Simply Irresistible (30 page)

She let herself savor the pleasure of his hands for a few more wonderful seconds, then she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him hungrily as she slid her bare knee up the outside of his thigh. His fingers traced a sensual path down her spine, then he grabbed her behind and lifted her onto her toes, grinding his pelvis into hers. She moved her mouth to the side of his throat and tasted his skin. He groaned and she slid back down his body to stand in front of him. Her hands drifted down his stomach to the end of his T-shirt, and she pulled the stretchy cotton from the waistband of his pants.

John raised one arm over his head, reached behind his back, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Georgeanne lowered her gaze from his passion-filled blue eyes to the short, dark curls covering his big, muscular chest. The tips of her breasts touched him a few inches below his flat brown nipples. A trail of fine hair ran down his chest, between her plump cleavage, to his waistband.

“Look at you,” he said barely above a whisper. His voice had gone all husky with lust. “You’re like the best present I’ve ever had, like every Christmas all wrapped up in one amazing package.”

Georgeanne pulled at his button fly until it lay open. “Have you been a good boy?” she asked as she slipped her hands inside his jeans.

He sucked in a quick breath. “God, yes.”

She snagged the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulled them out and away from his flat belly. “In that case,” she cooed, and ran one finger up his long, thick shaft, “how do you want to play? Naughty or nice?”

His breath whooshed from his lungs as he stepped on the heels of his cross-trainers and kicked them away. “I don’t know how to play nice, and I’ve spent too many years in the sin bin to change now.”

“Naughty then?” She pushed down his jeans and briefs, then ran her hands up his bare thighs. His muscles turned hard beneath her touch, and she delighted in her effect on him.

“Oh, yeah.” His voice was strained as he stepped out of his clothes. He retrieved his wallet out of his pants and tossed it on a table at the end of the couch. Then he stood completely naked in front of her, a tall, solid athlete, perfectly toned from years of training. There was nothing soft about him; his physical profession showed on his powerful body.

She inched close to him, and the voluptuous head of his hot penis touched her navel. Her hands slid up his abdomen, and when she looked up into his hooded gaze, she realized that she hadn’t forgotten how to please a man. She hadn’t forgotten how to please
this
man. Seven years ago he’d shown her how to drive him crazy, and she hadn’t forgotten. She leaned forward and touched the tip of her tongue to his flat nipple. Beneath her lips it puckered and turned as hard as leather. His hands moved to the back of her head, and he knotted his fingers in her hair.

“You’re killing me. I’m dying.”

Georgeanne rose onto the balls of her feet, letting the tips of her breasts graze his chest. “Then may God have mercy on your soul,” she whispered as she sucked his earlobe and rubbed against his warm body. She delivered little nibbling bites to his neck and shoulder, then trailed a string of kisses down the column of fine hair trailing to his stomach and lower abdomen. She knelt in front of him and kissed and caressed and fondled until he was breathing hard.

“Time out,” he gasped, and reached for her. He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“No time out,” she said as she planted her palms on his chest and pushed. He took a step backward and she followed. “This isn’t a hockey game.” She continued pushing until his heels hit the couch. “And I’m not one of the boys.” He sat and she stepped between his thighs.

“Georgie, honey, no one would ever mistake you for a boy.” One hand caressed her bottom and he pulled her closer. He sucked a nipple into his hot mouth and moved his other hand to stoke the fire with his fingers. As she watched him kiss her breast, raw emotion pumped through her veins. This was John, the man who could make her feel beautiful and desired. The man who’d ripped out her heart, then given it back nine months later. She closed her eyes and held him close. She held him while he touched her with his hands and mouth, and she told herself this was enough. When she felt herself close to the edge, she stepped back.

Without a word, he reached for his wallet on the end table and pulled out a foil-wrapped condom. He opened the package with his teeth, but before he could sheath himself, Georgeanne took the condom from him. “Never send a man to do a woman’s job,” she said, and stretched the thin latex down the length of him. She felt him pulse in her hand, ready and straining for release. Then she straddled his lap and looked into his blue eyes. Slowly she lowered herself onto his erection.

