Falling For Her Boss (16 page)

"I imagine it's difficult to know when to protect and when to let go," Francie mused.

Jud nodded in agreement.  "It is.  But I should have listened to my wife.  For weeks she's been warning me that I can't protect our children from life."

"Do you believe that even after Drew's injury?" Francie asked.

"Yes," Jud answered wearily.  "Drew as much as told me his fall was my fault.  He said he was trying so hard not to fall, that's why he fell!"

Francie suppressed a grin at Pierson's amazement.  "How does he feel about skating now?"

Jud gave her an exasperated smile.  "He wants to join your beginners class next Saturday.  I told him when the doctor gives his okay, he can skate."  Offering his hand to Noah, Jud asked, "No hard feelings?"

Noah shook the man's hand.  "Of course not.  In your situation, I would have reacted the same."

Jud shook Francie's hand, then went to the door.  "Maybe one of these days, you'll see our whole family at the rink."

Francie was almost sorry to see Jud Pierson leave.  She was alone with Noah, and she had an apology of her own to deliver.  She just wasn't sure how to go about it.

Noah stood by the door, watching her expectantly.  He didn't offer to take her jacket, and she wasn't surprised he was letting her make the first move.  After all, Noah was a cautious man.

She jammed her hands into her  pockets and tentatively took a step toward him.  His blue T-shirt struggled across his chest, molded to his muscled upper arms, fitting like a second skin.  It looked soft, probably from a thousand washings.  His gray sweatpants hung caressingly against his thighs.  She almost broke out in a sweat.  Sensuality and power radiated from him.  With her desire for him as well as the love blooming in her heart, she was speechless again.

Her hesitant step must have been enough of a first move.  Still frustratingly neutral, he said, "I would have called you.  About Pierson."

"I wasn't sure you would.  Not after what I said."

He shrugged, as if what she'd said, what she'd felt, didn't matter in the least.  "No one can fault you for being honest."

"But I wasn't.  Being honest, I mean."

No expression crossed his face, but the light in his eyes changed, making them greener, deeper.  Maybe he wasn't so immune to what she had to say.

Being truthful had never seemed so risky.  "I only said what I did to push you.  To try to find out if you do care."

He approached her slowly, studying every feature of her face.  "Would I put up with your stall tactics if I didn't care?  Would I have come to New York?  Would I go up in flames when I kiss you?"

Her knees shook.  "I don't know.  I guess that's what I was trying to find out."

"Touch me, Francie.  Touch me and find out exactly how much I care."

She lifted her hand and reached toward his chest.

CHAPTER NINE

Noah hadn't meant it as a dare.  To his surprise, it had been more of a plea.

The control he'd managed all week snapped like a chain with a weak link.  The weak link was his desire for a woman who could melt his resolve with the simplest expression, the simplest touch.

And this time her touch wasn't simple.  She was taking him at his word and touching him with fingers that wanted to explore, that wanted to take him deeper into passion.  She played across his collarbone, then with curious intent, brushed along his shoulders to his upper arms...with both hands.

The T-shirt was so worn he could feel every nuance of her fingertips, and he couldn't imagine having a more vigorous response if she'd played on his naked skin.  Naked.  Suddenly he wanted her naked in his arms more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

He reached for the plackets of her jacket, opened it wide, and gazed at her breasts heaving up and down with the same excitement he felt.  He wanted to feel them in his hands, touch them with his tongue.  Moments later, her jacket and sweater landed on the floor.  She wore a sport bra, and as his gaze lingered on it, Noah decided it was sexier than silk and lace.  She blushed, and all he could think about was setting her free, seeing her naked and on his bed beneath him.

Just the thought hardened him and took his breath away.  What would the actual experience do?  His mind and body raced ahead while he slid his fingers under her bra and lifted it over her head.  It sailed through the air.

The wind rattled against a window.  The coffee pot clicked.  His sight and hearing were acutely sensitive, the pads of his fingers tingling with longing to wisp across her bare skin.  But there was something he wanted to do first, even before kissing her.  He took her ponytail and carefully pulled the band that was holding it away from her face, away from her shoulders, away from his fingers.

