Dirty Little Lies: A Men of Summer Novel (15 page)

“Trust me, Vince would find a way to get them to you without you going into the office,” he informed her, his tone deceptively casual, his expression implacable.

Yeah, right. And Zack was going to sprout wings in the next five minutes and begin flying. There wasn’t a chance her uncle would copy even one of those files. Even Alexander Brigham had no access to them. Hell, as far as Grace knew, Zack’s uncle wasn’t even aware of them.

“I actually enjoy my job,” she told him firmly rather than revealing the depth of the secret of those files. “Now, come on, drive me to work. And I want to bring my car back here tonight.” She hated the inconvenience of not having her own ride, even if it wasn’t advisable at the moment to use it too much.

“No.” His answer was short and to the point before he turned his attention back to the paper.

Grace frowned at the answer, anger uncurling inside her. “No, I can’t bring my car back, or no, you won’t drive me to work. Because I can always ask Uncle Vinny for a ride. He’ll come get me himself, trust me.”

Her uncle hated looking for the simplest thing in the office. He’d be pulling his hair out before morning was over and screaming over the fact that she wasn’t there. She knew him. And by time she got there, if she was too late, then her office as well as his would be a shambles from his search for whatever he was looking for.

No thank you. She’d rather risk Zack’s temper than risk her careful placement of information and data. It was simply too hard to replace anything that got destroyed or went permanently missing.

“Both.” He turned a page lazily. “Vince will get by just fine without you for a while. Your safety’s more important.”

“And you don’t know Vince!” she snapped back, unable to believe he’d dared tell her no, as though she were a child. No explanation, no reason. Just no. “And I’ll be damned if you have the right to make decisions for me, Zack.”

She wasn’t a child and she wasn’t going to allow him to treat her like one. If the danger level had increased, then he could discuss it with her but he would not arbitrarily just tell her no.

He laid the newspaper down carefully, finished his coffee, and when he moved, she really didn’t expect him to move so quickly. She sure didn’t expect to find herself sitting on the counter, her skirt pushed above her thighs as Zack wedged himself between her legs until his hips were notched there.

He was aroused. Thick and hard—and she remembered just how thick and hard—his cock pressed against the damp folds of her sex through his jeans and her silk panties.

Her body heated up just that fast.

Grace felt the flush suffuse her from her breasts to her hairline, and between her thighs that dampness began to collect and spill to her panties. Her breasts swelled, her nipples becoming sensitive, aching for touch. And he knew it. Zack was far too perceptive not to know exactly how she was responding to him.

His head lowered, one hand pulling hers back to allow his lips to find the sensitive flesh of her neck, just beneath her ear.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, the feel of his lips against her neck sparking such rapid-fire pleasure, she nearly lost her breath.

“Because you make me damned hungry.” His voice darkened and rough, a graveled sound of arousal. “It’s a hunger I can’t get over. One I’m getting sick of denying myself.”

The primal intensity in his tone had a betraying shiver racing through her as her stomach clenched in answering hunger. “And you’re blaming me because you’ve denied yourself?” That was rich, coming from him. She’d waited for him longer than any man deserved, and he said
he
was tired of denying himself? She was tired of wanting him and being ignored. That had grown old years ago.

“I didn’t need anyone to blame.” He stepped closer, lust beginning to shadow his expression. “I didn’t need an excuse.”

She believed that one, didn’t she?

“Then what? What did you need, hotshot? Because you sure as hell weren’t going out of your way to let me know you wanted anything more than a flirt here and there. Did you want me to beg?”

His head lifted slowly, interest and lust gleaming in his eyes. “Would you beg?” he asked, his voice lowering. “I think I’d love to hear you beg, baby.”

The fingers threaded through her hair tugged at the strands, sending a flash of pleasure-pain through her senses as a gasp parted her lips.

Grace caught at his forearms, her fingers clenching against the warm flesh, feeling the hard bunch of muscle, the power in his hold as he held her captive against his taller, harder body.