He was big and hard and after several attempts, he filled her completely. She sat still for a moment with him deep inside of her, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him. He felt hot, and she felt satisfied yet restless all at the same time. The muscles in his neck were ridged and she dug her fingers into his steely shoulders. His eyes were glazed and his jaw taut. She kissed his lips, then began to move. Whether from arousal or inexperience, her movements were awkward. Her knees sank into the couch, and as he thrust, she rose.

“Relax,” he said, his hands cupping her behind. “Take your time.”

Georgeanne crushed her mouth against his and groaned her frustration. She couldn’t relax and was too far gone to take her time.

John tore his mouth from hers, then wrapped an arm around her back and bottom and turned with her so that she lay on the couch looking up at him. He was still buried deep inside her. He had one knee on the couch while his opposite foot was planted on the floor. “Never send a woman to do a man’s job,” he said, and withdrew. A distressed moan escaped her throat until he thrust deep inside her again. She clung to him as he drove into her over and over, pushing her toward the precipice. She uttered incoherent words of encouragement, words that would probably embarrass her later, but for now she couldn’t control them, nor did she care.

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered as he plunged deep. “Tell me what you want.”

And she did, in exact detail. His chest heaved and he placed his hands on the sides of her face. He told her she was beautiful, and he told her how good she felt to him. With each stroke, he burned her alive, and when she climaxed, she cried his name. Her body milked him hard, and just when she felt her peak subside, it started again.

John’s eyes drifted shut, and his breath hissed between his teeth. He answered her cries with his groans of satisfaction. He drove into her one last time, and when he came, his muscles turned to stone and he swore like a hockey player.

Chapter Fourteen

John sat on the edge of his bed and shoved his feet into silver and blue cross-trainers. The room looked like a war zone. Sheets were knotted in the middle of the mattress, and the down comforter and pillows were thrown on the floor. Dirty plates with half-eaten ham sandwiches were stacked on his dresser, and the oil painting he’d purchased from a local artist lay propped against the wall, the frame broken.

He finished tying his shoe, then stood. The room smelled like her, like him—like sex. He stepped over a pile of damp towels and grabbed his Walkman from his dresser. He hooked the headphones around his neck and the tape player to the waistband of his shorts.

Wild. That was the only word he could think of to describe the night before. Wild sex with a beautiful wild woman. Life didn’t get much better.

Except there was a problem. Georgeanne wasn’t just any beautiful wild woman. She wasn’t someone he’d been dating. She wasn’t a girlfriend. And she certainly wasn’t one of those women who just wanted to get off with a hockey player. She was the mother of his child. Things were bound to get complicated.

He walked out into the hall. His feet stopped in front of the guest bedroom, and he paused at the half-open door and looked inside. Georgeanne’s eyes were closed against the dawn seeping through the curtains, and her breathing was slow and easy. She’d changed into a white nightgown that buttoned clear up to the base of her throat, like something out of
Little House on the Prairie
. But about four hours ago, she’d been bare-ass naked in his Jacuzzi in the master bathroom doing her best imitation of a rodeo queen. With a little practice, she’d gotten real good at it, too. He especially liked the way she rocked her pelvis against him while she whispered his name with that sexy southern voice of hers.

Movement behind Georgeanne caught his attention and he lifted his gaze to Lexie. He watched her turn on her side and take most of the sheet with her. He stepped back and headed up the stairs.

Last night she’d once again shown him a slice of her past, shed a brief light on a confused and hurt little girl, lit her up for him to see, and added another dimension to the way he saw her as an adult. He didn’t think she’d meant to change anything, certainly not his opinion of her. But she had just the same.

John walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He reached for a high-protein, high-carbohydrate yogurt shake. Closing the door with his foot, he popped the top to the quick-energy drink and pressed the rewind button on his answering machine. He turned up the volume, leaned one hip into the counter, and raised his breakfast to his lips. The first message was from Ernie, and while he listened to his grandfather’s usual gripe about having to leave a message, he thought of Georgeanne. He thought of her voice as she’d talked so casually about her mother. She’d joked about her grandmother trying to marry her off to a butcher at Piggly Wiggly, and she thought it was silly to expect her father’s love. She’d seemed embarrassed, as if she were expecting too much.

