’s part of the architectural firm. “But that isn’t what you were doing.”

Doug took both to the table, giving her a smile on his return. “When you say that it sounds much more convincing than when I tell myself the same thing.”

“So you were forgetting?” she asked, offering him a fork and carving knife.

“I don’t want to think so.” He set about cutting off thin slices from the chicken breast and arranging them on the platter. “Media West is one of my original clients. I guess having Marcus West, not to mention Anton, question my commitment and loyalty doesn’t sit well.”

Lifting her wineglass, Kinsey swirled the liquid inside. How real was the possibility that Doug was actually more torn about this move and the impending sale of his investment in Neville and Storey than she’d been led to believe?

Lauren had made it seem as if Doug was only waiting to sign, seal and deliver the deal. But now…now Kinsey wasn’t so sure the other woman knew what she was talking about.

Kinsey sipped her wine, looking over the upraised glass at Doug, wondering what facets of his personality she might have missed during the time they’d spent together. Commitment and loyalty had never been an issue. She was surprised anyone who knew him would question either, especially Anton, who knew Doug so well.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked, refilling both their glasses once she’d set hers beside his on the island.

“Just thinking, wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“What it will be like not to have you around.”

A look of guilty relief crossed his face. “How did you find out?”

“From Lauren.”

“I was planning to tell you tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. I was.” She could hear the guilt again, this time with added regret. “It’s just tough breaking that sort of news to good friends.”

Friends. Well, that was all they were, wasn’t it? So she shouldn’t be feeling the sadness that had her eyes welling. “It’s tougher having to hear it. Especially secondhand.”

“I am sorry, Kinsey.”

“For what? Not telling me yourself? Or for going off and leaving me?” When he didn’t say anything, she decided to let it go. She didn’t want to spend their time together in an inconsolable, emotional state. And something in his pained expression told her she wouldn’t like hearing what it was he had to say.

Blinking away the threat of tears, she carried her wine and the platter of chicken to the table. When she returned for the glaze, she found Doug pouring it into the gravy boat she’d borrowed from Sydney, and her heart tripped at how at home in her kitchen he seemed.

“It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. You being gone and all that. Especially since you’re turning out to be quite handy. I’m sorry I never knew this before.”

His grin was amazingly wicked. “I have talents you can only imagine.”

“Is that so?” she asked, wishing she still had her wineglass there because she really, really needed something to do with her hands. As it was, she was having a hard time not slipping them underneath his sweater and shirt. She wanted so badly to get close to his body.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely so.”

“Well, then. Do you care to share what you know?” she asked, settling on toying with a strip of peeled cucumber skin. “Or are you keeping your skills secret?”

Doug slowly lowered the gravy boat. He stood where he was for a very long moment, his hands flat on the countertop as if he wasn’t at all certain what he was doing or why.

But as Kinsey looked on, he came to a decision. She saw it in the tensing of his shoulders, and in the way he finally tossed back his head, blond hair flowing, like a stallion having selected his mare.

The analogy made her laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn’t make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she’d wanted, where she’d wanted this evening to go, she couldn’t deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they’d progressed.

He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they’d never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.

That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. “My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I’d rather start with what I know best.”

She responded with a bit of a grimace. “I didn’t remember to make dessert.”

“Trust me, darlin’. What I have in mind is better than anything you could’ve whipped up.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t easily taken in by a sweet-talkin’ man. “You say that without having tasted any of my cooking.”

“Yeah, but I’ve tasted you.” And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.

She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she’d imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“It can’t feel half as good as what you’re doing with your mouth.” He’d moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.

He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. “It would feel a hell of a lot better if you’d lose this top.”

She couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.

And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.

He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn’t want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.