“Why should I beg? Why should I have to?” She could barely breathe. “I’m not so hard up that I can’t find a man to fuck me, Zack. Nor am I such a hag that I need to beg for a pity fuck from you.”

“Oh, definitely no hag,” he promised softly, the hand at the middle of her back pressing her closer to his aroused body. “But I’d still like to hear you beg.”

“Go to hell—”

The fierce, furious retort cut off the second Zack’s kiss stole the sound. His tongue pushed between her lips, found hers, and then retreated, only to tease her with another hungry thrust.

What were they arguing about?

She knew she should remember what it was they were arguing about; after all, it had been important enough that she became rather angry over it.

At least, until he kissed her.

It didn’t seem quite so important now.

This kiss was much more important.

The way his tongue worked between her lips, stroked over hers, played and tasted and encouraged her to do the same was drugging. Pleasure suffused her. The feel of his hard body pressing between her legs, his muscled thighs spreading hers. It was more pleasure than she’d ever known.

The way his hand stroked from the small of her back to her thigh, pushing the silk material of her skirt that last bit, allowing his hand to play with the band of her silk panties.

“Softest skin I’ve ever felt,” he rasped, his lips moving from hers to the column of her neck. “I’ve been dying to get under this skirt since you walked in the room. Just the thought of it has my cock so damned hard, it’s painful.”

The rough sound of his voice sent a shiver of pure erotic pleasure racing through her body again. If the sound of his voice wasn’t enough, the feel of his hands against her flesh was even better. The feel of callused fingertips. The stroke of work-roughened hands as his lips moved to the scooped neckline of the light, sleeveless silk top she wore.

“I want this off you.” He caught her wrists and lifted them, then pulled the hem of the blouse from her skirt. He was whisking it from over her head even as her arms were lowering, only to toss it to the floor, his gaze locking on the quick rise and fall of lace-covered breasts.

She was surprised she could breathe through this. That she could remember how to inhale and exhale. The pleasure was killing her, whipping through her like flames.

“Look how pretty you are,” he drawled, running a fingertip on the upper curve of one trembling mound, watching as he smoothed over the skin to the point between her breasts to the front clasp of her bra.

A flick of his fingers and the clasp released.

Lips parting once again, fighting to draw in air, she watched as Zack removed the material from her breasts before pushing the bra straps off her shoulders and allowing it, too, to drop to the floor.

She couldn’t move, and she wasn’t about to protest. She needed, ached for him. Her breasts were swollen, flushed, her nipples painfully tight and erect, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips, his tongue on the hot tips.

“What are you waiting for?” The dare in her voice had nothing to do with confidence, but with a need that was driving her crazy.

Zack lifted his gaze from her breasts to her eyes with a heavy-lidded sensuality that stole her breath for a moment. “Daring me, baby?” he asked softly

“Hmm. Dare?” She questioned his interpretation as she shook her head. “That’s not a dare, Zack,” she assured him. “A dare is reminding you that I showed you how good I could be the other day. You made the claim that you would then show me how good you are,” she pointed out. “All I’ve seen so far is how good you are at talking about it.…”

Zack wanted to laugh. Not in amusement or to mock the obvious innocence and need in her expression as she stared up at him, aching to be touched, to touch in return. She was tired of waiting for it as well.

It was a dare, plain and simple, by a fledgling at the game.

He was a master, and he’d waited a long time to practice all that experience he’d gained over the years on this one woman’s delicate little body. He’d waited too long, and there were moments he worried that the dark need he kept under control could slip its leash with her.

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, Zack lowered his head, aware of the fine tremors that cascaded through her body. She was trying to keep her lips from trembling, steeling herself as she watched him, as his lips parted just over the flushed, pebble-hard flesh of a nipple.

“Sure you’re ready, baby?” He cupped the swollen flesh and let his thumb rake over the tip.

What her response did to him should have been terrifying.

Heavy dark lashes fluttered over her dark green eyes as a tremulous moan passed her lips. Her breathing was hard, harsh. The force of it pushed her breasts higher, brushing her nipple against his lips, the velvet-and-silk texture such temptation.

