Hotblooded (2 page)

He seemed reluctant to stop touching her and his hand slid down and around to the back of her calf where it began a slow, seductive stroking up and down.

“Gay?” she asked. Not that she cared. She was going to kiss him anyway. He just might not enjoy it as much as she would.

He laughed and stroked his fingers into the dip behind her bent knee, pressing gently and making heat zing through her.

“No.”

She leaned forward until her elbows rested on her knees and her face was less than an inch from his. “You do this kind of thing a lot?” she whispered.

His eyes dropped to her lips and she felt anticipation and awareness shimmy through her. He knew exactly what kind of thing she was talking about.

His breath was hot on her mouth as he whispered back, “Does it really matter?”

Then
he
kissed
her
.

And it wasn’t like he was asking permission or testing the waters. It was an all-out assault on her senses. She responded by pressing forward eagerly and wrapping her arms around his neck. There was no reason to hem and haw and waste a bunch of time after all.

His arms went around her waist and he gathered her against him, pressing breasts to chest, pelvis to abdomen. He opened his lips and she followed his lead, straight into the most erotic kiss of her life.

The heat was all-consuming, the desire for more was a pressure she couldn’t relieve, and the urge to take her clothes off was unprecedented.

He stroked her tongue with his and her body with his hands. Just the right spots, with just the right amount of pressure, for just the right amount of time to make her limp with wanting and tense with need at the same time. Then his hands went under her, cupped her buttocks and brought her more fully against him as he shifted to fit her against his erection, tipping her pelvis back and forth as he rocked her up and down.

Boy she knew how to pick ’em, This guy definitely knew what he was doing.

Whatever he was selling, she was buying two.

Jack couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to consume her, fill her, possess her. The strength of those foreign sensations shook him.

But not enough to make him let go of her.

In fact, he pressed her closer, relishing the feel of her legs wrapping around his hips, the soft whimpers coming from the back of her throat and the way she arched into him. There was nothing shy and teasing about her. She was blatant about what she wanted—there were no games here, and he found it an incredible turn-on.

Her hands were buried in his hair, clutching and stroking his skull in ways that made him want her hands on other parts of his body ASAP. She was willing, that was certain. Every shift, every lift, every new angle or pressure he tried, whether it was his mouth, his hands or his hips, she responded to with fervor.

He’d been wrong—the day had gotten better after all. A lot better.

Her legs were wrapped around him fully, so she stayed in place as he shifted back, his hands leaving her hips and moving to the bottom of her shirt. He pulled the tank up without hesitation, baring her breasts, and his hands covered them immediately, her hardened tips pressing into the center of his palms. Her breasts were perfect, fitting into his hands as if they were made for petting. She groaned softly as he rolled one hardened tip between thumb and forefinger, and in an effort to make her moan even louder—and because he just couldn’t help himself—he pulled away from her lips, lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.

Her head fell back and her fingers dug into his scalp. “Oh, yes.” But it was more of a husky whisper than a true moan.

He couldn’t say that he minded the challenge of trying again for a heartfelt moan. He flicked his tongue over the pert tip, then sucked while his fingers plucked its twin. Her hips rose against him as she shuddered. But still no moan.

He lifted his head and looked up at her. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted as her breaths came in short choppy pants. She rocked her pelvis against him, seeking the relief that he knew he could give her so easily.

But he didn’t necessarily want this to be easy. The look of pleasure on her face was good for his self-esteem for sure, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see ecstasy, bliss, rapture there. He wanted her begging, then as physically fulfilled as any woman had ever been by any man. And he didn’t even know her name.

Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt as that thought registered.

He stilled his hands and removed them from the most perfect breasts he’d ever touched and closed his eyes, pulling in a long, deep breath through his nose. What the hell had just happened? One minute he was rehearsing the biggest apology of his life and the next he was practically screwing the cleaning lady.

Damn. He was used to chaos, but chaos that stayed around him, not in him. That chaos he had control over. He was the commander, the voice of reason, the final decision in the midst of turmoil. He didn’t lose his mind like this.

Said cleaning lady pressed against him again and tried to kiss him. He took another fortifying breath and opened his eyes. The first order of business was covering the breasts he was quite sure he’d never forget. The second was getting some space between them. Because when she tightened her thighs around his hips, he couldn’t think of one good reason why going ahead with what they both obviously wanted was a bad idea.

He cupped her buttocks and lifted her. “Whoa, sugar,” he breathed. “Let’s slow down here.”

She loosened her grip on his neck and hips slightly and leaned back, blinking at him in confusion. Jack’s gaze dropped and then quickly bounced back up to her face. The nipples he’d just been playing with jutted against the front of her shirt and the jolt of desire that shot through him convinced him that this wasn’t going to be as easy as just saying no. He wanted her with an intensity he was completely unaccustomed to. He couldn’t remember ever feeling the kind of need he felt for the virtual stranger in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning.

He actually smiled at her question. Technically nothing was wrong. Certainly nothing was wrong with the luscious body that was still basically molded to him or with the way she kissed him or with the way she fit against him as if designed for making love with only him.

If he was shocked by his desire for her, he was equally stunned by her corresponding lust for him.

“We’re moving a little fast, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Do you think this would feel even better if we’d known each other for a while?” she asked, moving her hips just enough to make him sweat.

“So you just want to go at it, right here, right now?” he asked, eyeing the desk next to them and deciding that it would hold up under their weight if needed.

She sighed and wiggled again, her hands against his chest, pushing lightly. It took a moment to realize that she was trying to move away from him. He let her go, telling himself that he was actually relieved when her bottom made contact with the seat of the chair and he could take his hands from her body.

“I should have known it was too good to be true,” she said, blowing impatiently at a strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead.

