A Little Less Conversation (3 page)

Of course, his brother had to jump in to save him when a ten-foot swell slammed him into one of the pylons and knocked him unconscious. It was a sobering memory, because Mark suddenly realized that if he screwed up here, with Melanie, there wasn’t going to be any cavalry coming to rescue his ass. He’d be done for, and have no one to blame but himself.

“I scare you?” she asked with a heavy dose of disbelief, setting down the hole punch before pressing her palms flat to the desk and pushing her upper body upright, tilting back her heart-shaped face until he was able to snag her with his gaze.

Though his instinctive reaction was to laugh off such a telling statement and retreat behind his customary air of casual indifference, he found himself doing neither. Instead, he stared down at her and gave her the absolute truth, sensing that she would see right through him anyway, even if he tried to coast his way through all nice and easy by keeping his own feelings close to his heart. “Damn right you do. Why do you think it’s taken me so long to work up the nerve to come and talk to you?” Then, thinking she might mistake his intentions, he felt the need to add, “For starters,” and a lean grin of anticipation kicked up the edge of his mouth.

She blinked up at him in surprise—long, thick lashes casting shadows upon the freckled curve of her cheek, and he could see her reassessing him. He knew the second she came to the understanding that they had some common ground here, both of them nervous and wary, though she wasn’t quite sure she believed him yet. Her eyes were wide and watchful, the set of her mouth hopeful, yet questioning. No, the jury was still out on that one.

Trust with this woman wouldn’t come easy, and for some bizarre-ass reason, Mark found himself actually looking forward to convincing her that he was for real. That he was looking for more than just a quick screw from her, and wasn’t going to be satisfied until he had it all.

She nibbled on the inside curve of her upper lip, then asked, “Why would I make you nervous?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he murmured in a low voice, losing himself for a moment in heated, erotic, gut-twisting visions of what he could be doing to her lush little figure on that desk. There wasn’t a whole lot of her, but what there was looked womanly and soft, and he couldn’t wait to get her under his hands, naked and warm. He wanted her in his home, laid out on his big bed and spread wide, where he could uncover, explore, and investigate all her sweet little secrets ‘til his aching cock threatened to explode, learning everything there was to know about her. Claiming it all for his own. “Why wouldn’t you make any guy nervous, Mel? Hell, with that soft, sweet smile and those big, bright eyes? You’re like something shiny and real in a sea of—”

“All your other women?” she laughed, shaking her head, and he didn’t like the bitter edge lurking there behind her brave show of humor.

“I don’t have
women
, Melanie.”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed her hair back from her face again, and set about straightening her blouse, then went back to trying to restore some kind of order to her desk, and he felt like he’d been dismissed.

He didn’t care for the feeling.

“I haven’t dated anyone for a while now,” he heard himself explaining without any conscious direction from his mind, his tone more aggressive than he would have liked, but there was no help for it right then. She was setting off all those animal, primitive hungers inside him, and he found himself wanting to drag her over that damn desk and bury his tongue down her throat, putting his scent and taste on her for every other male to recognize. Marking her as someone who belonged solely to him.

She flushed a bit more at his biting tone, and the thought flashed through his mind that he’d love to see those freckle-sprinkled cheeks flushed like damp, pink silk while he crammed his dick hard and deep and fast into her pretty, pinker cunt—where she’d be even hotter, wetter…silkier. Her skin was so soft and creamy, he knew her little sweet spot nestled between her thighs would be like satin, so tender and swollen, a bruised rose and slippery with juices if he could just get her under the aching need of his body. His balls tightened and a knot thickened in the root of his shaft, but he choked down his lust with every ounce of willpower he possessed and struggled not to go hard.

But it wasn’t easy. She quite simply fascinated him. There was no other word for the strange feeling of euphoria pumping through his system, as if he’d done too many shots of
Jose Cuervo
on an empty stomach.

To distract himself, Mark let his gaze wander across her desk, and the sight of a photo poking out from the edge of a bright blue folder caught his attention. Well, actually it was the shapely, naked leg that snagged his interest, and he reached out and snatched it up before she could stop him.

“Damn,” he muttered when he got a full view of the picture, feeling like he’d just been socked in the gut.

“Hey,” she gasped, “give me that!”

She reached out to grab the picture, but he stepped back out of her reach, lifting it high as he took another nice, long, lingering look at the photo pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Hell, Mel, where was this taken?”

A groaning sound of frustration broke from her throat, and she plopped back in her seat with an exaggerated sigh of impatience, crossing her arms as a mutinous expression settled between her softly arched brows. “Since I don’t know which one you’re looking at, how am I supposed to know where it was taken?” she grated out, clearly piqued with him.

Mark ripped his heat-filled gaze away from the photograph just long enough to send her a suggestive smile. “You on a beach, half-dressed in some kind of dark blue bikini and wraparound skirt thing.” He paused to look back at the photo, adding, “Shells around your ankles and one wrist, with a big, pink flower in your hair.”

“Tahiti,” she grumbled, holding out her slim hand. “Please give it back, Mark.”

The sound of her saying his name sent a warm curl of satisfaction through his body, matching the wave of pulsing heat the sight of her sexy bod on a beach in Tahiti had delivered to his cock, and he found himself shaking his head, pushing the photograph into the back pocket of his jeans. “I don’t think so, Mel.”

Her eyes dropped to where his now empty hand rested against his thigh, thumb hooked into his front pocket. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping it.”

“You can’t,” she sputtered, leaning forward in her chair. “You can’t just
keep
it!”

“Why not?” he challenged, enjoying the flash of fire—of need—of keen, blazing desire in her eyes, the way her pulse hammered in the base of her throat, her eyes round and wild, skin warm with heat. He wanted to run his tongue over that sensitive female flesh and watch it burn brighter beneath his hungry exploration. Wanted to sip from her until her taste replaced that of every other woman he’d ever known. Wanted to consume the sweet promises of her body and her heart.