A whimper left her lips.

Slender, delicate fingers buried in his hair as Grace arched to him, the berry-firm tip of her nipple burying between his lips, and he felt the leash slip.

The things he wanted to do to her, the ways he wanted to taste her, take her, sent his senses blazing with hunger.

Grace was certain she didn’t mean to cry out; after all, she’d told herself she was going to stay cool as long as possible. She needed to at least pretend a little more experience than what she actually had, right? Instead, the second his lips surrounded her nipple and he sucked it inside the heat of his mouth, the sound tore free from her.

She felt herself shudder in his arms, felt the heat and need flooding her before more dampness spilled between her thighs.

Oh God, he had to take her this time. He had to finish it. Surely he would.

Where he’d been playful before, watching her with teasing lust, at the sound of that cry, his gaze flared, darkened, and what had been male hunger became devastating male greed. His mouth tightened on her nipple, his tongue lashing at the tip and at the same time he lifted her from the counter and carried her quickly to the couch in the other room.

Guiding, supporting, he settled her against the cushions before leaning over her, his lips and tongue sending maximum pleasure tearing through her senses. The folds between her thighs were swollen, heated, needy.… She was so needy.…

“Zack.” Her back arched, the plea, cry, demand for more spilling from her lips.

But when his hand cupped her pussy and the pad of his palm ground against her clit, she felt sensations overwhelming every part of her. Any protest, any uncertainty she might have felt was forgotten. Her hips arched, the heated spill of her moisture beneath the thin material of her panties quickly dampening them further.

And it was so good.

The callused rasp of his thumb caressed her sensitive flesh and pushed her to an edge of need she’d never known. The wetness spilling from her eased his way, gave his fingers a slick path to the emptiness tormenting her, the aching flesh hidden just below the nub of flesh he was stroking with such devastation.

It was like a storm of sensation without respite. It swirled faster, building by the second, intensifying as his mouth switched from one hard nipple to the other.

The suction of his mouth pulled at the tender tip and locked it within the fiery moisture. The lash of his tongue was a heated caress of painful pleasure. It was a pleasure past bearing, and it kept building until she found herself writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

“It’s so good.” The words tore from her as she felt his teeth, felt them grip her nipple, tug, then the fiery drag and pull of his suckling mouth driving her higher. “Oh God. Zack.”

Her thighs parted farther at the feel of the callused rasp of his fingers raking deliciously over her clitoris for a second. Over it, around it, he stroked, teased, and kept her trying to arch closer, to get the touch she needed to leap into the chaos of bliss awaiting her.

Just a second.

It wasn’t enough.

Bending her knee and spreading her thighs even wider for him. Arching, gasping, broken moans spilling from her lips as a kaleidoscope of sensations began swirling through her overly sensitized body.

She was close … so close.…

“Fuck.” He tore away from her, shocking her, leaving her to stare up at the ceiling in confusion, need pounding through her senses.

He’d stopped?

Just like that, he’d pulled back when she was poised at the edge of an orgasm.

Well, now, she hadn’t seen that one coming, had she?

Humiliation raced through her. The heat of it spread from her bare breasts, along her neck, and straight to her hairline as Grace pushed herself from the couch, rushing back to the kitchen to find her bra and blouse.

And to hide her tears.

Tears? She was going to cry over him?

Zack had always been teasing, but until now, he’d never hurt her enough to make her cry.

She dressed hastily, refusing to look at him as he stood with his back to her, hands braced on the table in front of the window as he stared out at the front yard.

“We needed to talk,” he bit out, anger pulsing in his voice.

They needed to talk?

“I don’t particularly feel the need to talk to you right now,” she informed him, her voice shaking as she pushed her fingers through her hair and tried to restore order to it.

She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt less like talking.

“Dammit, Grace, don’t turn this into a confrontation.” Turning, his arms folding across his muscular chest as he stared at her with a brooding frown, he presented an imposing sight.