When her beautiful black hair was loose, he slid his fingers through it.  Like the cling of silk, it caressed him.  He could no longer stand the waiting.  He took her mouth with the hunger and desire he'd been denying too long.

Kissing him back, she met him stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, sweep for sweep.  She trembled in his arms, reminding him she was precious and responsive and--for the moment--his.

Francie tightened her arms around Noah so she wouldn't fall, so she wouldn't be swept away.  He was solid and hot and hard and everything she needed right now.  The intimate taste of his mouth, the slick heat, the devouring hunger taught her truths about passion she had never known.  She had needs and wants and desires that Noah could more than satisfy.  As a man, he didn't just need pleasure, he wanted to give it, too.  Plucking at his shirt, she pulled it from his waistband.  When she stroked his back, he rocked his hips against hers.

Need moistened her.  Passion drove her to rub against him to find fulfillment.  But Noah wanted more than pleasure inhibited by clothing.  Still kissing her as if she were air for breath, food for hunger, salvation itself, he deftly unsnapped her jeans, grated down the zipper, and pushed the denim from her hips.  The weight of the fabric took the jeans to her ankles.  She kicked them away, reaching for the band of Noah's sweatpants at the same time.

Everything escalated.  Need.  Desire.  Necessity.  Hunger.  Love.

She loved Noah.  Nothing mattered more.  Nothing else mattered at all.

His hands pulled; hers pushed.  He stripped off her panties; she lifted his shirt.  Heat and electricity and desire crackled around them as Noah swung Francie into his arms and carried her to the bed.

He sat on the side, holding her in his lap, kissing and caressing and making her world spin.  He broke the kiss only to duck his head, string kisses along her chin, down her throat, lingering, though blazing a path she knew would end at her breasts.  The anticipation was almost as thrilling as the kisses themselves.

Circling her nipple, closing in, tempting, teasing, he would approach it until she could almost feel his tongue.  Then he reversed direction, widening the circle again.  She let out a moan of frustration and he chuckled--a deep, sexy laugh that surged through her like pure lightning.

"Noah," she pleaded.

Her husky murmur stopped him for a moment, and he studied her face, kissed her nose, her cheek, her chin, then homed in exactly where she wanted him.  His tongue flicked her nipple teasingly.  She arched toward him.  Leaving that nipple, he went to the other, tormenting her the same way.

She said again, "Noah."  This time louder, with more urgency.

He opened his mouth and laved the peak of her breast with a velvet rasp that made her moan.  The sparks inside her that had begun with his kiss and spread to every part of her, ignited into small flames licking at her nerve endings.  She could feel them everywhere.  They danced, jumped, coalesced into one large flame that made her burn, pant, long for the experience to go on forever, yet also yearn for its completion.

Noah's manhood was hard and fiery under her thigh.  When she moved her leg, he groaned and she knew she could make his fires come fiercely alive too.

His mouth was heaven, but she leaned away so she could give him pleasure.  She had to be an equal in this.  That was so important.  Would he let her?

When she pulled back, he asked, "Am I hurting you?"

She caressed his cheek.  "Oh, no.  But I want to make you feel good, too."

His face was dark with passion, his gaze alight with the same flames she felt.  "You are."

She played her fingers across his lips.  "I want to give you more."

He smiled and gave her a hungry, devouring kiss.  They lay beside each other on the bed, his arm around her, her hair cascading over his shoulder.  Now she had the full territory of his body to discover.  Rough landscape, muscled terrain.  After she explored that, she headed toward the velvet heat that could fulfill her.

She touched him, and he gave a deep guttural sound that was primal and exciting.  As she trailed one finger down the heated length of his arousal, he sucked in a breath.  Wrapping her hand around him, she counted the beats of his pulse against her palm.  They were fast, anticipatory, rushing toward release.

She looked at him and searched his green gaze for what she wanted to find.  She saw hunger and need.  But she couldn't tell if there was love.  How could a woman know unless a man said it?  And she wanted it to be said freely.  She wasn't about to ask.  Not now.  Not when she wanted to believe he felt as deeply as she did.