Man, he had it so bad, he was becoming poetic, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. It was pathetic.

“You can’t keep it because we’re strangers, that’s why,” he heard her explaining, and he struggled to pull his mind up from his cock head and back into the head on his shoulders, where it belonged. “And strangers don’t let strangers confiscate pictures of them in bikinis.”

“If they don’t, then they sure as hell should,” he shot back with a hard smile, knowing his narrowed eyes glittered with excitement that he was having a hell of a time trying to hide. “And we don’t feel like strangers, Melanie Green. I say ‘Hi’ to you every morning at the coffee shop, and you blush at me. I stare at you every second I have during the day, and you sit here pretending not to notice. Hell, we have more interaction than half the couples I know.”

She arched a suspicious brow, cheeks going crimson again at his words. “You know couples?”

“A few.”

“Hmm…” she murmured, narrowing her cinnamon-colored eyes as she studied him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, arching his brow at the assessing way she was looking at him.

She sucked the plump pad of her lower lip through her teeth, and this time Mark actually felt his cock pulse in response to the action, his damn eyes nearly crossing as something hot and hungry seemed to uncurl inside him, stretching its claws, the knot of his tightly leashed control unraveling more with every second that passed by.

“It’s just that you don’t look like the type to hang out with guys chained down by domestic bliss.”

His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Well, now, that all depends on how one’s using the chains, sweetheart.”

And just like that, her blush bloomed deeper, like spreading wildfire across her creamy skin, and he could have sworn she went pink from head to toe. A bright, blushing rose that flared down the slim, pale column of her throat, slipping across the enticing expanse of her lightly freckled chest before dipping into the modestly cut neckline of her pale pink silk blouse. It made him want to kiss her all over, tasting that rosy glow on the eager pad of his tongue as he worked his way up from her cute little toes, not stopping until he reached the lush pink promise of her wide, giving mouth.

“Have dinner with me tonight. Right now,” he suddenly rumbled into the heavy quiet of the office, the only sound that of their breathing and the gentle hum of a fax machine as it worked softly in the corner. His words weren’t a request, so much as a statement of intent. It was already after five, and no way in hell did he think he could turn around and walk away from her before taking things a step farther. Before somehow discovering a way to stake his claim.

“What?” She blinked up at him as if he’d asked her to explain the theory of relativity while patting her head and rubbing her tummy.

“If it’s the ‘strangers’ bit making you nervous around me, have dinner with me, and then we won’t be strangers,” he explained with a casual shrug of his shoulders, trying not to sound pushy, when he longed to demand a yes from her. “Though, if you ask me, I don’t see how two people who’ve known each other for six months can still be considered strangers to begin with.”

She licked her lower lip again with the tip of her tongue, and Mark actually wondered if he was going to end up with the imprint of his zipper permanently embossed on his dick as he struggled to keep the damn thing from going hard as a spike.

“I doubt I could eat anything,” she finally laughed out on a ragged sigh. “To be honest, I think you’d only make me more nervous at dinner.”

“Then we’ll sip on a few beers to get you relaxed and just talk before we order any food.”

She went perfectly still, not even blinking. “Talk?” she whispered with an odd look in her eyes, repeating the word as if he’d said something dirty.

Huh—and here all those women’s magazines complained that men were pigs for never conversing enough. No wonder his sex had such a hell of a time figuring out what women wanted. Even they didn’t know what it was!

“Yeah, talk, as in conversation. Man and woman and beer and beach.”
And I can try to keep my damn hands off you, instead of dragging you to the sand, pulling you beneath me, and digging in as deep as I can get.
Clearing his throat, he prayed she wouldn’t notice the growing bulge behind his fly before he got his traitorous body part under control.

“It’ll be great. Come on,” he coaxed, trying not to sound like he was pleading, searching for his most charming smile, when all he really wanted was to toss her over his shoulder and get her ass home, in his bed, before he exploded from lust. He rubbed one hand across the tense muscles at the back of his neck, and said, “I’m not taking no for an answer, Mel.”

Talk…talk…talk
, Melanie thought with a bitter, foul-tasting surge of disappointment. He wasn’t after hot, wild, romping sex after all, despite the wonderful way he’d been flirting with her since walking through the front door. But she should have known. Hadn’t she learned enough from past mistakes with gorgeous guys like Mark Logan? They flirted with women—with
all
women—because that was just the way they were. They enjoyed making women feel good about themselves. They didn’t do it to be jerks or to shatter hearts, even though they often left a field of heartbroken casualties in their wake. If she was going to survive this date intact, she’d have to remember that no matter how outrageously he acted with her, the most logical scenario here was that he really did just want some friendly female companionship. A smiling face to “talk” to, and god only knew, that was her.

Not that she would ever turn down the chance to spend time with him—even if all he wanted was to talk—but there was a fire of determination burning in her belly that said she should at least
try
to make him want more than conversation from her. What the hell could it hurt, since she was already seriously in deep with her feelings for this man? Problem was, she wasn’t even at her best right now. She was a mess.

Melanie looked down at her rumpled silk shirt and wrinkled skirt, her mouth twisting with heartfelt regret, knowing she probably wouldn’t ever get a chance like this again. By tomorrow or the next day, some gorgeous beach vixen would grab his attention, and he would forget all about wanting to sit and “talk” with boring little Melanie Green.

“I’d like that, Mark, but I’m not really dressed to go out anywhere,” she replied, wishing she’d known this moment was coming so she could have been better prepared. “I’m pretty much a wreck after working in the back all day. We had stacks of unopened brochure stock to put away, and the printers in the tech room were either jammed or out of toner.”