He chuckled at the disgruntled look on her face. “I’m flattered.”

“And I’m not,” she returned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I finally decide to just go for it and I choose a guy with some morals.”

He sighed and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure morals were any part of what he was feeling. Crazy. Stupid. A little embarrassed. Like diving right back in? Oh, yeah, all of those.

He ran a hand over his face and determinedly got his mind back on track. “I’m really here to talk to Ms. Donovan. You don’t have any idea when she’ll be back?”

The woman’s eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip as she slowly shook her head.

“Will it be sometime today?” he prodded, frowning slightly at how wary she looked.

She sat up straighter. “No, I’m sure it won’t be today. In fact, when I’m done cleaning, I’m locking up.”

He huffed out a breath of frustration. Now that his goals for this trip were firmly back in place—helped by the fact that he was resolutely keeping his attention on her face—he was back to wanting to get this thing over with.

“Can you tell me where she lives?”

He didn’t want to go to Brooke Donovan’s house. He didn’t want this to be any more personal than it had to be. This was her place of business and even though her husband had been the primary physician here, Jack figured that it was much less likely to have hints of what was missing and the grief associated than their home would. The last thing in the world he wanted to see was a mantel with some framed photograph of Mike Worthington and Brooke Donovan-Worthington smiling with their arms around each other while on some fabulous, romantic vacation.

“I’m really not comfortable telling a complete stranger where she lives.”

The petite blonde got up from the chair, pulled her T-shirt down to meet the waistband of her shorts, again emphasizing the enticing shape of her breasts under the soft cotton, and refused to meet his eyes.

He crossed his arms across his chest. “So, you’re completely comfortable having sex with me on the desk, but not comfortable giving me your boss’s address?”

She shrugged, still not looking at him and got busy gathering up cleaning supplies and arranging them in a large plastic bucket. “Yeah.”

Jack sighed. Why couldn’t this be easy? Why couldn’t he just walk into the clinic, introduce himself to Brooke Donovan, tell her he was sorry, give her the check and then get the hell out of Honey Creek and not think about her ever again? But it was just his luck that the day he finally made the decision to come was her day off. It was also just his luck that her cleaning lady was incredibly attractive and not only felt the same way about him, but was brazen in acknowledging it.

Distractions he didn’t need. Interruptions in his schedule he didn’t need. More things to feel guilty about he definitely didn’t need.

He watched her bend to retrieve a rag that slipped from the bucket and found his desire to touch that delectable derriere—and more—not slaked in the least. “Are you afraid I’m going to mention this to her?”

She straightened and looked at him over her shoulder. “To Ms. Donovan?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not worried about that.” She turned to face him fully, frowning slightly. “But you can’t mention it to anyone else.”

He saw the tension in her face, even though she tried to seem nonchalant. “I don’t know anyone else,” he said.

“You don’t know Ms. Donovan.”

“But I intend to.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and studied him for a long moment. Then she said, “I could give her a message for you. Would that work?”

He pulled a pen from the outside pocket of his briefcase and scribbled his cell phone number on the back of his lunch receipt, then started forward. Then stopped. He hesitated to approach her, feeling for good reason that he might grab her and start right back where they’d ended a few minutes ago. He got only as close as was required to hand her the slip of paper.

Brooke watched him reach out with trepidation. Why couldn’t they have just kept on kissing? When she was in the act of kissing him, the kissing made sense. Now that it was over, it seemed a bit unreal—and like a bit of a mistake. Especially in light of his insistence on finding and talking with Brooke Donovan. There was no way she was going to let him know who she was now. Even if he was just trying to sell her something, what had happened between them was so out of character that she couldn’t even let a stranger know she’d done it. She took the slip of paper.

“Yes, give her this number and ask her to call me. I have to talk to her before I leave town. It’s important.”

“You’re—” She stopped and cleared her throat and tried for an impassive tone of voice. “You’re staying in town then?”

“Until I talk to Ms. Donovan, yes.” He seemed irritated. “Can you give her the message right away?”

“Consider it given,” she said, wondering what the hell she was going to do.

He wasn’t leaving town until he talked to her. Why? She was dying to know why the good-looking stranger was so intent on talking to her. She would have to call him to get rid of him. If she put it off, the chances were very good that he would figure out that Brooke Donovan and the woman he just about had a triple-X encounter with were one and the same. Then she’d have some explaining to do. And she had absolutely no idea what she would say. Without sounding insane anyway.

“You’re sure? She’ll get the message today?” he clarified.

She looked up at him, impacted once again by the brown eyes staring at her so intently. “I promise.”

He just looked at her for several seconds, then stepped forward, grasped her by the upper arms, hauled her up to her tiptoes and kissed her long and sweet, before setting her back on her feet, shouldering his bag and leaving.

She was still trying to catch her breath as the little bell over the front door tinkled happily, announcing his departure.

Brooke waited nearly twenty minutes before calling him. She went home, showered and changed clothes, then sat on the floor in front of her sofa and stared at the number he’d given her. Wow. If he approached his sales quota with the same intensity he put into making out, he had to be the top seller and then some.

Her hands were shaking as she dialed the number. They hadn’t spent a lot of their time together talking, so she prayed that he wouldn’t recognize her voice, especially on a cell phone. It rang only once before he answered.

“Silver.”

“Mr. Silver? This is Brooke Donovan, I—”

“Ms. Donovan, thank you for calling,” he interrupted. “I need to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to work,” she stalled, grappling for a good excuse. “I’m very busy. Can’t we handle this over the phone?” She was going to say no to whatever he was selling now anyway. There was no way she was going to make a purchase that might require him to be in the clinic to oversee delivery or train them in the use of the equipment. Not that she could afford it—whatever it was—anyway.