After she released him with a brush of her fingers that sent a shudder through him, she stroked his thigh and nuzzled his bronze male nipple. 

He growled, "Enough, Francie," and rose above her.

He caressed her breasts and dropped kisses on their crowns.  Stroking lower, he grazed her navel and slid his hand between her thighs, nudging her legs farther apart.

The excitement, the passion, the love, coursed through her.  Shivers danced up and down her arms.  Her legs trembled.  She waited expectantly.

But even now, Noah wasn't about to take without giving.  He tried her with his finger.

She gasped from the exquisite sensation.

Again, and again, and again, he touched her until she was writhing on the bed and reaching for his shoulders.  She didn't want to experience this ecstasy alone.  She wanted him inside her, taking the journey with her.

Bracing his hands on either side of her, he kissed her until she was part of him, whole with him, reveling in something so intimate that nothing could separate them again.  She arched toward him so the oneness could be physical as well as emotional.

She felt him at her entrance, her secret folds separating to welcome him.  Soon she would know all of him--

He swore, the sound of it so harsh and fierce she opened her eyes.  "What's wrong?"

"Are you protected?"

Her heart almost stopped beating as the reality of the situation sank in.  She didn't want to answer him because she knew what would happen when she did.  She knew Noah.  "No."

He looked angry, angrier than she'd ever seen him.  Closing his eyes, tightening his hands into fists on the spread, he took long, harsh breaths.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

She didn't want him to move away, or stop what they'd started.  Her body cried for completion, but so did her heart.  "Because I didn't think about it any more than you did.  Noah this is a good time of the month, I'm probably safe..."

"Probably?" he growled.  He moved quickly and lay a good six inches away from her.

A moment before they'd been so close.  She touched his arm.

He pulled away.  "Don't touch me, Francie.  Not right now."

Her cheeks flamed as she realized how stringently he was battling for control.  "Noah, it wouldn't have mattered.  I wanted this.  I wanted you."

He jerked his head toward her, his gaze sharp, his questions just as sharp.  "And what about figure skating, Francie?  If you got pregnant, would you want me to carry around the responsibility for destroying your career the rest of my life?"

He was right.  She knew he was.  And she had no excuse except, "I didn't think about that."

He stared at her in amazement.  "I have trouble believing that.  Women calculate passion as much as men.  They usually know exactly what they're doing."

His words hurt more than a slap.  Did he think she wanted to trap him?  Use him?  He was searching for an ulterior motive.  What she felt for Noah was free and natural and honest.  Apparently he didn't believe that.  And if he could think her feelings weren't honest, that she was playing some kind of game, then he obviously didn't love her.  Tears burned in her eyes, but she wasn't about to let him see them.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she knew she had to get covered, she had to get dressed, she had to get out of here.

"Francie."

His voice stopped her.  But she didn't look at him.

She heard his deep sigh.  "Apparently neither of us was thinking."

A tear lodged in the corner of her eye.  She blinked fast and furious.  "What about feeling, Noah?  Doesn't that matter, too?"  She knew she was pushing.  She couldn't draw from him something that wasn't there.

"Feeling matters, but we know this can't go anywhere."

"Even if I don't go back to figure skating?"  As soon as she asked, she realized he wouldn't answer.

"Your decision about figure skating can have nothing to do with me," he said gruffly.  "I can't promise you anything.  I travel, I know nothing about family, about relationships.  I told you before, Francie, I know nothing about being attached."

She flounced off the bed and picked up her bra from the floor.  Being naked with a person was about as honest as you could get.  But Noah wasn't being honest with himself.  "You're wrong, Noah.  You're caring, and giving, and protective.  You know how to be attached.  You don't want to be.  I don't know why.  Maybe you're scared.  You think I'm not?  But I'm willing to take the chance."

Yanking on her sweater, she dared to glance at him.  But he was wearing his expressionless face again, the one that gave nothing away, the one that protected him from everyone knowing his thoughts.  He might be protective of people he cared about, but he was a heck of a lot more protective of himself.  Until he decided to open up and let someone love him, he couldn't love and be loved.