Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) (8 page)

The white fabric of the crotch floats down, exposing me fully.

He comes back to me, pressing himself against my breasts. Only one is exposed and I want to feel the other one against his chest too, so I pull the fabric away myself.

His bare chest is against mine and the tip of his cock zeroes in on the right spot. Tightening my legs around him, I encourage him to enter me.

He hesitates.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe. “Please.”

His cock breaks my entrance and I arch my head back, taking in a sharp inhalation of breath. I hold my breath as he slowly slides deeper, and deeper.

And deeper.

Dear god.

He finally hits bottom and I exhale forcefully, trying not to make any noise but nearly out of my mind with the pleasure of him inside me.

“Professor Brooks,” I whisper, enjoying the scandal of uttering such a thing at such a time.

“Shane,” he whispers back, panting. “Please.”

“Shane,” I whisper, as he pulls back and dives into me again.

“Shane,” and he thrusts me again. I’m so wet I don’t even notice the water we’re in. We’re slick with me.

Again he puts his full length into me, filling and stretching me. I arch my head back, unable to speak any more as the heat in my body spikes higher and higher. I’m throbbing with the most amazing sensations.

I want it to last but I’m already on the edge. Judging by how hard he is and how he’s pumping me faster and faster, I’m guessing he is too.

I look again toward the glass door, clutching his broad shoulders, trying to contain my desire to cry out. We have to be quiet. Whimpering, I feel myself clamping down on his hard cock. I’m getting closer and closer.

I close my eyes, hearing the blood coursing through my ears and the water splashing against the wall of the pool.

“Isabella,” he gasps, his voice low and thick.

“Oh god,” I say.

His cock hits me just right, sending me almost over the edge. He hits it again and I’m nearly there. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He complies, pumping me so hard and fast I jerk my head forward as he pounds me into holy oblivion. My climax is so intense I can’t help but cry out. I bite my lip to silence myself, my body convulsing and exploding in pleasure. His cock is still hard as a rock and every time he hits me it extends my orgasm even further.

He’s panting in my ear, clutching me. I finally start to come down from the high.

He lets out a groan and pulls out, spilling himself in the pool water, still holding me and pressing his head against my shoulder.

Only then do I realize we weren’t using a condom. Thank god he thought of it.

I’m so
not
used to being the irresponsible one.

I hold him tightly as he gasps and convulses once more against me. I desperately wish I could’ve felt him coming inside me. I grip his shoulders and kiss his cheeks as his body releases, finished.

We hold in this position for several moments, catching our breath. Finally, he looks up at me, still slightly panting. I give him a tentative smile.

He straightens, cupping my face in his hand as he gives me a deep, satisfying kiss.

He slowly pulls away and looks at me. His brow furrows slightly.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly. “We’re bound to regret it.”

“Shhh,” I say, and kiss him. “Don’t spoil it.”

He looks like he wants to argue with me, but I give him an innocent look and bat my eyelashes at him.

He laughs lowly and pulls me into a firmer embrace. He gives me a soft smile. I seem to have chased away his guilt. For now at least.

As our surroundings slowly come back to us, he pulls up his suit and I put my skimpy excuse for a suit back to rights.

In between giving me soft kisses, he’s taken to glancing at the door again. I lead him out of the pool and we both get dressed.

Once we’re more decent—I’m in the shorts and tee I came here in—he glances at the door again before pulling me to him. Looking me in the eye and rubbing my upper arms with his firm hands, he says, “I want to put you in my pocket and take you home with me.”

I smile. He’s so adorable. And sexy. And intelligent. And, as Sam would say, completely fuckable. What more could a girl want?

Except for him to maybe not be my professor.

He puts his forehead to mine, closes his eyes, and sighs. “When can I see you again?”

I smile wickedly, even though his eyes aren’t open to see it. “Well, we have class in a couple days.”

He opens his eyes to scowl at me and I laugh.

“You tell me,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a soft peck on the lips.

“Can I make you dinner?” he asks. He seems afraid I’ll say no.

I give him a slight smile, feeling suddenly shy. I don’t know why.

“My place?” he adds, glancing again at the cursed glass door.

I nod, reaching up to kiss him properly. And I do believe I did it properly because his tongue is in my mouth and his arms are tightening around me. He’s once again growing against my thigh.

He gives a guttural groan and pulls away, holding me at arm’s length. He smiles at me. “You temptress.”

I smile. I like that. I’ve never been a temptress before. I’m breaking all kinds of rules for Shane Brooks.

The following evening, I’m in my room running around in my bra and underwear, towel on my head, laying different outfit options on my bed. Do I wear a skirt? Jeans? But what top? Evaluating the options before me, I scowl and head back into the closet.

Before leaving the pool that night, Shane gave me his address and we set a date for dinner at his house tonight, six o’clock.

I grab another top and lay it over the blingy jeans on my bed. Too much? Too little?

I jump when a knock raps on my door and Sam peeks her head in. “Can I come in?” she says, opening the door all the way and not bothering to wait for an answer.