The answering machine beeped and the voice of his agent, Doug Hennessey, filled the kitchen, informing John of the meeting he’d set up with Bauer. He needed to sit down with the people who custom-made his skates and figure out why his boots had started to bother him last season. John had always worn Bauers. He always would. He wasn’t as superstitious as some guys he knew, but he was superstitious enough to fix the problem rather than change the manufacturer.

He chugged the rest of his yogurt drink, crunched the can in a tight grip, and tossed it into a garbage can. The answering machine clicked off, and John walked out of the kitchen. Mist clung to his deck and the beach below. Sparse morning rays penetrated the mist and shot shards of light though the living room windows.

Last night he’d watched her in those windows. He’d watched her clothes slip from her beautiful body, and he’d watched passion soften her mouth and drug her eyes. He’d watched his hands slide over her smooth skin, and his palms cup her soft breasts. He’d watched her rub her bare bottom up and down his fly, and he’d almost exploded right there in his B.V.D.s.

Quietly John moved from the house onto the deck. He jogged as lightly as possible down the steps to the beach. He didn’t want to wake Georgeanne. After the night before, he figured she probably needed her sleep.

He needed to think. He needed to think about what had happened, and he needed to think about what to do now. He couldn’t avoid Georgeanne, nor did he want to. He liked her. He respected her for everything she’d accomplished in her life, especially now that he understood her a little better. And now he had a better understanding of why she hadn’t told him about Lexie seven years ago. He couldn’t say he was exactly pleased that she hadn’t told him, but he wasn’t pissed off about it anymore.

But not being pissed off and being in love were worlds apart. He
liked
her. He hoped she didn’t want more because he was beginning to think he wasn’t capable of more. He’d been married twice and he’d never loved either woman.

People confused sex with love. John never did. The two were completely separate. He loved his grandfather. He loved his mother. The love he felt for his first child, Toby, and now Lexie, seeped to the marrow of his bones. But he’d never been
in
love with a woman, not the kind of love that made a man
crazy
. He hoped Georgeanne could keep sex and love separate. He thought she could, but if she couldn’t, then dealing with her was bound to get real difficult.

He should have kept his hands to himself last night, but where Georgeanne was concerned, he obviously had a hard time with what he
should
do. Wanting her had twisted him into knots, and sex had been pretty much inevitable anyway. He could tell himself to keep his hands to himself now, but he knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t. He didn’t have a very good track record with Georgeanne. She had a great body, and sex with her was better than it had been in a good long time.

John’s feet hit the wet sand, and he raised his left foot behind him. He grabbed his ankle and stretched his quadriceps.

Their relationship was already tenuous without adding further complications. She was the mother of his child, and he should try to keep his thoughts pure. He wouldn’t think about kissing her soft mouth as he slid deep inside her. He’d control himself. He was a disciplined athlete. He could do it.

And if he failed ...

John lowered his foot and stretched his other leg. He wouldn’t fail. He wouldn’t even think about it. He wouldn’t think about dropping by her house a couple of times a week and sweet-talking her out of her clothes either.

Georgeanne covered a huge yawn as she poured milk over a bowl of Froot Loops. She pushed her hair behind one ear, walked across the kitchen, and set the cereal on the table.

“Where’s John?” Lexie asked as she picked up her spoon.

“I don’t know.” Georgeanne sat down in a chair across from her daughter and pulled the ends of her robe together. She put her elbows on the table and held her chin in her hands. She was dog-tired and her thigh muscles hurt. She hadn’t ached so much since that aerobics class she’d joined for three days last year.

“He’s probably runnin‘ again.” Lexie scooped up a spoonful of Froot Loops and shoved it into her mouth. She’d worn her hair in a braid to bed the night before, and now it looked fuzzy and stuck out around her head like a real thin Afro. A green O fell on her Princess Jasmine pajamas, and she tossed it back in her bowl.