Breathe for Me (10 page)

“So what are you going to do while you’re in New York?” Xander asked once the waiter had headed to the kitchen. “If you’re here only a short time you want to get everything you can out of it.”

She sucked in one last shred of moxie. “I’m thinking of signing up to a roller derby club.” She’d go girl power. Luisa, the coffee diva, had put ideas in her head. Why couldn’t she get well enough to do that?

“With that knee?” Xander’s left eyebrow lifted.

“Sure,” she said defiantly. “It’s getting stronger every day.”

“You’re working out with it?”

“Of course.” She was walking a little further on it each day. She’d get there.

“But not swimming.”

Fortunately her Greek salad arrived, so she avoided answering by giving effusive thanks to the waiter. He was so getting a big tip from her, his timing was perfection.

“I meant it when I said I’d teach you to swim.” Xander said the second the waiter walked away again.

“And I meant it when I said I already could.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I do. I just prefer privacy.”

He was silent a moment. “Why?”

A lie based on truth was more believable, right? “My leg. I feel self-conscious. I don’t swim as well as I once did, and while I’m working on it I don’t like people staring at it.”

“I won’t stare at it,” he said calmly. “There are other bits of your body I’d like to stare at instead.”

She choked.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

“Lettuce went down the wrong way.”

“Chelsea.” Firmer that time.

She’d known the question was coming. She sighed. “Car accident. It’s a lot better.”

“Were you driving?”

She paused, her fork part-way lifted but she looked directly at him, wanting him to understand this was non-negotiable. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Ever.

He held her gaze. Slowly he nodded. As he did the serious look in his eyes vanished and the roguish one returned. “I’m Scorpio. My favorite color is navy. I like apples but I don’t like bananas—except in milkshakes or baking. I love roasted red peppers.”

“What are you doing?” She laughed at the random change in topic.
 

“Telling you ten things about myself so you won’t feel like you’re sleeping with a stranger.”

Her jaw almost hit the floor. She shut it with a snap and stared at him her brain both going to mush and becoming acutely alert. Unperturbed he met her gaze, a half smile on his lips and that spark kindling his eyes.

“I can’t decide if you actually mean that, or are just trying for a reaction.” And he
was
getting a reaction. A mix of astonishment and scalding heat. The heat was winning, melting her resistance, her reason, slickening her muscles, making her boneless all over again.

“Why not both?”

That irresistible mix of laughter and roguishness lit his eyes making him so damn attractive. She lifted her glass and took a long sip of iced water and tried to rein herself in. Well of course the man thought she’d sleep with him the second he asked, given the way she’d been hot and wet and writhing against him less than half an hour ago...

It was a bad move to remember those minutes in his arms. She was incinerating from the inside out and the urge to fly straight to the source of the flame was overpowering.

Okay. She set the glass down. She’d play the game. Twist it. “You’re not telling me anything relevant.”

“I’d have thought vegetables were very relevant.” He speared a piece of steak. “Especially to a woman who loves herbs.”

“Where did you grow up?” She ignored his comment and went with her burgeoning curiosity.

He cocked his head, his wicked grin widening. He waggled his fork at her the way an old-school strict teacher waved a ruler. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me. The questions you ask me, you have to be prepared to answer yourself. Game?”

“Sure.” She could work with that. “Where did you grow up?”

“California in the early years. Summerhill in the later. It’s a ski town.”

“Nice. You ski?”

He nodded. “So your turn—where’d you grow up?”

“A town near Rochester.” She picked at another piece of lettuce. “Where are your parents?”

“My mother lives in Summerhill.”
 

“And your father?”

He shrugged.

Hmm. Broken home? She wanted to ask more, to challenge, to
pry
. But didn’t want to have to reciprocate. And judging by the amused look on his face he knew it. So far, so not enlightening. She pondered some possibilities. Then couldn’t resist a little tease. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

His expression sharpened. “Chocolate. I like the richness—I like the variety—from rich, dark and bitter to creamy milk and sweet. You?”

“Vanilla,” she said, mainly to be contrary. “The scent. The subtlety. And yet it too can be very rich.”

“You’re not a chocolate lover?”

“I like it, but the question was preference, right?” She gave him a coy look. “If forced to choose.”

“Okay. Another question?” he prompted.

“Best moment ever.”

He paused, putting on a ponderous look. Then a wry grin appeared, chasing away the solemnity and putting the wicked glint back in his eyes. “It’s going to sound cheesy.”

“I don’t mind a little cheese,” she said softly.

“You want me to be honest?”

She nodded.

“First summer on the job.”

“Engineering?”

“Lifeguard.”

Oh of course—it was his hero syndrome. “You saved someone?” She’d pulled someone from the water too. But it had been too late. She didn’t know if she could bear listening to his story.

He shook his head.“ I was fourteen. It was a dog.”

Relieved yet touched, a small burst of giggles escaped her.

“It mattered to that little kid,” he said, all seriousness.

Of course it did. It was sweet. “Did you have a dog when you were a boy?”

He shook his head. “Your turn to answer.”

“Yeah, we had a black spaniel. He was—”

“No,” Xander interrupted with a knowing smile. “Best moment.”

Damn. She looked away. It should have been the night Tom proposed. “I’ve had lots of good moments,” she fudged. “Still waiting on the best.”

He kept watching her—apparently waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t. Instead she looked into his pale blue eyes and felt her insides melt.

“That’s your ten,” he finally said. “Know me well enough now?”