She takes one look at the scene and smiles. “What have we here?”

“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. The
red
bra and panties? Okay. What’s his name?”

“What? Who? There’s nobody.”

Sam laughs. I settle for casual and grab the pair of blingy jeans. “Uh huh,” Sam says, waiting for the punchline.

I do my best to pull it off. “Really.”

She still doesn’t believe me, but instead of smiling bigger and pestering me for more, she frowns. “You don’t want to tell me?”

I feel a twinge of guilt at her expression. “There’s nothing to tell.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek then grab the red top.

“We were thinking of going to Delsa’s,” Sam says. “Ashley’s been dying for her post-performance trip.”

Drat. I forgot about that. We hadn’t gotten to it yet. “Um. Can we do it tomorrow? Or you guys can go on without me. I... I’m heading to the lab. Lots of work.” I duck into the closet and out of Sam’s line of sight.

God I hate lying to her.

“Suit yourself,” Sam says quietly. I peek around the corner and see she’s left. I stop and close my eyes, letting out an exhale. My hands are shaking.

A little voice in my head tells me lying to my best friend and shaking in my closet are all bad signs, but I whip off the towel on my head and start vigorously drying my hair, determined to ignore all such traitorous voices.

Following Shane’s earlier instructions, I go up the drive that runs next to his house—a cute, older American four square with a porch on the front—and approach the detached garage. I park to the side, my car almost out of sight from the street, and kill the engine.

The backyard isn’t large, but it’s certainly charming. The fence is lined with rose bushes and in the middle of the yard an ancient maple soars into the sky. There’s a broad back patio, shaded by latticework thickly covered in vines. A wooden table that seats at least eight is surrounded by a mismatch of comfortable-looking wooden chairs. A collection of squat, white candles on a rectangular tray serves as the centerpiece.

Getting out of my car, I fuss at the hem of my silky top, take a deep breath, and head for the rear French doors.

Before I’m halfway there, one of the doors opens and he comes outside. He’s in jeans and a nice, form-fitting shirt that makes his chest look so, so yummy.

My steps instantly slow at the sight of him. My heart does a little flip flop as we smile at one another. I climb two steps onto the patio, slowly walk up to him, and stop.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

“Hi,” he says as we give each other nervous grins.

He leans in, plants a soft peck on my lips, and takes my hand. “Come on in.”

Loving the feel of my hand in his, we step into the large dining area of an eat-in kitchen. I’m greeted with an enticing aroma.

“Something smells good,” I say.

“That’s the herb-crusted tenderloin you smell,” he says. “Or the butternut squash bisque.”

“Mmmm.” There’s nothing sexier than a man who knows how to cook. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Everything’s under control for the moment. Would you like a tour? It won’t take long.”

I nod. “I love your backyard,” I say, gesturing and looking through the glass doors.

“Me too. I thought we’d eat outside, if you’re game.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He smiles and, still holding my hand, takes me farther into his home. From the dining room, with its white dining table, we go through a wide arch that opens onto a comfortable living room. A beautiful stone fireplace on one wall looks old enough to be original to the house. “The house was built in the 1930s,” he says, “but it’s been well loved, as you can see.”

I do see. While everything in sight is in excellent repair, clearly maintained and updated over the decades, several touches of the original architecture remain. Heavy molding lines the top of the walls, framing off the ceiling, and two intricate, ancient looking light fixtures are sticking out on either side of the fireplace.

“Are those gas?” I ask, moving in closer to inspect them.

“They used to be,” he says, “but they’ve been converted to electric.” He flips a switch to illustrate and they bloom with soft light.

“How lovely.”

He smiles and turns them back off. Leading me by the hand, he takes me down a short hall. There are two rooms on this side of the house. One is his office. A massive wooden desk sits in the center and light maple bookcases line three of the four walls. The remaining wall has a large window with a nice view to the backyard. The other room was most likely a bedroom originally, but he’s set it up to serve as a home gym. He has an exercise bike, free weights, and a Nautilus machine. Floor to ceiling mirrors line one wall.

“Do you actually use any of this?” I tease, thinking how home gyms tend to turn into storage rooms, though I see no signs of that here.

“Only if I’m too busy to go out or the weather’s bad. I’d rather hike the trails or swim laps, when I have a choice.”

We give each other sly grins at the mention of swimming and he gestures me out of the room. I head back down the hall with his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. We cross the living room to another short hallway but he stops there. “And the uh, bedroom’s down that way,” he says.

I turn to look at him but his hand has left my back and he’s returning to the kitchen. “Sorry,” he says lightly. “I need to stir the soup.”

I glance back down the hallway—there’s only one door at the end of it—then head toward the kitchen. It features modern appliances and a large island in the middle. The cabinets, also newer looking, are painted white. Whoever planned the remodel did a good job. Though updated, the kitchen is still as charming as the rest of the house.

