Tanya Michaels – Going All the Way (страница 8)

“Yes, but I thought…” Crowds, onlookers, public ordinances against her ripping off his long-sleeved red T-shirt and Dockers. She really, really needed to talk to the super about fixing her air-conditioning. “I’m sorry, come in.”

He entered, but didn’t head for the green-and-rose kitchen that sat below her loft-style bedroom at the other end of the apartment. Instead, he paused, glancing at her with those unbelievable sky-blue eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my making a unilateral decision, but I saw that breakfast burrito vendor you liked so much was still in business and figured it would be a fun surprise.”

“You are just full of those,” she muttered.

His gaze held hers. “You aren’t exactly predictable yourself, Serena.”

Was he referring to the fact that they’d made love, or the fact that she was adamantly opposed to it happening again? Less adamantly every second that passed, she admitted to herself. Her body had remained in a ripe, sensitized half-aroused state ever since he’d set foot in her office yesterday, and now she wondered if she would have made things easier on herself if she’d tried to alleviate some of this building pressure when she’d been in the shower. Too late now.

Unless she asked him to help alleviate it.

She swallowed, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the forest-green countertop of the breakfast bar that served as a room divider. “I—I have juice in the fridge. I might even have some coffee.”

He grimaced, but his gaze was still affectionate. Heatedly so. “No offense, but your coffee’s horrible. I grabbed some on the way over.”

Pivoting on the blocky high heel of one sandal, she told herself she’d scarf down her food and get them out of here.

David followed at a slower pace, taking in the surroundings. “You’ve changed some stuff.”

“Here and there. I wanted some new decorative touches, but the major furniture’s all the same.” Good thing she was skilled at creatively redecorating on a budget. And the orange-framed acrylic pieces she had on display not only livened up the high white walls, they allowed her to help her friend Craig without it seeming too much like charity.

“Glad to see you still have the couch,” David told her, his voice husky with remembrance.

She froze reaching for juice, caught between the heat of her own memories and the welcoming blast of cold air that came from the fridge. Even now, every moment she and David had spent together that night was as vivid as her favorite Matisse painting—they’d barely shut the front door behind them when David had pulled her into that first startling, sizzling kiss. Then, when they’d managed to shimmy out of the majority of their sodden clothes, they’d made it as far as the bright purple velour sofa.

She struggled for a light tone, not daring to look out in his direction. “Oh, come on. You always made fun of that couch.”

When he spoke again, his voice was so close, she jumped. “I’ve developed a new appreciation for it.”

Straightening fast enough to give herself a head rush, she clutched the gallon of orange juice to her and leveled a reproachful glance in his direction. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He grinned. “I didn’t exactly tiptoe in here, so you must’ve really been lost in thought.”

The tiny room that she’d decorated to be evocative of a garden was nowhere near big enough for her, David and her peace of mind.

“If you want to have a seat,” she suggested, “I can bring the juice out.”

He took a step—in the wrong direction—and shrugged. “I like being in here.”

Leaning past her, bringing his body so close it almost brushed hers, he stretched up to open the cabinet over her shoulder and pulled down two glasses. Serena held her breath, paralyzed in front of the refrigerator, mesmerized by how easy it would be to touch him. To live out the fantasy she’d been craving for the past nine months.

He set the glasses on the counter and lowered his voice. “I like being with you.”

His words warmed her more than they should have, and she closed her eyes for a second as she stole a guilty moment to savor the sentiment. When he’d last been here, she’d not only liked being with him, she hadn’t been able to get enough of him. She’d never been so insatiable with any lover, before or since. Would it still be that way between them?

Almost as if she’d asked the question aloud, he groaned in response. Serena felt him take the juice out of her hand and heard it land on the counter with a dull thud.

“Serena.” The warmth of his breath was soft on her face, and he ran his thumb along the curve of her lower lip, skin so sensitive the caress almost tickled. It was all she could do not to catch the pad of his thumb with her teeth. “Look at me, honey.”