Chapter Eight

This was crazy. She should be working on her project. She should be making calls or hitting the streets to scope out possible venues or drumming up some kind of promo. Instead she was refusing to be intimidated as Xander ignored all ‘elevator etiquette’ and turned his back to the doors sliding shut. As the compartment began its ascent he faced her, intent apparent in every line of his body. A half smile curved his lips, his blue eyes burned.

She stood right at the back of the small space, planting her feet a little apart as if she were bracing for a blow...
or something
. The atmosphere thickened. Each beat of her heart slammed in her ears. She
wanted
, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. She just stared at him until it seemed the rest of the world had disappeared. Stupidly dizzy she leaned back, letting the wall support her. A sweet poison spread along her veins, causing need to uncurl in every cell and heighten her senses. Languorous, yet on edge, she waited, reading the heat in his expression. The dare, the desire. The
demand
.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. She peeled away from the wall, dragging her attention from him and making herself move out onto her floor. Reality returned as she walked to her door. She couldn’t do this. A one night stand in the afternoon with a virtual stranger? It was preposterous. It wasn’t the kind of thing she ever did. And she couldn’t do it now.

“You can’t look at me like that and then just walk away.” His low, teasing whisper came from right behind her.

For the merest moment she paused, touched by that smile in his voice.

His arms encircled her. Tightly.

She closed her eyes, stunned at the rush of warmth and need that flooded within her. “This is crazy.”
 

“That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“I never do this.”

“That still doesn’t make it wrong.”

Slowly, testingly, she tried to move. His grip loosened only enough for her to pivot on the spot. She stared up at him. His intention—his desire—was clear.

“One afternoon. One fantasy. Just one.” His eyes were dominated by the huge dark pupils in the center, drawing her into their velvety temptation—warm, liquid pools. “Chelsea?”
 

She was as breathless as if she’d been fighting for her freedom. He’d done nothing except say a few things and come after her, yet she was unbearably turned on—aching for a moment of physical intimacy.
 

Her first time in so long should be good, right? Should be free? She mightn’t be ready for a relationship, but now she was definitely ready for touch. For release. And he was offering. She knew he’d give her better than
good
.

But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say the word she knew he wanted to hear.

He switched his grip, tightening one arm around her waist while lifting the other hand to gently brush through her hair. His smile deepened as his action brought him that little bit closer. Chelsea held her breath as he tugged at the elastic band she’d used to tie it back with.

As her hair fell free he dropped his hand to her waist. Ever so slowly he slid upwards to lightly cup her breast. His eyes never wavered as he watched her reaction to his caress.
 

There was no hiding her reaction. She pressed her lips tight but her slight moan still sounded. She clamped her muscles yet they still shuddered with that simplest of intimate touches. She’d been burning since before lunch, it only took this little expression of his desire to ignite her again.

His hand moved, his thumb smoothly rubbing, sliding over her taut nipple. His other arm tightened round her waist, pulling her closer into his heat while at the same time he stepped forward, backing her up against her door, giving her the support her jello-legs needed.

She pressed her palms flat against the wood at her back, struggling to regain her balance and strength. She didn’t want to resist this, but she couldn’t reach out and touch him. She hovered, trapped in a horrible moment of uselessness. It was like she was locked in an invisible cage.

Time slowed as he moved forward, his lips twisted in that dangerously cocky smile. He pressed a tiny teasing kiss on her cheek, very near her sensitive ear. A light brush of lips, then another—only this time there was a hint of a nip of teeth.

A promise of both passion and play.
 

That
was what she wanted. He drew back and looked in her eyes, smiling again at whatever he saw there. Then he bent and pressed another too tiny, too tormenting kiss a mere millimeter from her mouth. And another. And another.

So close, but not quite.

Chelsea licked her lips as he kept teasing. But still he didn’t kiss her full on the mouth, didn’t claim her with his tongue like she was craving him to.

And then, as he brushed and nibbled, he swept his hands in tandem—from her waist to her hips and back up again to her breasts and back down. Learning her curves. Then the pattern diverged. He lifted one hand back to cup her breast while he slid the other beneath the waistband of her skirt.

He had no hesitation.

She had no resistance.

Her eyes closed. The impact of his sensuality intensified. Over the top of her shirt he stroked her nipple into a stiff, all-but-screaming peak, but he slid his other hand slowly but firmly lower still—into her knickers.

Chelsea shivered as his fingers spread slightly. His middle finger rubbed over the narrow strip of her hair, his other fingers slipped over her smooth bare skin. They converged again right at the top of her thighs, almost touching her already swollen, ready clitoris. Her fists clenched, her knuckles pressing into the hard wood as her whole body tensed. But he bypassed that needy spot and worked lower still—fingers following her curves.

Reckless, responsive, her hips rocked the once—pushing her closer to his hand. She needed more. She felt the smile on his lips as he kissed her face yet again. Still not her mouth. Still not enough.

Now his lips trailed south, nibbling at the vulnerable skin of her neck. She tilted her head fractionally, wordlessly letting him access more of her.

All of her.

She was lost in the darkness, in the heat. Her muscles slackened, yet tension coiled deep within—as if all her energy was gathering, preparing for action. Hot, wet, she was ready to writhe on him. She’d hurtled back to this point so quickly, she wanted to leap from it this time. She wanted him to fulfil the promise his teasing touch made. She wanted him to do whatever he wanted. And she could feel what he wanted in the surety of his fingers, in the hardness of the legs pressing against hers.