There’s a window above the sink, overlooking the backyard.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks. He’s at the stove, stirring with his back to me. I can’t help but think he’s been startled by my presence somehow.

“Sure,” I say, crossing to the sink and leaning so I can look out the window. I look more closely at the rose bushes lining the fence, a riot of color. “Wow. I really love your yard.”

I sense him behind me just before his arms snake around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder. I hold his arms against me and lean into him slightly, closing my eyes.

“Do you like wine?” he asks lowly.

I nod. “Hm hmmm.”

“I have a nice Cabernet Sauvignon I thought would go great with dinner,” he says.

“Okay.”

We stand still a moment longer, my blood pounding. I just got here and I’m already starting to ache for him.

He plants a soft kiss on the side of my neck and pulls away, leaving me all tingly. I turn and watch him pull two wine glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the island. He glances at me, smiles, and turns to the little wine cooler next to the refrigerator.

I shamelessly check out his ass when he bends over to retrieve the wine, but my eyes are back on his by the time he stands up.

There are two stools on one side of the island. I settle into one and cross my legs as he smoothly uncorks the wine and pours our glasses.

He comes around the island with both glasses and hands me one. Holding my eyes, he clinks his glass gently against mine.

I wonder if he’s going to propose a toast. I couldn’t say why, but doing so seems risky somehow. Like it would be tempting fate, when we’re already pushing our luck. Perhaps he feels the same way, for he only gives me a grin so sexy it melts my panties and we both take a drink.

I’m hoping for a kiss, but instead he heads for the refrigerator, asking me to tell him what I’ve been working on in my other classes.

As he pulls out the makings for a salad and starts putting things together in a bowl, I describe the experiment we’re currently working on in the lab. This leads to a discussion about the kind of work I’d ultimately like to do, and I can’t help myself from becoming animated. He chuckles as the Italian in me takes over and I start talking with my hands.

“Are you laughing at me?” I say good-naturedly.

“No, no,” he says. “Please continue.”

He starts crumbling some goat cheese over the salad bowl. A piece falls outside the bowl and onto the counter.

Eyeing him, I reach over and nip it.

He stops mid-movement, watching me as I slowly lick the soft cheese from between my fingers.

“Sorry,” I say, smiling. I’m not sorry at all. “I love goat cheese.”

The corners of his mouth turn up and he goes back to his task. “I’m glad.”

We talk easily and soon he has everything dished up. Together, we carry bowls and plates to the table outside. He lights the candles in the center and we sit down to eat.

The food is amazing but I’m even more enchanted by the company. He’s so easy to talk to. We talk about everything from science to movies to his favorite hiking trails. I tell him about the Firework Girls and how we got the name. He asks quite a few questions about Justin Kirby and the investigation and how Justin treats me now, though I downplay that a bit. It’s bad enough that Ashley fusses at me over it; I don’t need Shane worrying too. Another year and that will all be behind me anyway.

Our conversation continues to meander, and though I’m thoroughly enjoying talking with him, I’m longing for his touch.

Except for when he held my hand during the tour and wrapped his arms around me when I was at the window, he hasn’t touched me once. I’m not sure why or what he’s thinking—I haven’t asked him about it and I haven’t pushed—but I sense I need to let him be the one to make the first move this time.

As the sun goes down, we clear the table, l watch him load the dishwasher (he wouldn’t let me help), he pours more wine, and we return to our seats outside. We talk softly a while longer, then fall into a comfortable silence. The yard is bathed in just enough moonlight that I can make out the shapes of things, but it’s a dark night. Quiet too. It’s the kind of silence that feels tangible and comforting.

The lights from the candles cast our little alcove beneath the vine-covered lattice into light. The flame flickers softly on his face and in his eyes. Looking at one another, we smile gently.

“Shall we go in?” he asks quietly.

I nod, but I have to wonder... go in and do what? Is he going to hand me my purse and thank me for the lovely evening and send me on my way?

If he does, I’ve already decided I’ll go. I want him. I want him desperately. But this time it needs to be him. Hard as it will be, if he doesn’t want to make that move, I’ll respect it.

We grab our empty glasses and stand up to go in. I watch as he bends over and blows out the candles. We’re wrapped in near darkness.

He straightens, but I don’t move. He’s holding me with a gaze I feel in my chest. Almost afraid to hope, I watch him in silence as he slowly draws near.

Without a word, he takes my glass and sets it on the table. With him looking at me, my breath shallows, anticipating the kiss I hope is finally coming. Holding my eye, he brings one hand up. His hand brushes my cheek, circles around, and cups the back of my neck.

He pulls me gently. I go willingly.

Our lips meet. My heart and breath both halt. My hands tentatively come up, touching his waist through his shirt. His hand gently caresses the back of my neck while his other hand curls around my back.

Our lips part slightly. The tip of his tongue touches my bottom lip. Everywhere inside of me is trembling now. We open our mouths to each other. As our tongues meet fully, tasting each other, we draw each other into a firm embrace.