Forgetting to breathe, she did as he asked, knowing he was about to kiss her. Wanting him to kiss her. She’d spent hours thinking about this very thing—not just during her hot sleepless night, but ever since he’d flown back to Boston last summer.

His gaze melted with hers, and he sucked in his own breath, his expression almost one of agony. Maybe he was afraid she’d push him away. As if that were even possible. Her entire body was starving for him.

She laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him to her. His lips met hers eagerly, and the moment his tongue slid into her mouth, she felt dizzy with joy. This was what she’d longed for. This was what she’d remembered, what had kept her awake on nights she should’ve been missing Patrick but hadn’t.

A small voice trying to be heard over the rush of desire warned, this was what was going to break her heart.

4

DAVID’S FINGERS were tangled in the damp softness of Serena’s hair, and his thoughts were tangled in the overpowering desire that had snared him as soon as she’d opened the front door.

As sexually frustrated as he’d been when he got back to his hotel room last night, he’d known he’d handled dinner the right way, always retreating before his flirting went too far. Changing Serena’s mind about this platonic nonsense required finesse, which had clearly been shot to hell the moment he’d set foot in this apartment. There’d been no misinterpreting the way she’d looked at him with those hot brown eyes. He’d been overwhelmed by the need in her expression, the fresh, exotic scent of her, the memories of the last time he’d been here.

Winning her over slowly was overrated. New plan: kissing her passionately.

Her hands skimmed up and down his back, bunching the material of his shirt and raking over his tensed muscles. He slid his own hands along the curve of her spine past her waist, kneading her round hips with his fingers as he pulled her against him. Her tongue met his, and hunger reverberated through him with the force of a tsunami.

There was no way to deepen the already carnal kiss, but he could bring them closer together, eliminate the barriers between them. Gripping the hem, he shoved her pale purple shirt upward. He brushed over the delicate gold navel ring that had shimmered in his memories, and his erection swelled to almost painful proportions. Unlike in his memories, she was wearing a bra today, but the frothy scrap of lace could hardly be described as an obstacle. He ran his palm over her, and she moaned her approval, arching into his hand. He wanted to fill his hands with her, wanted to fill her, period.

He lifted her shirt, and she raised her arms so he could remove it. But with their kiss broken, she blinked up at him like someone waking from a trance. When he settled his arms back around her, she sighed his name.

“David.” It wasn’t so much rapturous desire as wistful regret.

Hell.

He stared into her eyes. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

She bit her lip, her face flushed the same rosy pink as the bra he’d love to slide off of her. Though she didn’t answer, the tightness of her hold on him was encouraging.

“To touch you?” He traced his index finger in a slow circle around one silk-covered nipple. Maybe he wasn’t playing fair, but he was playing to win. They were fantastic together—he just had to persuade her of that.

“I, um…” She swallowed convulsively. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

It wasn’t the room. It was all her. He reached behind her and cupped his hand under the ice-maker, then lifted a crescent-shaped cube to the back of her neck. Catching a handful of honey-blond curls and twisting them up off her nape, he drew the ice down over her skin. “Better?”

Not even the frigid droplets of water dripping between his fingers could quell the heat spreading in his body. Only Serena could put out that fire. He trailed a wet, shivery path across the top of her shoulder and down over her collarbone. She trembled, her eyes closing as her head tilted back. Tracing the rapidly melting piece of ice back and forth over the slopes of her small, perfect breasts, he fumbled one-handed with the clasp at her back. He’d seen her in his imagination a hundred times since August, but that only intensified his need for the reality.

The bra fluttered to the floor, but he didn’t touch her immediately. He made them both wait, drawing a cold, slippery, straight line down her flat abdomen. Then, he changed direction, traveling up the column of her throat, dipping the ice across her parted lips. He pitched what was left of the cube into the sink behind them and bent to kiss away the cold.